Rotten Apples Mold Together

Logan left just before dawn, the gray-blue light of morning seeping through the gaps in the blinds as he zipped his duffel shut. He hadn’t touched Wade since the night before, hadn’t said a word to him either. There wasn’t any point. The man was a heap of booze and benzos on the mattress, mumbling nonsense between hiccupped breaths, and Logan had just sat there, staring at him. Watching him like some kind of science experiment gone wrong. Wade had always been chaos—loud, obnoxious, messy—but this was different. This was a slow-motion collapse, and Logan had been stupid enough to think he could hold it together.

The night before, he’d tried to talk to him, tried to get something through to Wade, but it was like trying to pull a man out of quicksand who refused to stop struggling. Wade had laughed at Logan, slurring some half-assed joke about how it was better this way—his head was quiet when he was drunk enough, drugged enough. He’d said it like it was the kind of solution Logan should understand. And maybe he did, maybe that was the worst part. Logan had sat with a whiskey in his hand all night after that, the bottle next to him on the kitchen counter slowly emptying as he let the sound of Wade’s ragged breathing fill the space.

Logan knew it then, just as he’d known it weeks before but hadn’t let himself admit. This wasn’t going to stop. Wade wasn’t going to stop. Not for Logan, not for himself. Maybe it wasn’t Wade’s fault—whatever demons were inside his head, they’d been chewing him up long before Logan ever met him—but Logan couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t keep standing there with his fists clenched, trying to fight something that wouldn’t go down. He couldn’t keep loving someone who seemed determined to destroy himself and drag Logan down with him.

He ended up in the kind of shitty motel he’d always hated staying in, but the price was cheap, and there was a lock on the door, so it’d do. The neon sign buzzed outside the window, flickering every few seconds, and Logan stared at it for what felt like hours, a whiskey bottle half-empty on the nightstand. He hadn’t turned the TV on. He didn’t want noise. For once, the silence felt like something he needed—clean, sharp, cutting. It was better than listening to Wade ramble or hearing his own thoughts too loud in his head.

But the relief didn’t last. Somewhere deep down, he knew it wouldn’t. The first night was easier than the second, but by the third, the emptiness started to feel less like a clean break and more like a hole. He wondered if Wade had even noticed yet. If he’d woken up and seen the note, if he’d even read it. Logan’s mind played out scenarios he didn’t want to think about—Wade tearing the place apart in a rage, stumbling through the streets looking for him, or worse, lying there with that damn bottle in his hand, not even caring.

And Wade? Wade had woken up late that afternoon, head pounding, mouth dry as cotton. The first thing he noticed was the smell—stale booze, sour sweat, the kind of stink that clung to someone when they stopped taking care of themselves. He blinked against the too-bright light filtering through the blinds, groaning as he pushed himself upright. His body ached like hell, the familiar soreness in his joints, his back, his everything.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. He called out for Logan, but his voice came out hoarse, like he hadn’t used it in days. When no answer came, he stumbled into the kitchen and saw the envelope on the table. Wade picked it up with shaking hands, squinting at the note scrawled on the back of the receipt.

“Don’t come looking for me. Take care of yourself.”

At first, it didn’t register. His brain was too fogged up to make sense of it, and part of him didn’t want to anyway. He tossed the note aside and cracked open the first bottle he could find, hoping to drown out the creeping feeling building in his chest. It didn’t matter, he told himself. Logan was probably off sulking somewhere, playing the martyr like he always did. He’d be back. He always came back.

But as the hours passed, Wade felt the apartment closing in on him. Every corner, every crack in the wall reminded him of Logan. The sound of his boots on the floor, the way he’d grumble under his breath when Wade pushed him too far, the weight of him next to Wade on the mattress when the world felt like too much.

He tried to pretend it didn’t bother him. He drank until his hands stopped shaking, smoked until the edges of his mind blurred into nothingness. But when night fell, and the silence crept back in, he realized he couldn’t remember the last thing Logan had said to him. Had it been a fight? An insult? Something angry? Probably. That’s how it always went. Wade rubbed at his face, groaning as he leaned back against the wall, letting the bottle dangle from his fingertips.

For a while, he thought he was fine, that he could ignore it all. But in the pit of his stomach, he knew. He missed Logan. Missed him so much it ached in a way the booze couldn’t dull.

Still, he didn’t pick up the phone. Not yet. Instead, he drowned the thought out, as he always did. But deep down, he was counting the hours. Wade wasn’t sure if it was hope or dread that kept him waiting for the sound of the door opening again.

By the time the second week rolled around, Wade had slipped further into himself. The booze wasn’t cutting it anymore, not the way it used to. He woke up sprawled on the floor most mornings, his head throbbing and his body sore from sleeping on cold tile instead of their ratty mattress. The fridge had nothing but condiments and a half-empty beer bottle. He hadn’t bothered with groceries since Logan left.

The eviction notice came on the twelfth day. He found it taped to the door, the bold red stamp reading FINAL WARNING. Wade crumpled it in his hand and tossed it into the corner, pretending it wasn’t there. Another thing to deal with tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.

Inside, the apartment was falling apart. The sink was full of dishes, roaches scuttling in and out of the cabinets. Clothes and trash littered the floor, and a sour smell hung in the air, a mix of sweat, booze, and neglect. Wade sat on the couch, staring at the TV playing static because the cable had been cut three days ago. He didn’t even care enough to turn it off.

He spent most of his days in a haze. Drinking until he couldn’t think straight. Smoking anything he could get his hands on. Some nights, he ventured out to the corner store, buying whatever cheap liquor his leftover change could afford. A few times, he thought about pawning the last few things Logan had left behind—an old watch, a leather jacket that still smelled like him—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

It was the nights that hit the hardest. Wade lay on the mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling, and all he could think about was the empty space beside him. The weight that was supposed to be there, the sound of Logan’s soft snoring or the gruff sigh he made when Wade shifted too much. It had been a shitty life, sure, but it had been theirs.

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, biting down to stifle the sob that escaped his throat. His chest felt tight, like his ribs were caving in, squeezing every ounce of air out of him. He hated this. Hated himself. Hated Logan for leaving.

But most of all, he hated the part of himself that understood why he left.

Logan didn’t feel much better.

He’d tried to settle into the routine of his new life. He found work at a garage on the edge of town, nothing glamorous, but it paid. He rented a room in a boarding house run by a nosy old woman who didn’t ask too many questions, though she gave him a suspicious look every time he came home smelling like whiskey and regret.

At first, it felt like freedom. Waking up without the weight of Wade’s mess hanging over him. No slurred apologies. No broken bottles. No waking up to find Wade half-conscious in the bathroom, a belt still tied around his arm.

But the silence got to him. The quiet, empty room that felt nothing like home. He found himself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what Wade was doing. If he’d cleaned himself up or if he’d spiraled even further.

More than once, he’d thought about going back. Walking through that door, telling Wade he was sorry, pulling him close even though he knew it wouldn’t fix a damn thing. But he stayed away. Forced himself to, even when the guilt gnawed at him.

On the fifteenth day, Logan stopped by the diner after work, needing coffee strong enough to burn the taste of regret out of his mouth. That’s when he saw her.

Vanessa.

She sat at the counter, her long brown hair tied back, a cigarette perched between her fingers. She didn’t see him at first, but when their eyes met, her expression shifted—surprise, then something softer, something cautious.

“Logan,” she said, her voice low and familiar. She stubbed out her cigarette and slid off the stool. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah,” Logan muttered, scratching the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure why he felt embarrassed, but he did. “Just been… busy.”

Vanessa nodded slowly, but her sharp eyes were already picking him apart. She stepped closer, leaning in slightly. “He told me you left.”

Logan stiffened. “He called you?”

Vanessa shook her head. “Yes. We talk sometimes. I figured something happened when he stopped answering my texts.”

Logan swallowed hard. “How’s he doing?”

Vanessa’s gaze darkened. “You really wanna know?”

He nodded, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Bad,” she said bluntly. “Real bad. Place is a mess. He looks like shit. Probably drinking himself to death if he hasn’t already.”

Logan’s stomach churned, the coffee he hadn’t even ordered yet souring in his gut. He clenched his jaw, forcing the words out. “You’ve been to the apartment?”

Vanessa hesitated, then nodded. “I’m going over there tonight. I can’t leave him like that, Logan. Somebody has to care.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. Somebody has to care.

What the hell was he doing? Leaving Wade to rot? Letting him destroy himself? Logan had told himself he was doing the right thing, but now he wasn’t so sure.

By the time the second week rolled around, Wade had slipped further into himself. The booze wasn’t cutting it anymore, not the way it used to. He woke up sprawled on the floor most mornings, his head throbbing and his body sore from sleeping on cold tile instead of their ratty mattress. The fridge had nothing but condiments and a half-empty beer bottle. He hadn’t bothered with groceries since Logan left.

The eviction notice came on the twelfth day. He found it taped to the door, the bold red stamp reading FINAL WARNING. Wade crumpled it in his hand and tossed it into the corner, pretending it wasn’t there. Another thing to deal with tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.

Inside, the apartment was falling apart. The sink was full of dishes, roaches scuttling in and out of the cabinets. Sometimes they’d crawl on him when he passed out on the floor and when he was conscious enough to smack them off of him, it barely freaked him out or surprised him anymore. Clothes and trash littered the floor, and a sour smell hung in the air, a mix of sweat, booze, and neglect. Wade sat on the couch, staring at the TV playing static because the cable had been cut three days ago. He didn’t even care enough to turn it off. It was a tweaker den. The last thing to leave was the power, and then water, until he’d spent every last dollar for any basic needs on drugs.

He spent most of his days in a haze. Drinking until he couldn’t think straight. Smoking anything he could get his hands on. Some nights, he ventured out to the corner store, buying whatever cheap liquor his leftover change could afford. A few times, he thought about pawning the last few things Logan had left behind—an old watch, a leather jacket that still smelled like him—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

It was the nights that hit the hardest. Wade lay on the dirty, naked mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling, and all he could think about was the empty space beside him. The weight that was supposed to be there, the sound of Logan’s soft snoring or the gruff sigh he made when Wade shifted too much. It had been a shitty life, sure, but it had been theirs.

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, biting down to stifle the sob that escaped his throat. His chest felt tight, like his ribs were caving in, squeezing every ounce of air out of him. He hated this. Hated himself. Hated Logan for leaving.

But most of all, he hated the part of himself that understood why he left.

Logan didn’t feel much better.

He’d tried to settle into the routine of his new life. He found work at another restaurant on the edge of town, nothing glamorous, but it paid. He rented a room in a boarding house run by a nosy old woman who didn’t ask too many questions, though she gave him a suspicious look every time he came home smelling like whiskey and regret.

At first, it felt like freedom. Waking up without the weight of Wade’s mess hanging over him. No slurred apologies. No broken bottles. No waking up to find Wade half-conscious in the bathroom, a belt still tied around his arm.

But the silence got to him. The quiet, empty room that felt nothing like home. He found himself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what Wade was doing. If he’d cleaned himself up or if he’d spiraled even further.

More than once, he’d thought about going back. Walking through that door, telling Wade he was sorry, pulling him close even though he knew it wouldn’t fix a damn thing. But he stayed away. Forced himself to, even when the guilt gnawed at him.

On the fifteenth day, Logan stopped by the diner after work, needing coffee strong enough to burn the taste of regret out of his mouth. That’s when he saw her.

Vanessa.

She was sitting at the counter, nursing a coffee of her own, her dark eyes scanning the room as she absently twirled a straw in her glass. Her expression softened when she saw Logan, and for a second, there was that familiar, easy warmth in her gaze. It was the kind of look that made him feel like he hadn’t completely fucked up.

He shifted on his feet, his hand running through his hair, and then he pushed the door open to join her.

“Vanessa,” Logan said, his voice rough from the lack of sleep.

“Logan,” she said with a smile, though there was a flicker of concern in her eyes as she waved him over. “Been a while.”

“Yeah,” Logan muttered, taking a seat beside her. He leaned on his elbows, trying to hide the tension in his body. “Just… been busy.”

She nodded, taking a long sip of her coffee, then lowered the cup slowly. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, but it wasn’t unkind. “I know you’ve been keeping your distance. You alright?”

Logan grunted, not sure how to answer. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, his voice rough. “I—I fucked up, Vanessa. I left him. I left Wade.”

Vanessa didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the silence stretch between them as she observed him. She’d known Logan for a while, and even if she didn’t know the full extent of his relationship with Wade, she could see how much it was eating at him.

“You’re not the only one who’s been fucked up about it,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Wade’s been a mess, Logan. I don’t know how he’s still standing, honestly.”

Logan winced, his chest tightening. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” Vanessa said bluntly. She leaned forward slightly, eyes darkening. “I saw him a couple of days ago. He’s barely eating, barely sleeping. He’s still drinking himself stupid, and I’m not even sure if he’s just gone numb from it all or if he’s really trying to feel anything. His place is a wreck. He’s not even trying anymore.”

Logan’s throat tightened at the words, but he didn’t let it show. He’d been avoiding thinking about Wade, trying to convince himself that he’d done the right thing by leaving. But hearing it from someone else, hearing how bad it really was, cut through the bullshit he’d been feeding himself.

“How are you going to handle it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I’m going to check on him tonight,” Vanessa said, her tone matter-of-fact. “He’s not going to get better if we just leave him alone.”

Logan swallowed hard, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He didn’t know if he had the right to be involved in Wade’s life anymore—not after everything that had happened. But hearing Vanessa talk about it, hearing her mention the idea of helping Wade—maybe that was the wake-up call Logan needed.

“Maybe I should—” Logan started, but Vanessa cut him off.

“No, Logan,” she said gently, but firmly. “You don’t need to fix him. You’re not the one who’s going to save him. And neither am I. But we both know he needs help. We can’t just let him rot away in that apartment.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. She was right, and yet he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he had abandoned Wade. That, somehow, his leaving had made things worse.

“I’m not sure I’m the right person for that,” Logan muttered, rubbing his hand across his face. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Vanessa’s gaze softened, but there was still a firm resolve in her eyes. “You can start by not pretending you don’t care. That’s the first step. If you want to fix things, you’re going to have to face the fact that it’s not going to be easy. And it’s not going to happen overnight. But Wade deserves a shot.”

Logan looked down at the table, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t know what he expected out of their conversation, but he hadn’t expected to feel so exposed, so vulnerable. He’d walked in here thinking he could hide behind his cynicism, but Vanessa wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

He let out a shaky breath. “How bad is he really?”

Vanessa’s expression hardened for a moment, but she quickly softened again. “He’s bad, Logan. He’s barely holding on. He needs help. He needs someone to give a damn.”

Logan felt his chest tighten again, and for the first time, he didn’t want to walk away. He wanted to help, even if he didn’t know what that looked like. He wanted to do something, anything, to stop Wade from completely slipping through his fingers.

“I’ll help,” Logan said quietly, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. “But not the way I’ve been. I’ll—hell, I don’t even know what that looks like. But I’ll try.”

Vanessa nodded, her lips pressing together in a tight smile. “It’s all anyone can do.”

They sat there in the quiet for a while, neither of them speaking as Logan thought over what she’d said. Vanessa wasn’t offering him any easy solutions. There were no quick fixes. But in that moment, it felt like maybe—just maybe—there was still hope for Wade, for them both.

“Do you want to go with me tonight?” Vanessa asked after a beat, her voice calm but determined.

Logan hesitated, the idea of walking back into Wade’s world again, of seeing him in the state again. He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t going back, he’d already gotten away and Wade had too much of a pull on him. He wasn’t still utterly in love, and coping with it. He couldn’t see him again so soon, not like he was. Not if he was even worse than when he’d left. It would only undo all the hurt he had made some progress working through. 

Vanessa studied Logan carefully, her eyes narrowing slightly as she leaned back in her seat. She knew the man in front of her better than most, and she could tell he was wrestling with something, something deeper than just the surface anger or guilt.

“You know, Logan, it’s not just the drinking and the drugs that’s messing with you. It’s the way you’re running from it all. From him.” She took a drag from her cigarette, her tone sharp but not unkind. “You guys weren’t just roommates, were you?”

Logan’s body stiffened, his gaze flicking up to meet hers for the first time since the conversation started. He didn’t answer right away, just stared at her, clearly weighing whether to let her into the part of him he kept locked up tight.

“I don’t know if I should,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face, scrubbing at the tension there. “I don’t know if I can face him like that. Not after… everything. The only way I’d ever speak to him again is if he was sober. Which is never going to happen. I know it.”

Vanessa watched him carefully, letting the silence stretch between them. She could see the way his jaw clenched, how every word he spoke carried a weight, a hesitation. The man wasn’t just lost—he was torn.

“You really think it’s that simple?” she asked softly. “Just waiting for him to get sober before you can even talk to him? That’s not how this works, Logan.”

He looked away, his gaze distant. “I’m not doing it. I can’t. I’ve been through too much with him already. The lies, the chaos… he drags me into all of it, and I can’t keep doing it. I told him I was done. That was my decision.”

“And what happened when you made that decision?” Vanessa’s voice dropped, her eyes searching his. “Did it feel good? Did it make you feel better, leaving him like that?”

Logan’s shoulders slumped as if the weight of his own words was suddenly crashing down on him. He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his voice was low, almost hesitant.

“No. It didn’t make me feel good. I hate it. I hate that I had to do it. But I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. Every time I let him back in, it’s like he pulls me right back into his mess, and I’m drowning too. I’m not a fucking saint, Vanessa. I can’t keep fixing him.”

Vanessa leaned forward, her expression softening. “No one’s asking you to be his savior, Logan. But maybe it’s not about fixing him. Maybe it’s about being there for him when he can’t fix himself. He’s falling apart, but you can’t just walk away and act like it doesn’t affect you. You were more than roommates. You were something else, even if you won’t admit it.”

Logan shifted uncomfortably, eyes flickering away from her. He let out a harsh breath. “I don’t know what we were. I don’t know what he wants. What I want. It’s a mess, and I’m tired of cleaning it up.”

Vanessa sat back, the faintest trace of sympathy crossing her face. “You’re both a mess, Logan. But that doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.”

The silence between them stretched for a moment, thick and uncomfortable. Logan sat there, trapped in his own thoughts, as Vanessa let her words settle into the space between them.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “I just don’t know if I can go back to that. To him.”

Vanessa sighed, a small, knowing smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Maybe you don’t have to. But you don’t have to keep running either. Sometimes you have to face things head-on, even if you’re terrified of what might happen next.”

Logan looked at her, his gaze filled with uncertainty, but there was something else there too—a flicker of understanding.

“You’re asking me to face him, aren’t you?” he said, the hint of a question in his voice.

“I’m not asking you to fix him,” she replied. “I’m asking you to not let him fall without trying. You don’t have to go back to him. But maybe you owe it to yourself to stop running from the idea of helping him, at least in some way.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a long moment, his mind churning with the possibility, with the memories that haunted him. The weight of everything they had been and could never be again sat heavy on his chest.

Finally, he exhaled, long and shaky. “I’m sorry Vanessa, but I’m not going back there. You do what you have to do, but I can’t fix this.”

Vanessa gave him a small nod. “You don’t have to promise anything. But just know that no one can fix this alone. My father uh… he was a heroin addict when I was young. My mother could never fix him… he died before he could get sober. I just… don’t wanna see my ex boyfriend die, okay?”

Logan didn’t reply, but his eyes were distant, already thinking about the next step. It was more than he had been willing to admit earlier, but maybe, just maybe, it was enough to start. He just turned on his heel with a handful of empty coffee mugs and dirty plates and brought them to the kitchen. 

Vanessa stood at the door of Wade’s apartment, hesitating for just a moment. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but what greeted her as she pushed the door open was worse than anything she could have imagined. The apartment was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the outside world. The air inside was thick with the stale smell of alcohol and something darker, something almost suffocating. She stepped inside, her shoes sticking to the grime on the floor as she surveyed the room.

The place was a disaster. Empty bottles, dirty clothes, and fast food wrappers were scattered across the floor in chaotic piles, as if Wade had been too numb or too tired to care about cleaning up. The furniture was overturned, the couch cushions ripped open and abandoned on the floor like discarded relics of a life that had long since lost its meaning. The fridge was open, but there was nothing inside—just a sad collection of spoiled leftovers and rotten food.

Vanessa’s stomach turned as she moved further into the apartment. It was a reflection of Wade himself—broken, neglected, and barely clinging to life.

She paused by the coffee table, noticing a crumpled eviction notice sitting in the middle, the date stamped clearly. FINAL NOTICE—IMMEDIATE EVICTION. Her heart sank. Wade didn’t have much time left. She could already see the signs: no rent, no food, no hope. If he didn’t change, he would be out on the streets before long.

Her eyes scanned the room again, and that’s when she saw him—Wade, lying in a twisted heap on the floor, half-conscious, barely able to move. His skin was pale, clammy, streaked with the remnants of sweat and tears. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep—he was simply too gone to care. His arms were thin, almost skeletal, the veins bulging under his skin like blue rivers beneath a decaying landscape.

Her breath caught when she saw the cuts—long, jagged slashes marred the skin of his arms. The blood had dried, leaving the cuts raw and angry, a testament to the pain he was drowning in. Wade’s self-destructive behavior wasn’t just in his addiction. It was in his body, in the scars he carried, both seen and unseen.

She knelt beside him, her heart breaking as she gently touched his shoulder, her fingers trembling. He flinched at her touch, groaning softly but not fully awake.

“Wade,” Vanessa whispered, her voice cracking. She tried again, louder this time, “Wade, hey, wake up.”

He stirred, his eyes barely opening, the glazed look of intoxication still heavy in his gaze. For a moment, he didn’t seem to recognize her, and that moment stretched long and painfully. His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything—just a weak, slurred sound that was lost in the haze of his mind.

“Wade, you need help,” she said, her voice firm now, but her hands shook as she gently brushed his hair back. “You’re not okay. You need to go to the hospital.”

He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He let out a groan, slumping back against the floor, his breath shallow and erratic.

Vanessa stood up, her eyes scanning the room again. The eviction notice, the drugs, the self-harm—it was too much. She knew what had to be done, even if it felt like the last thing she wanted to do. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, dialing 911 with shaky hands.

“Hello, I need help,” she said when the operator answered. “I’m at an apartment… my friend, he’s in danger. He’s self-harmed, he’s intoxicated, and he’s unresponsive. I need an ambulance, and I think he needs to be involuntarily committed. He’s not safe.”

She gave the address, her voice breaking as she spoke. Her eyes stayed fixed on Wade, who was mumbling something under his breath now, the words incomprehensible. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He would fight, he would scream. He would never want to go back to a hospital, never want to face his demons head-on. But he couldn’t keep doing this. Not like this.

Within minutes, the police arrived—three officers, an EMT team, and a couple of paramedics. Vanessa stepped aside, allowing them access to Wade’s body, as they gently assessed him, trying to stabilize him. His weak protests started to turn into frantic screams as they moved him, the sound echoing through the apartment.

“No! Please! Don’t take me! I’m fine! I’ll be better! I’ll stop, just let me go!” His words were slurred, desperate, like a man begging for his last chance to hold onto something—anything. He fought, weakly against much bigger, healthier officers who had to cuff his hands behind his back to stop him from drunkenly swinging at them. 

Vanessa watched him, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces as she heard him scream for her to save him, to make it stop. She knew this wasn’t what he wanted, but it was what he needed.

She stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper as she knelt beside him. “I’m sorry, Wade,” she said, her hand brushing over his hair one last time, as the officers restrained him for transport. “I’m so sorry. But this is the only way you’ll get better. Please don’t fight it.”

Wade’s body was limp, and the fight in his eyes was replaced with a hollow, defeated look. His cries grew quieter as they loaded him onto the stretcher and prepared to take him away. Vanessa’s eyes followed them, her chest heavy with guilt.

She had done the right thing. She had to keep telling herself that. But it didn’t make the pain go away.

Vanessa stood in the doorway, watching the paramedics carefully secure Wade to the stretcher. His body looked so fragile, so broken, as if it might crumble at any moment. His face, once full of life, now held an expression of quiet despair. The tears that she had been holding back finally slipped down her face, but she wiped them away quickly.

She felt so helpless. She had tried to save him once before, but now, all she could do was watch as they took him away. Wade had never been this vulnerable in front of her—not like this. He had always been the one who shrugged off the world, the one who hid behind his jokes and his bravado. But this was different. This was the raw, unfiltered version of him, the version he never wanted anyone to see.

The officers and paramedics finished loading him into the ambulance, and the door slammed shut with a dull thud. Vanessa stood there for a long time, the quiet of the apartment settling over her like a heavy blanket. The sound of Wade’s screams was still ringing in her ears, and it made her stomach churn.

She walked back into the apartment, the space now feeling empty and cold. The eviction notice was still on the floor, the harsh words glaring up at her. The mess, the clutter, the signs of Wade’s life unraveling—they were all so vivid now. She wasn’t sure if Wade could ever come back from this, if he could ever rebuild the life he had lost. But she had to believe that getting him help—forcing him to face the consequences of his actions—was the first step toward him getting better.

She glanced at her phone, the call from the hospital ringing in her ears. She knew she couldn’t stay in this apartment any longer. Wade was gone, at least for now, and she wasn’t sure when or if he would be back. But she couldn’t let him slip away, not without a fight.

With one last look at the apartment, Vanessa stepped out, closing the door behind her. The world outside seemed so much brighter than it had before, like it had just been waiting for her to make the hard decisions. As she walked down the hallway to her car, her phone buzzed with a text from Logan, a simple message that felt like a punch to the gut.

How is he?

Vanessa didn’t bother to answer. What was there to say? The truth was too ugly, too raw, and Logan didn’t need to hear it. Wade had chosen this path, and now, there was nothing anyone could do but try to pick up the pieces.

But as she got in her car and drove to the hospital, her mind kept circling back to one thought: Is this enough?

She didn’t know. All she could do was hope that it was.

The ambulance ride was long, and Wade was barely conscious through most of it. His head swam with a fog of confusion, alcohol, and drugs, and his body felt like it was made of lead. The pain from his self-inflicted cuts was numbed by the haze in his system, but every time he tried to open his eyes, it felt like a struggle.

When they finally reached the hospital, he was swiftly moved into a sterile room, the cold fluorescent lights above him buzzing with an indifferent hum. The nurses moved efficiently, checking his vitals, starting an IV, and preparing to sedate him further. Wade wasn’t aware of any of it, his mind too distant, too removed from his own body to fully comprehend what was happening.

He only had a vague sense of Vanessa’s presence, her soft words telling him that it would be okay, that he would be better soon. But he didn’t believe her. He didn’t believe anyone anymore.

His mind kept spiraling back to Logan—the man he had pushed away, the one he had torn apart with his actions. Logan had left. He had walked out, and Wade was still trying to understand why. The hurt was still there, raw and aching, gnawing at him from the inside. He couldn’t imagine facing Logan again, not like this. Not when he had destroyed everything between them.

But it wasn’t just Logan. Wade had destroyed himself, too. And no amount of drugs or alcohol could take away that truth.

The last thing he remembered before the darkness took over was a single tear falling from his eye. He wasn’t sure if it was from the pain, or if it was because he finally realized just how far he had fallen.

He had no idea when he would wake up, or what would happen after that, but at least for now, there was nothing he could do but let the darkness take him away.

Wade’s eyes flickered open, the harsh hospital lighting blinding him for a moment. His head felt like a balloon, swollen and ready to pop, and there was a heavy fog in his mind. The room around him was stark white, sterile, and cold, the kind of place that made him feel like an experiment rather than a person. The dull beeping of the machines was the only sound in the room, and it made his chest tighten with anxiety.

He hated this place. Hated the emptiness that came with it, hated the fact that he couldn’t escape it, that he couldn’t just run away into something numb.

A nurse came in after a few minutes, taking his vitals with the kind of practiced indifference that made Wade want to scream. She didn’t acknowledge him much, just checked his IV and wrote a note on the chart before leaving him alone again.

Not long after, the door opened again, and this time, it wasn’t a nurse. It was a woman—mid-40s, professional-looking but with a warmth to her eyes that immediately made Wade feel uncomfortable. She was dressed in a black cardigan and skirt, and she had a notepad in her hands, but her smile was genuine, like she wasn’t here just to tick off boxes on a sheet.

“Mr. Wilson, how are you feeling?” she asked, her voice soft but not overly sympathetic.

Wade blinked a few times, his mouth dry. His voice came out croaky, rough from disuse. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

The woman’s lips quirked upward, but she didn’t laugh. She probably got that response a lot. She glanced down at his chart. “I’m Dr. Thompson. I’m a psychologist. I’m here to help you through your recovery process.”

Wade didn’t respond at first, just let the silence stretch between them. His eyes flicked to the window, but it didn’t bring him any comfort. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Dr. Thompson seemed to sense that. “I know you’re probably not in the mood for this,” she continued, “but I just need to get a sense of where you’re at. If you’re ready to begin processing things.” She sat down across from him, not too close, just enough to give him some space. “When you feel ready, we can talk about what brought you here. What led to the point where you had to numb the pain.”

Wade couldn’t help but scoff. “You think I don’t know why I’m here?” he muttered, voice bitter. “Drinking myself into oblivion, shooting up, popping pills like it’s candy. All the fun stuff.”

“Wade,” Dr. Thompson said, her tone gentle but firm, “we don’t have to go into all of it right away. But it’s important for me to understand what’s been happening with you—what’s been driving this behavior.”

Wade’s stomach twisted, his fingers itching for a cigarette or a drink, anything to drown out the growing discomfort. “You really wanna know?” he asked, leaning back into the bed. “You really wanna hear how it started?”

She nodded, but her gaze was steady. “I do. But only if you’re ready to talk about it.”

Wade let out a breath, feeling the weight of the words on his chest. His mind went back to the times he used to block out—his childhood, the parts he never spoke about. “I grew up in a pretty shitty place,” he muttered, his voice hollow. “My mom… she wasn’t great. My dad? Never really knew him. I was left alone a lot. I guess that’s how it starts, right?”

He glanced at her, his eyes dark with the memory. “People don’t tell you this shit, but no one gives a damn about you when you’re a kid. Not really. And when you learn that, you either become tough or you learn how to numb the feeling. I… I learned how to numb it.” He laughed bitterly, the sound foreign to him. “I didn’t have anyone. No one to teach me better. And it’s been like that ever since.”

Dr. Thompson listened attentively, making no attempt to interrupt. Wade hated the silence that followed, but he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out now that they were free.

“Then it got worse, as I got older. I didn’t know how to deal with it. The loneliness. The feeling of just being… nothing. So, I started running. Running into the arms of things that made it go away—alcohol, pills, heroin, whatever I could get my hands on. It was never enough, but it worked long enough to keep me from thinking about all the things I didn’t wanna think about.” Wade’s chest tightened, the words feeling like knives in his throat. “I’m just a junkie, Dr. Thompson. That’s all I am. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

Dr. Thompson didn’t rush in with words of comfort. She simply sat there, absorbing his confession without judgment. Wade could tell that she wasn’t trying to fix him right then and there. She was just listening.

“Wade,” she said after a long pause, “what you’re describing sounds like a combination of trauma and self-medication. Your addiction was a way of coping with the pain, the abandonment, and the emotional neglect you’ve carried with you for so long. It’s not just about the substances, it’s about trying to escape something much deeper.”

Wade looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You’re telling me it’s all in my head, right? That if I just snap out of it, everything’ll be fine?”

“No,” she said, her voice calm but unwavering. “What I’m saying is that addiction often comes from unhealed wounds—emotional wounds. It’s a way of surviving, even if it’s damaging in the long run. But you don’t have to keep surviving this way, Wade. You can start healing, but it’s going to take time. And it’s going to be hard.”

He closed his eyes, the weight of her words sinking into him. He had always known, on some level, that there was more to his addiction than just the substances. But hearing it out loud, hearing someone actually validate his pain, felt like a punch in the gut.

“What happens now?” Wade asked, his voice small.

Dr. Thompson gave him a soft smile. “We’ll continue to talk, to work through these things. I’m going to help you, but it’s going to take time. You’ve taken the first step by being here. You’re not alone anymore.”

Wade swallowed hard, trying to process everything she’d said. He wasn’t sure if he believed her. He wasn’t sure if he believed in himself. But for the first time in a long time, he let himself think—maybe, just maybe, he could try to heal.

Wade shifted uncomfortably in the chair, his eyes flicking to the window, where the daylight streamed in, almost too bright against the sterile white walls. He hadn’t expected the session to be like this, hadn’t expected to start unraveling the mess inside of him. But here he was, talking—well, talking—about things he hadn’t really acknowledged out loud before.

His hands fidgeted in his lap, and he swallowed against the dryness in his throat. He wanted to keep his mouth shut, to just shut down and not say anything more. The fewer words, the less risk of getting tangled in something bigger than he was ready for.

But Dr. Thompson was patient, waiting, and after a long silence, he finally spoke.

“Logan,” Wade muttered, his voice low, barely above a whisper. The name felt like it had weight, like it was something heavy, something that clung to him even now. “I don’t know. He… he’s not—” He paused, rubbing his hand across his face as if to clear the fog from his thoughts. “He’s just someone. Someone who’s been there. That’s all.”

Dr. Thompson’s gaze sharpened just slightly, her pen hovering over her notepad. “Someone who’s been there… how?” she asked gently, but there was an edge to her tone, a clear invitation for Wade to dig deeper.

Wade felt a knot tighten in his chest. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to lay it all out. He didn’t want to get into the mess that was Logan, because the truth was, he wasn’t sure he could explain it himself.

“We had… a thing,” Wade said quietly, his gaze drifting to the floor, unwilling to meet her eyes. “We used each other. Or… I used him. I don’t know, it wasn’t… clean, I guess. It wasn’t like… what people think. We were just—” He hesitated, trying to find the words, but they felt wrong, like they didn’t fit.

Dr. Thompson didn’t press him right away. She let the silence stretch, but then she leaned forward just slightly, her voice soft but insistent. “Wade, if you’re going to work through what’s going on in your life, especially the addiction, I need to understand the people who are in it. And if Logan was important to you, I need to understand the nature of that relationship. Was he a friend? A lover? Or something else?”

Wade’s breath caught in his throat. The word lover felt too clean, too neat for whatever it was that had passed between them. They had been so much more than that, but also not enough to ever be defined.

“I don’t know if I can explain it,” Wade muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his mind spinning. “He… he was the only one who ever… I don’t know, looked at me like I was something more than shit. But it was messed up, y’know? It wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. I wasn’t real. We were just… two broken people who couldn’t help themselves. And I couldn’t keep him close. I kept fucking things up. I ruined it.”

Dr. Thompson didn’t flinch at his words. She just kept looking at him, steady and calm. “It sounds like this Logan person was someone who made you feel something different—like you weren’t alone. But you also say you ruined it. What did you mean by that?”

Wade’s hands tightened into fists in his lap, his knuckles turning white. He didn’t want to go back to the hurt, back to all the confusion and betrayal and messiness. “I pushed him away. Or maybe he pushed me away, I don’t know. Maybe we were just too much for each other. Maybe we both were too far gone. But… it doesn’t matter. He’s gone now. I don’t even think he cares.”

Dr. Thompson studied him quietly, her pen still hovering over the page. “Wade, if you’re still holding on to him in any way—whether it’s anger, pain, or longing—that’s something we need to address. Your addiction didn’t just come from nothing, and relationships like that—whether they were toxic or not—can leave scars. And right now, you’re in a place where you have the chance to heal from those scars.”

Wade laughed bitterly, the sound almost pained. “I don’t know if healing’s even possible. But whatever, I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. That’s not why I’m here, right?”

Dr. Thompson nodded slowly, her expression softening, but there was something firm in her gaze now. “I understand that you may feel like you don’t need anyone, Wade. But if you’re going to move forward, if you’re going to make it out of this, you need to face what’s really been holding you back. Sometimes, it’s the things we refuse to face that control us the most. And right now, you’re running from more than just the addiction. You’re running from the people in your life, too.”

Wade stared at her, the words cutting through the fog in his brain. He didn’t know if he wanted to face it—he wasn’t sure if he could—but the truth was, deep down, he knew she was right. He had been running for years. Running from the pain. Running from the love he couldn’t let himself believe in.

He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to fix any of it,” he admitted, his voice small.

Dr. Thompson didn’t respond right away. She just sat there, letting the weight of his words hang between them. Finally, she said, “You don’t have to fix everything all at once. But you do have to start somewhere. And sometimes, that means letting go of what’s holding you down—whether that’s addiction, or relationships that keep you stuck. And if Logan is part of that, then we’ll need to work through it, too.”

Wade’s heart twisted painfully at the thought of Logan. But in that moment, he couldn’t do it. Not yet. He wasn’t ready.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Wade whispered, his voice barely audible.

Dr. Thompson nodded, not dismissing him, but understanding. “That’s okay, Wade. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Wade didn’t know what that would look like, or if he could even make it through the first step. But for the first time in a long time, the idea of healing didn’t seem as impossible as it once had. Maybe it was just a small flicker of hope, but it was enough to make him hold on.

A Week Later

Wade sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the stack of books piled in front of him. His hands were still trembling a little, the withdrawal symptoms lingering, but they weren’t as intense anymore. He had spent the last week in a haze of sobriety, trying to keep his mind busy, trying to forget everything that had brought him here.

He picked up a book on addiction and flipped through the pages, absorbing the words but not really understanding them. Still, it was something to focus on. He had made it through another day.

It was harder than he had imagined—he had always avoided facing his demons, running from them with booze or pills or whatever else numbed the pain—but now, he had to face the truth, even when it felt like too much. He had to face the wreckage of his life.

A nurse came by, smiling softly at him. “How are you feeling today, Wade?”

Wade shrugged, tossing the book aside. “Better. But it’s hard to tell if I’m actually better or if I’m just too tired to care.”

The nurse nodded. “That’s normal. Recovery takes time. But you’ve made it this far. That’s something.”

He didn’t know if she was trying to comfort him or give him a reality check. Either way, it didn’t matter. He had been here for a week now, and the only thing he knew for sure was that he hadn’t gone insane yet. That, in itself, felt like progress.

Two Weeks Later

Wade was sitting at a table with a group of other patients in the common room. There were a few older men who were quiet, a couple of younger guys who had that edge of aggression that came with withdrawal, and a woman who spent most of the time flipping through a magazine.

They were playing cards, a simple game of Go Fish, and Wade was trying to focus on the rules. It wasn’t much, but it felt like something. For the first time since he got here, he wasn’t obsessing over Logan. The numbness of the withdrawal was wearing off, and the fog in his brain was beginning to clear. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not, but it was happening.

“Wade, your turn,” one of the older men said, eyeing him from across the table.

He blinked, snapping back to the present. “Sorry. Right. Um, do you have any threes?”

The man grinned. “Sure do.”

Wade accepted the cards and laid them down, still feeling a little out of place but grateful for the distraction. In the past, his world had been all about fighting, running, hiding, and pushing people away. Now, here he was, sitting at a table playing Go Fish like a normal person. It didn’t feel like a huge victory, but it was a start. A small, stupid start.

 Three Weeks Later

Wade leaned against the back of the chair, his feet propped up on the edge of a table, as he listened to the group therapy session. The room was filled with people—some sober, some in various stages of withdrawal. Wade was a little beyond the worst of it, but the emotional weight was still there, pressing down on him.

Dr. Thompson was sitting at the front of the room, guiding the session. “Wade,” she said, “I want to know more about your relationship with Logan. You’ve mentioned him a few times, but I think it’s important that we unpack that. The way you speak about him—it sounds like he’s central to your pain.”

Wade rubbed the back of his neck. He hated talking about Logan. He hated admitting that his feelings for him were still tangled up in everything—the addiction, the self-loathing, the constant running.

“I don’t know,” Wade muttered, avoiding eye contact with the others in the room. “It’s complicated. He was… there. He cared, I think. But we were both too messed up to make it work. And I fucked it up. I always fuck it up.”

Dr. Thompson nodded. “You don’t have to be ashamed of your feelings, Wade. But we do need to address how you internalize relationships like this. You said you always push people away. Why do you think that is?”

Wade’s eyes darted around the room, feeling exposed. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to talk about Logan. He didn’t want to admit that every time he thought of Logan, there was a small ache in his chest, a memory of a life that had slipped through his fingers.

“I guess I don’t think I deserve anything better,” Wade said quietly. His voice was rough, his throat tight. “I thought maybe Logan would be different. But I was wrong. He left, didn’t he?”

The room was silent for a moment, and Wade felt like he had said too much. He could feel their eyes on him, but they didn’t judge him. They didn’t offer empty words of comfort. They just let him sit with his shame.

It was the first time he had truly faced the full weight of his loss, of what he had allowed to slip away. And, for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to carry that burden.

One Month Later

Wade sat in the waiting room, reading an old magazine. His hands were steady now, and his thoughts weren’t constantly consumed by the need for something to numb him. He was almost—almost—comfortable with the idea of being sober.

He had come a long way since he was first admitted. The physical detox was over, and the emotional detox was still a work in progress. He had read a few books on trauma, addiction, and recovery, and although the words weren’t always easy to digest, they started to make sense.

He had a routine now—therapy, group sessions, exercise. Even the people in the facility had started to feel like his people, his community. It was a strange concept, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Today, he was scheduled for a meeting with a caseworker to discuss transitioning to rehab. He was nervous—terrified, actually—but there was a part of him that felt like this was the next step. He had made it through detox. He had faced his past. Maybe it was time to face the future, too.

As he sat there, waiting, he found himself thinking about Logan again. It was a flicker, just a passing thought, but it stung. He didn’t know if Logan was even still out there, if he was alive, or if he’d moved on. But, for once, Wade didn’t feel the same frantic desperation to reach out. He didn’t feel like he needed Logan to save him.

Maybe he could save himself.

The door opened, and the caseworker stepped in. “Wade, we’re ready for you. Let’s get started on your transition plan.”

Wade stood, taking a deep breath, and followed them down the hallway. It was a long road ahead, but for the first time, he was ready to walk it.

Wade walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the sterile, quiet facility. His heart beat a little faster as they approached the door to the office where his transition plan would be discussed. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he felt a twinge of anxiety mixed with a strange sense of hope.

He’d been in the facility for over a month now. It felt like a lifetime, but in other ways, it felt like it had just started. The detox was over, the physical pain had faded, but the emotional weight was still heavy. Every session, every conversation, every book he read—it all chipped away at the walls he’d built around himself. Slowly, painfully, he started to see the cracks.

The caseworker, a calm woman in her thirties with short brown hair, led him into a small office with a desk and a chair across from it. She gestured for him to sit, and he did, his hands still trembling just slightly from the aftershocks of withdrawal.

“How are you feeling today, Wade?” she asked, sitting across from him and opening a file.

Wade didn’t look her in the eyes immediately. “Fine, I guess. Better than when I got here.” His voice had a slight rasp, and he cleared his throat before continuing, “I just—” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know what to expect.”

The caseworker nodded, as if she had heard the same thing a thousand times. “That’s normal. Transitioning from a facility like this to a rehab program can be daunting. But it’s a step in the right direction. The important thing is that you’ve been taking the necessary steps here. You’ve been working hard on yourself.”

Wade tried not to let the praise get to him. He wasn’t used to hearing it, but there was something strangely comforting about it. Something that made him feel like maybe he was on the right path, even if it was unclear where that path was leading.

“What’s next?” Wade asked, his voice quieter now, as if he were bracing himself for something that would make this feel more real.

“We’ll talk about options for treatment programs,” she said. “We have a couple of places we work with that specialize in long-term care. Some of them focus on trauma and addiction simultaneously. It’s a tough road, Wade, but you’ve got a foundation to build on.”

He nodded slowly, the words settling in his chest like rocks. Trauma and addiction. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, but hearing it out loud, from someone who wasn’t a stranger to the process—it felt more real, more weighty. He couldn’t hide from it anymore.

“I’ve been going through the motions,” Wade said, almost to himself. “I’ve been doing everything they told me to do. But it’s hard. I don’t know if I’m doing it right.”

The caseworker’s eyes softened. “There’s no perfect way to do it, Wade. But you’re showing up. That’s what counts. You’re giving yourself a chance.”

Wade thought about that for a moment. The idea that he was giving himself a chance. It was strange, but it didn’t feel impossible.

They spent the next hour going over the different rehab programs. Wade listened, but his mind drifted in and out. He had tried to focus on the details, on the potential paths ahead, but all he could think about was the space Logan had left behind. There was still a hole in his chest, a piece of him that felt irreparably broken.

When the meeting was over, Wade stood up and shook the caseworker’s hand. He didn’t have much to say. He was exhausted, mentally and emotionally. The reality of everything was starting to sink in, and it was overwhelming.

As he walked back to his room, he felt the same mix of exhaustion and hope he had felt earlier. It was a strange duality, one that didn’t make sense but also felt strangely familiar. He didn’t know if he was ready for the next step, but maybe—just maybe—he had no other choice.

A couple of days later, he was moved to a different facility, a rehab program that specialized in long-term care. It felt like starting all over again, but this time, he wasn’t alone. Wade wasn’t sure how he would fare, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was standing on solid ground—however shaky it might be.

In the new facility, Wade began a new routine. Therapy sessions, group activities, meditation—there were days when it felt like too much, days when he wanted to scream and leave. But he didn’t. Every day was a step forward. He had more conversations, learned more about himself, and slowly, he started to connect with others.

And through it all, one thing remained constant: his thoughts of Logan. It wasn’t an obsession, but it was there, in the back of his mind. He still missed him. He still wondered if Logan had moved on, if he was living a life that Wade would never be a part of again.

But Wade wasn’t the same person he had been when he first entered the facility. He was learning to live with the pain, to carry it without letting it consume him. He still had a long road ahead, but for the first time in years, he could see a future—one that didn’t involve running, one that didn’t revolve around addiction or destruction.

Logan sat in the quiet of his small apartment, nursing a drink, his mind drifting back to the mess of his life. Vanessa had been checking in on Wade, saying he’d started to show some improvement. He couldn’t shake the guilt, though, the knot in his stomach every time she mentioned him.

“You’ve called him?” Logan asked, staring into the glass in his hand.

Vanessa nodded, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. “A couple times. He’s not the same person he was when I first found him. He’s starting to see things a little clearer. Baby steps, but it’s something.”

Logan looked away, fighting the pull to reach out. He wasn’t ready. “You think he’d even want to hear from me?” His voice was rough, like the words themselves weighed a thousand pounds.

Vanessa let out a quiet sigh, a knowing look crossing her face. “He might not admit it, but I think he’d secretly love it. He still cares, Logan. He just doesn’t know how to handle all the shit he’s been through. And honestly, neither do you. But you’re here, and that’s a start.”

Logan leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t fix him, Van. I fucked up already. I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe I’m better off just staying out of it.”

“That’s not fair to either of you,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “You’re both so broken, and that’s why you’re stuck. You can’t just shut him out like that. He needs you, even if he doesn’t know how to say it. And you need him too.”

Logan turned to face her, the weight of her words sinking in. It didn’t feel like it, but maybe, just maybe, she was right. “I don’t know if I’m ready to try again,” he muttered, though a part of him longed to hear Wade’s voice again.

Vanessa studied him for a moment before speaking, quieter now. “Sometimes, Logan, the hardest thing is admitting you still care. If you love him, you need to stop running. You don’t have to make it perfect. Just… start somewhere.”

Logan took another swig of his drink, the words sinking in. The distance between him and Wade had been growing for too long. He didn’t know if he’d ever find the courage to bridge it, but the idea of staying away forever felt just as unbearable.

The movie was just background noise, an old action flick that neither of them was really paying attention to. Vanessa sat on the couch beside Logan, the dim glow of the TV flickering across their faces. A joint passed between them, the smoke curling lazily into the air as they shared it. Idle chatter filled the room, small talk about everything and nothing—what had happened at work, a passing comment about the weather, anything that kept the silence from growing too thick.

Logan’s gaze flickered toward Vanessa for a moment, her eyes half-closed from the haze of the weed, her face relaxed but still sharp. She smiled, leaning back against the cushions.

“Remember when we used to do this all the time? Back when things weren’t… this fucked up?” she said, her voice low and nostalgic.

Logan chuckled, though it was more bitter than anything. “Yeah, well, things change.” He passed the joint back to her, letting his fingers linger for a second longer than necessary. It felt almost normal again, just like it used to.

Vanessa took a hit, exhaling slowly. “I miss those days,” she said quietly, her tone softening. “We weren’t all so broken then.”

Logan didn’t answer right away. He stared at the screen, but his mind wasn’t on the movie. He was still thinking about Wade. Vanessa’s words had lingered in his head, spinning like a record on repeat. Wade needed him. No matter how hard he tried to bury that truth, it kept surfacing.

As Vanessa passed the joint back to him, he took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his chest. He exhaled slowly, his thoughts dark and conflicted. His hands trembled slightly as he brought the joint to his lips again. He couldn’t keep running. Not from this. Not from Wade. But he also knew what it would mean if he finally took that step.

Halfway through the joint, Logan spoke, the words coming out more strained than he meant them to. “Fine,” he muttered, looking at Vanessa out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll call him. But you have to be here when I do it.”

Vanessa’s gaze softened, her lips curving into a smile. She nodded slowly, leaning back on the couch, her fingers idly toying with the edge of her shirt. “I’ll be here,” she said, her voice steady. “I’ll be right here. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Logan swallowed hard, the weight of the decision settling deeper into his chest. He didn’t want to face Wade again, not after everything. But maybe Vanessa was right—maybe he was running for no good reason. Maybe it was time to stop pretending he didn’t still care.

Logan’s thumb hovered over the screen, staring at Wade’s name. He hadn’t seen or heard from him in so long—too long. His heart hammered in his chest, but he couldn’t back out now. He’d made a decision.

Vanessa, sitting beside him, offered him a reassuring smile. She leaned forward, tapping her phone screen as she pulled up the information. “His unit is 204, extension 315,” she said, her voice low but steady. “You’ll need the security code to get through the nurse.” She rattled it off quickly, and Logan nodded, committing the numbers to memory.

He repeated the code to himself under his breath as his fingers dialed. Vanessa leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, watching him, though she kept a respectful distance. This wasn’t about her. It was about Logan and Wade.

The phone rang, each chime sending a pulse through Logan’s veins. His palms were clammy, his chest tight with anticipation. When the nurse answered, he repeated the code with shaky confidence, and after a few moments, she transferred the call.

The line rang again, but this time, when it clicked, Logan almost didn’t believe it. There, on the other end of the line, was Wade’s voice.

It was different. No slurred words, no hints of intoxication—just a clear, steady voice that almost sounded… happy.

“Hello?” Wade’s voice, though a little rough, was unmistakable. It was like a weight had lifted from Logan’s shoulders at the sound.

Logan cleared his throat, trying to steady himself, but his lips curved into a small, involuntary smile. “Hi, Wade.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, a soft chuckle. Wade’s voice was warmer now, more alive than Logan had heard in what felt like ages.

“Hi, peanut,” Wade said, his tone affectionate, teasing in that way only Wade could manage, like nothing had changed between them.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. It was such a simple word, but hearing it from Wade made him feel like he was waking up from a long, dark dream. He let out a shaky laugh, the knot in his chest loosening just slightly. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed hearing that nickname until now.

“How… how are you?” Logan managed, his voice betraying the vulnerability he hadn’t been prepared to show.

Wade paused for a moment. There was a slight rustle on the other end, the sound of a chair shifting, maybe, before Wade spoke again, softer this time. “Better,” he said simply. “Sober. For now, anyway.” His voice held a tinge of quiet pride, mixed with something more fragile underneath.

Logan felt a tightness in his throat, the surge of emotions he’d been fighting threatening to spill over. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, but he wasn’t surprised either. Wade had been his weakness and his strength all at once for so long.

“I’m… I’m glad to hear that,” Logan murmured, unable to hide the smile on his face now. “I missed you, Wade. A lot.”

There was a pause, a long beat where the world seemed to hang in the balance. Then, Wade’s voice came through again, softer, almost tentative.

“I missed you too, Logan,” he said quietly, as if those words were something difficult to admit, even now.

Logan swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat. “You… you wanna talk? Catch up or whatever?” He knew it sounded awkward, but he didn’t care. He didn’t know what else to say.

Wade laughed, and Logan could hear the faintest hint of joy in it. “Yeah, peanut. I think I’d like that.”

Wade’s voice faltered slightly as he began, a soft sigh breaking through the words. “I’m sorry, Logan. For everything. For all the shit I put you through. For making you… for making you stay when you should’ve walked away. I never meant to drag you into it, man. I hate that I did. I hate myself for it.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and Logan could hear the rawness in Wade’s voice. The usual bravado, the snark, all of it had faded, leaving only the vulnerability that Logan hadn’t heard from him in years. Maybe never.

“I didn’t know how to stop, Logan. I didn’t know how to get out of that fucking hole, and I made you live in it with me. I’m so sorry.”

Logan’s heart tightened in his chest, and he clenched his fist around the phone, trying to steady himself. He hadn’t expected Wade to come at him like this, so raw, so open. Everything inside him screamed to pull away, to harden, to protect himself. He had told himself so many times that he couldn’t go back to this—couldn’t keep letting Wade back in after everything.

But hearing the sincerity in Wade’s voice, hearing the weight of the remorse, made something crack inside of him.

Logan swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Wade,” he rasped, the sound rough from the emotion he couldn’t quite control. “You… you don’t have to say that. I… I don’t blame you for what happened, okay? But I just… I don’t know how to make it right. I don’t even know if we can anymore.”

He paused, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill. “I don’t know if I can handle that… handle you again. I was a goddamn mess too, Wade. But hearing you like this… I don’t know. It feels like I’m supposed to fix it. Like I’m supposed to take you back after everything.”

Wade’s voice softened, more vulnerable than Logan had ever heard it. “I know. I don’t expect you to just forgive me or anything. I… I know I fucked up. I just wanted you to know, man. I just wanted you to know that I really do regret it all. And that I missed you so fucking much, Logan.”

Logan’s chest ached as he held the phone, his heart pounding in his ears. It was too much—too much of everything. He had told himself he would never go back. That this was for the best. That Wade had to find his way on his own. But hearing Wade, hearing the depth of his regret, the raw honesty, and the way it echoed the longing Logan had buried so deep, made it feel impossible to stick to that decision.

Wade wasn’t the only one who had missed him. Hell, he’d never stopped missing him. But it wasn’t that simple, and Logan wasn’t sure he could open himself up again to the same pain.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” Logan muttered after a long silence, his voice thick with emotion. “I want to believe you, Wade. But after everything… I just don’t know if I can go back to being that person for you again. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough for it.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Logan could hear Wade’s breath hitch slightly, like he was trying to fight back his own emotions.

“You don’t have to be strong for me, Logan,” Wade said quietly. “I don’t need you to fix me. I just want… I just want you to be a part of my life again. Even if it’s just a little. I don’t know how to fix all this shit either, but I’m trying. I’ll always try.”

The sincerity in Wade’s voice—something so rare, so genuine—made Logan’s heart swell and break at the same time. Wade’s words didn’t make things easier, but they did something he wasn’t ready to admit. They opened up the space Logan had kept closed off for so long.

Logan rubbed his eyes, breathing out a shaky sigh. “I don’t know what this means, Wade. I don’t. But I’m not… I’m not ready to throw everything away again. Not yet. Let’s take it slow, okay?”

Wade’s laughter was quiet, almost shy. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll take it slow, peanut. I don’t expect anything else.”

Logan’s chest felt tight with all the feelings he couldn’t quite process. He wanted to hold on, wanted to say the right thing, but he was too raw, too close to breaking. So, instead, he let the words linger in the silence, the unspoken hope between them enough for now.

There was a long pause after Logan’s words, and for a moment, the silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Then, Wade’s voice broke the stillness, suddenly more casual, more like his old self.

“So, rehab,” Wade started, his tone light and almost playful, “It’s been… interesting.”

Logan could hear the smirk in his voice, and despite himself, he felt a small chuckle bubble up. It was so Wade to shift gears like this, to find the humor in a place like that.

“Okay, so there’s this one woman, right? She’s huge—like, I’m talking huge—and she’s always yelling at shadows. Just standing there, hands in the air, screaming at nothing. Every time I walk by her, I keep expecting her to start fighting off invisible ninjas or something. It’s honestly the most entertaining part of my day.”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh, his chuckle escaping louder than he’d intended. It felt good to laugh, especially after everything that had happened. Wade’s humor was like a balm, easing the tension in his chest just a little.

Wade continued, still in that nonchalant tone. “And then there’s this guy who’s convinced he’s Hitler reincarnated. Like, really convinced. He’ll sit there for hours talking about how he’s got ‘a mission to finish’ or whatever the hell that means. I mean, dude, if you’re Hitler, you’ve got one hell of a time ahead of you. He keeps asking the staff if they have any maps of Europe, so I think he’s planning something.”

Logan grinned, shaking his head. “That sounds like a fucking circus, Wade.”

“You have no idea,” Wade replied with a laugh. “It’s like a goddamn reality show in here. I’m just waiting for someone to start calling out for a fight and throw down over who gets the last of the Jell-O. And you know what? I wouldn’t even be surprised.”

There was a pause, and Logan could hear Wade shifting around on the other end of the line.

“You know,” Wade said, his voice quieter this time, “It’s not all bad, though. I’ve been reading a lot. Picked up some new card games too. I’m getting pretty damn good at blackjack, if you can believe it. And they’ve got this group therapy thing where I get to actually talk about my shit for once.” Wade’s voice dropped lower. “I never really knew how much I needed to do that. Just talk. Like, really talk.”

Logan felt a lump form in his throat again, but he didn’t say anything, letting Wade continue.

“Anyway, it’s not perfect, but it’s something. I’m still figuring it out. One day at a time, right?”

Logan nodded, even though Wade couldn’t see him. “Yeah,” he said softly. “One day at a time.”

It wasn’t a promise, but it was something. It was a start.

The conversation flowed easily between them for a while, the rhythm of their words like an old, familiar dance. Wade’s jokes and stories made Logan forget, just for a second, the weight of the past—the pain, the hurt, the confusion. He sounded better, clearer, like a part of him had finally come back to life, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Logan allowed himself to relax a little.

But then, the automated voice cut through their conversation, its sharp tone a sudden reminder of the limits of their time.

“One minute remaining.”

Logan’s heart skipped a beat at the announcement. He hadn’t expected the time to fly by so fast, but now, there it was. The clock was ticking, and their connection was running out.

Wade’s voice softened, almost hopeful. “Hey, Logan… When I get out, will I see you again?”

Logan’s stomach twisted, and for a long moment, he didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he had the right words. He wanted to say yes—wanted to say that everything would be okay, that they could figure it out. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure. Not yet.

“I don’t know yet, Wade,” he said finally, his voice rough. “We’ll see when the time comes.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Logan could almost hear the disappointment settling over Wade’s words. But Wade didn’t argue. Didn’t push.

“Alright,” Wade said quietly, the usual spark in his voice dimming a little. “I’ll… I’ll hold on to that. See you, peanut.”

Logan’s chest tightened, the words settling deep in him. “See you, Wade.”

The line went silent, and Logan stood there, holding the phone, listening to the click of the disconnect, and feeling like he was standing on the edge of something he wasn’t ready to face yet.

Logan hung up the phone slowly, his fingers lingering on the receiver as the silence settled around him. He stood there for a moment, the weight of Wade’s voice still echoing in his head. The sound of his laughter, the flicker of hope that had crept in—he hadn’t expected it to affect him like this.

Before he could stop himself, the tears started to fall.

He wiped his face roughly with his sleeve, trying to get a hold of himself, but it was no use. It wasn’t just the words Wade had said; it was the rawness, the vulnerability, the ache in his chest that had been there, buried under years of anger and pain. He loved him—god, he loved him so much—and it made everything inside him hurt. He missed Wade. Even now, when he was supposed to be moving on, Logan missed him like nothing else.

Vanessa watched him quietly from the couch, her eyes soft but concerned. She didn’t speak right away, letting him have his moment of grief. But when Logan finally took a shaky breath and looked up, her gaze didn’t waver.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Logan shook his head, almost like he was trying to shake off the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “God,” he muttered, his voice cracking, “I love him so much, and I hate that I do.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I miss him like nothing else, even though I was fucking miserable with him.”

Vanessa’s expression softened, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment. She simply reached out, offering a comforting hand on his shoulder. Logan didn’t brush her off. He let himself sink into the moment, the rawness of his feelings spilling out like a dam breaking.

“You’re not weak for this, Logan,” Vanessa said quietly. “It’s hard. Loving someone like that—especially when you know they’re not good for you, it fucks with your head. But that doesn’t mean it’s any less real.”

Logan nodded slowly, his gaze drifting away. He felt stupid for letting this consume him, but he couldn’t stop it. Wade had been so much to him, and even now, even after everything, there was a part of him that would always want to be close to him.

“I thought I was over it,” Logan muttered, his voice hoarse. “I thought I could just let him go. But when I heard his voice… it’s like nothing ever changed.”

Vanessa gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s not just about him, is it? It’s everything. The past, the mistakes, all of it.” She paused, giving him a soft, understanding smile. “But you’re not alone in this, Logan. And it’s okay to feel this way. Just don’t let it keep you from moving forward. You’ve been through too much already.”

Logan closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as he tried to steady himself. The pain was still there, but for the first time in a long time, he felt the weight of his own vulnerability. He wasn’t sure what the future held, or if he could even go back to Wade, but he knew this: he was still tangled up in all of it, and that wasn’t something he could just ignore.

“I don’t know what to do with any of it,” he whispered.

Vanessa squeezed his shoulder gently. “One step at a time. They probably tell Wade that every day. It’s kind of the motto of rehab, y’know. I think it kind of applies to everything though.” 

Logan looked over at Vanessa, a tired but genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The kind of smile that didn’t come easily these days, but felt right in that moment. His eyes met hers, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a spark of clarity—of connection.

“I get why he loved you so much,” Logan said quietly, his voice soft but full of understanding.

Vanessa blinked, clearly caught off guard by the words. Her expression softened, her lips curling into a small, fond smile. There was no hint of bitterness, no defensiveness in her gaze—just a quiet acknowledgment. She knew exactly what he meant, even if it wasn’t something she’d ever expected to hear.

“I think I loved him, too,” she admitted, her voice carrying the weight of years of her own complicated feelings. “In my own way. But we were never really in the same place at the same time, you know? Maybe that’s why it all fell apart.”

Logan nodded slowly, his eyes drifting toward the window, lost in thought. “Yeah. It’s never easy, is it? Loving someone when neither of you can quite figure it out.”

“No,” Vanessa agreed, her tone soft, almost thoughtful. “But that’s just life, I guess. Messy. Unpredictable.”

The silence between them was comfortable, but heavy with unspoken understanding. Logan wasn’t sure if he could fix what was broken with Wade—or if he even should—but in that moment, it felt like a tiny bit of the weight had been lifted, just by speaking the truth. Even if it wasn’t a perfect answer, it was a step toward something clearer.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fix it,” Logan said finally, his voice low. “But I’m not sure I can keep running from it, either.”

Vanessa studied him for a long moment before responding, her voice steady and firm. “Then don’t. Whatever happens next, just… don’t run.”

Logan met her gaze again, a hint of gratitude mixed with the usual hesitation in his eyes. He didn’t know what the future would hold. He didn’t know if he could really fix things with Wade, or if he was just kidding himself by holding on. But for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel quite so lost in it all.

“Thanks,” he muttered, his voice rough but sincere.

Vanessa gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Anytime, Logan. Anytime.”

Vanessa, as if sensing Logan’s hesitation, nudged him lightly with her elbow. “Come on,” she said, her voice bright with a playful edge. “The night’s still young. Let’s go out and live it up a little, yeah? We can go grab some drinks, maybe head over to the clubhouse. Weasel always gives cheap drinks, and it’s been way too long since we did something for ourselves.”

Logan looked at her, the tiredness still evident in his eyes but a faint spark of interest flickered in his gaze. He hadn’t been out in a while, hadn’t really let himself relax. He was always so wound up—so focused on things he couldn’t change. Maybe it was time to just… breathe. He gave a small nod, a resigned but genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, standing up from the couch. “But I’m not doing any shots, got it?”

Vanessa grinned. “No promises, but I’ll try not to twist your arm too much.”

A short while later, they found themselves walking into the clubhouse, the noise and laughter of a crowd already in full swing. Weasel was behind the bar as usual, immediately spotting them and waving them over.

“Hey, look who’s here!” he greeted loudly, setting down a couple of beer mugs. “Good to see you two—gettin’ the band back together?”

Logan grunted in response, offering a half-smile as he took a seat at the bar, while Vanessa slid onto the stool beside him. “We’re just here for a drink,” Logan said, his voice calm but amused.

Weasel smirked, pulling out a bottle of cheap whiskey. “One drink or ten, you’ll get ‘em cheap from me.”

Vanessa laughed, already eyeing the crowd, her gaze shifting over the people gathered around the room. She wasn’t the type to waste time once she’d decided on something. And sure enough, she quickly found someone—an attractive woman near the pool table, laughing with her friends. Vanessa raised an eyebrow at Logan, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“Keep your eyes on the drinks, peanut,” she teased, standing up and making her way toward the woman.

Logan grunted in acknowledgment, nursing his drink as he watched Vanessa do her thing. She wasn’t shy about it, and that confidence always made Logan chuckle, even if he didn’t share her level of boldness. He sipped his drink in silence, letting his thoughts drift for a moment before he noticed the change in the atmosphere—the easy, buzzing energy of the night starting to sink in.

Vanessa came back an hour later, a playful grin on her face and a certain glow to her that Logan had seen before.

“I think I got lucky tonight,” she said, a hint of satisfaction in her tone. “Turns out she wasn’t just good at pool.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, half-smirking as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Just don’t make me your wingman next time.”

Vanessa laughed, patting him on the shoulder as she walked off to find her new companion. Logan stayed behind, his drink almost forgotten in front of him. For a brief moment, the chaos of everything felt distant. It wasn’t a fix, wasn’t going to heal all the wounds, but it was a distraction.

And for tonight, that was enough.

The next day, Vanessa’s phone call came as expected. She sounded upbeat, but Logan could hear the slight edge of seriousness in her tone.

“Hey, Logan,” she said, a little breathless. “I just talked to Wade. He’s really excited about being released tomorrow.”

Logan’s stomach tightened at the mention of Wade’s name. He had tried not to think about it too much, but hearing it again made everything feel too real. “Yeah? How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing well. He’s nervous, but… better than I expected,” Vanessa replied. “He’s ready to move forward, Logan. I think he wants to make things right, and he really wants to talk to you when he gets out.”

Logan swallowed, but before he could say anything, Vanessa continued.

“I also wanted to let you know that I told Wade he can stay with me for a while, as long as he stays sober and gets a job. It’ll give him some stability, and he’s already working with his case manager on getting employment lined up,” she said, her voice softer now. “He’s scared, Logan. And I know he hurt you. But… maybe this is a chance for him to make things right.”

Logan leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. He had no idea how to feel. The idea of Wade staying with Vanessa made him nervous, but at the same time, it was better than being alone. Better than going back to the mess that was their life together.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Vanessa,” Logan muttered, his voice low. “I don’t know if I can handle it, especially with everything that happened.”

Vanessa’s tone softened. “I get it, Logan. But I think Wade’s trying. And maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to fix everything right away. But you’ve got to be honest with him. He wants to make things right, but he can’t do it alone.”

Logan was quiet for a long moment, the weight of Vanessa’s words pressing down on him. He had never been good at handling his emotions, let alone someone else’s. But maybe it was time to try.

“Alright,” Logan said finally, his voice rough. “I’ll think about it. I’ll… I’ll talk to him.”

“Good,” Vanessa said. “He’s looking forward to it, Logan. Just take it one step at a time.”

As the call ended, Logan stood there for a few moments, staring at the phone in his hand. He had no answers, but he knew one thing: this was far from over. Wade was coming back into his life, and Logan wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew he couldn’t keep running from it forever.

—

Wade was sitting at one of the tables in the common area, talking to a couple of other patients. The sight of him made Logan’s heart tighten in his chest.

It wasn’t the Wade he remembered—scruffy, barely hanging on to himself. No, this was someone else entirely. Wade had filled out a bit, his face fuller, and there was a healthy glow to his skin that hadn’t been there before. His long brown hair hung loose around his shoulders, the dark strands looking almost darker now that they weren’t tangled and unkempt. His face had grown a bit of stubble, and for a moment, Logan found himself caught up in how different Wade looked, how good he looked, even if it still made his stomach twist with something unfamiliar.

Wade looked up from his conversation as he felt the weight of someone’s gaze on him, and his eyes locked with Logan’s. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, followed by something soft, almost vulnerable. The look was fleeting, though, quickly replaced by a sly grin that Logan knew too well.

Logan swallowed, his breath shaky as he crossed the room toward him. He tried not to think about how much he was staring at Wade’s changed appearance. It felt strange to feel this way. He thought he was done caring. But here he was.

When he stopped a few feet away, Wade stood up slowly. His hands were in his pockets, but he still looked just a little too confident, even with the faint trace of hesitation in his posture.

“You actually came,” Wade said, his voice still the same but somehow softer, warmer. “I didn’t think you would.”

Logan took a step closer, still unsure how to feel, how to respond. His eyes flicked to Wade’s face, lingering for a second longer than they should before meeting his eyes again. He wanted to say something smart, something to mask the awkwardness that was crawling up his spine, but the words wouldn’t come.

Wade stepped forward, waiting for Logan to make the first move. His lips quirked into that familiar, crooked grin, and Logan couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten at the sight. It was so Wade.

And before Logan even had the chance to think it through, he found himself pulling Wade into a hug.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow, tentative, as if Logan was testing the waters. His arms circled around Wade carefully, the stubble on his chin grazing against Logan’s neck, and he felt the weight of Wade’s arms around him. It felt real. It felt like he might actually be letting someone back in.

When they pulled apart, Logan cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward. “This doesn’t fix everything, Wade,” he muttered, his voice rough. “It doesn’t fix anything, but I’m gonna give you a chance not to fuck this up.”

Wade nodded, his eyes soft. There was a seriousness to his gaze now that Logan wasn’t used to. “I won’t,” he said quietly, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable. “I swear. I’m not gonna mess it up again.”

Logan just looked at him for a long moment, trying to gauge if this was really real, or if it was just another act. Wade didn’t break eye contact, and for the first time in a long time, Logan felt the weight of hope settle in his chest, heavy and uncertain but there all the same.

“Alright,” Logan finally said, his voice still raw. “But you’ve got a lot to prove.”

Wade’s smile softened, and he gave Logan a small nod. “I know. And I will. I’m gonna make it right, Logan. I’m not gonna waste this.”

Logan didn’t say anything more. He just stood there, unsure of what was next but knowing that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something different. Something better.

Logan sat back in the booth, trying not to stare too much at Wade, though it was becoming nearly impossible. Wade looked so different—healthier, more grounded, like a person Logan had almost forgotten existed. It made his stomach flip in all the right and wrong ways.

Vanessa, ever the instigator, glanced between the two men before leaning forward slightly. “So, Wade,” she said casually, her voice smooth but with a knowing edge. “Now that you’re out of rehab and doing better, what’s next for you? What are you gonna do?”

Wade paused, then shrugged nonchalantly, swirling his glass of water. “Well, I’ve got a case manager who’s been working with me on finding a job. I don’t really know what I want to do yet, but at least I’m sober enough to make a decision, y’know?”

He leaned back, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at Logan, as if testing the waters. “Maybe I’ll go back to something I used to enjoy. Maybe something a little more stable. But I’m not gonna lie, it’s gonna be tough. One day at a time, right?”

Logan nodded, his eyes momentarily catching Wade’s, and he saw the flicker of hope in Wade’s expression. It was the first time in a long time that Wade wasn’t just trying to escape or numb himself—he was facing the future head-on, however uncertain it might be.

Vanessa raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “And what about the rest of your life, Wade? You’ve got a place to stay, you’ve got a chance at a job—what do you really want for yourself?”

Wade’s smile faltered just slightly as he leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. “I guess… I just want to be able to keep going. To not be stuck in the same cycles. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore, especially not myself. And maybe I’d like to do some good for a change. I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true.”

Logan’s heart skipped a beat as he listened to Wade speak—hearing him express what felt like a real, genuine desire for a better life, for something that wasn’t weighed down by addiction or pain. Logan hadn’t expected this from him.

“So, you’re not planning on running away from yourself again, huh?” Logan muttered, trying to sound casual, though the words came out more loaded than he’d intended.

Wade looked up at Logan, his gaze soft but steady. “No. I think I’m done running. At least, I hope I am.”

The sincerity in Wade’s voice hit Logan harder than he expected. He had no idea how to process all of this—how to reconcile the man in front of him with the one who had torn him apart just months ago. All the anger, all the hurt, seemed to fade away in that moment, replaced with something softer, more fragile.

Vanessa watched the two of them, a smirk playing on her lips. “You two really are a piece of work, you know that?”

Logan shifted uncomfortably, his gaze falling to the table. “Don’t start.”

Wade grinned, the old mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “What, you don’t want to get back to your grumpy loner thing, Logan? Come on, I know you missed me.”

Logan shot Wade a pointed look, but the smile tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed him. Wade was back to his old self, in the best way possible—without the chaos, without the self-destruction. And Logan couldn’t quite get over how much that made his chest ache.

“Yeah, well, don’t make me regret it,” Logan muttered.

Wade leaned back, his expression turning more thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ll make you regret it this time.”

Vanessa looked between the two men, sensing the unspoken tension in the air. She cleared her throat, offering Logan a small, knowing smile before turning to Wade. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not dealing with the old Wade anymore, huh?”

Wade chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re right. That guy… he was a mess. I’m still a mess, but it’s a different kind of mess now.”

Logan let out a low laugh, leaning back in his seat, but his mind was still reeling from the conversation. It was so strange, so surreal, hearing Wade speak like this—like he actually had a shot at something better. Logan wanted to believe it. He wanted to trust that Wade had really changed. But he couldn’t shake the fear that it was all temporary, that Wade would slip back into the old patterns. A part of him was also bothered by the fact that he was speaking about everything like it was so long ago, when for Logan it was so fresh. Wade had no idea what it was like finding him the way he did. You can’t just erase those images from your mind.

But maybe, just maybe, this time things could be different.

Vanessa caught his gaze, giving him a sly look. “You’ve got a lot to think about, huh?”

Logan nodded slowly, still trying to process everything. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Logan couldn’t help but keep staring. Wade had changed so much in the best ways—his hair was longer, dark and thick, hanging over his shoulders in messy waves that somehow suited him. He looked… good. No, better than good. Logan had always been drawn to that scruffy look, the kind of careless charm that Wade wore effortlessly. But this—this was different. Wade looked healthy, stronger, and just… so damn attractive. The little bit of stubble on his jawline only added to it, making Logan’s chest tighten in ways he wasn’t ready to admit.

He shoved the thought aside. Focus, Logan. He couldn’t let his mind go there. Wade wasn’t the same person he had been, and neither was Logan. They couldn’t just pick up where they left off—especially not after everything that had happened. The emotional damage alone was enough to make Logan want to run far, far away.

Vanessa’s tap on his leg snapped him out of his spiral of thoughts, her knowing look pulling his attention back to the present. She raised an eyebrow at him, almost as if daring him to say something.

Logan cleared his throat, glancing at Wade who was now laughing at some joke he’d made, his eyes still sparkling with that mischievous glint that Logan used to love. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile all of this—the new Wade with the old one, the one who had broken his heart.

They paid the bill, and Wade leaned back, stretching in the booth with a satisfied sigh. “Man, I am full. You guys are gonna have to roll me out of here.”

Logan glanced at him, unsure why the simple moment felt so heavy. He stood up suddenly, his mind made up. “Alright, I’m heading out. It’s not far from Vanessa’s place, so you guys can walk.”

Wade’s face flickered with something Logan didn’t quite catch—disappointment? Maybe even a little hurt? He hadn’t thought much about what it meant when he decided to leave. He hadn’t expected Wade to care so much, especially after everything that had happened. After everything Wade had put him through.

But as Wade’s expression dropped, Logan’s stomach twisted. Wade’s hand brushed against his, just briefly, like he wanted to say something more but didn’t know how. It was that kind of hesitation that reminded Logan how much had been left unsaid between them.

Wade cleared his throat, trying to mask his disappointment with a forced smile. “Oh… alright. Just… take care of yourself, okay?”

The words stung, even though Wade had tried to keep it casual. It was that reminder—that even though Wade had changed, their past couldn’t just be wiped away. Wade was still carrying the weight of their history, just as Logan was.

Logan nodded, fighting the lump in his throat. “I will, Wade. You too.”

He turned, heading for the door before he could second-guess himself. Don’t look back, he told himself. Just walk out.

But of course, as he pulled the door open, he couldn’t help but glance back one last time.

Wade was still sitting there, the weight of their unspoken words hanging in the air between them. Vanessa was talking to him now, her tone light, but there was a tension Logan couldn’t ignore. She was the one who had helped Wade get clean, and it was clear she cared about him.

It made Logan’s chest ache.

He shut the door behind him, walking out into the night air with no real destination in mind. He sat back in the drivers seat of his shit box. 

Back inside, Vanessa and Wade sat in the quiet, the clink of silverware on plates the only sound between them. Wade pushed his plate aside, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table.

“You think I fucked that up?” he asked softly, his voice carrying the weight of his regret.

Vanessa watched him closely, her eyes soft but knowing. “You mean with Logan? No. But you’ve gotta give him space, Wade. You can’t just expect him to jump back into your life after… well… everything.”

“I know,” Wade murmured, looking down at the table, his fingers tracing the edge of his cup absentmindedly. “I guess I just… I forgot for a second, you know? Thought maybe… maybe I could make up for it all and everything would be fine.” He sighed deeply. “I’m not the same guy anymore, but I still feel like I’ve got a mountain to climb.”

Vanessa tilted her head, her expression softening. “You do. But you’ve already started climbing. One step at a time. And don’t think for a second that Logan doesn’t see that. He’s just scared. He doesn’t want to get hurt again.”

Wade nodded slowly, his gaze drifting out the window. “I know. I just… miss him so much. It’s like a part of me is still with him, and it won’t ever go away.”

Vanessa smiled sadly, her hand briefly brushing his. “You’ll get there, Wade. Just be patient.”

But as Wade sat there, he couldn’t shake the feeling that even though he was sober, even though he was trying, the distance between him and Logan was something that couldn’t just be erased. Not in one night. And not in one conversation.

Vanessa unlocked the door to her apartment and pushed it open with a grin. “Home sweet home,” she announced, gesturing dramatically as she stepped aside to let Wade in.

Wade followed, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He looked around the space—small but comfortable, the kind of place that felt lived in without being messy. A few houseplants lined the windowsill, their leaves catching the soft glow of a lamp. There was a well-worn couch, a bookshelf stuffed with novels and knickknacks, and even a faint smell of vanilla in the air.

“Damn,” Wade said, tossing his bag onto the floor and stretching his arms over his head. “Place is nicer than I remember. Smells nice, too. You clean up for me, or is this how you live all the time?”

Vanessa rolled her eyes, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter. “It’s how I live all the time, you jerk. But I did make a little extra effort since I knew you were coming.” She smiled and gestured for him to follow her down the short hallway.

She led him to a spare room she’d clearly put some thought into—clean sheets on the bed, fresh towels folded neatly on top, and a lamp already turned on to make the space feel warm. There was even a small potted plant sitting on the windowsill.

Wade’s eyes widened, and his voice dropped, a little softer than before. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Vanessa shrugged, brushing off the sentiment as she leaned against the doorframe. “You deserved a proper welcome home. And—” she reached over to the desk and grabbed something wrapped in brown paper, holding it out to him—“I got you a little something. Celebration gift.”

Wade took the package hesitantly, as if it might disappear if he wasn’t careful. He sat down on the edge of the bed and began unwrapping it, his fingers moving slower than usual. When the paper fell away, he found a leather-bound journal and a pen tucked into the spine. It was simple but thoughtful.

“Figured you might want a place to keep your thoughts,” Vanessa said softly, watching him. “Or draw dicks in the margins, whatever works for you.”

Wade barked a laugh at that, though his eyes glistened faintly as he ran his thumb over the smooth cover. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I try,” Vanessa said, smiling. “Now, unpack your stuff. I’ll order a pizza. You’re not getting out of a welcome-back hangout.”

Wade grinned, feeling something rare settle in his chest—peace. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe.

Logan slammed the door to his flat behind him and tossed his keys onto the table with a clatter. The place was quiet, dimly lit by the streetlight filtering through the window. He kicked off his boots and pulled a beer from the fridge, twisting the cap off and leaning against the counter.

He stared at the bottle for a long moment, the amber liquid swirling in the neck.

He looked good. Too good.

Logan didn’t know what to do with the knot that had been twisting in his gut since the diner. He couldn’t shake the image of Wade—the healthier version of him, the man he’d once loved, now carrying himself with a kind of lightness Logan hadn’t seen in years. It was infuriating how much it made him feel. How much it made him want.

Logan tipped the beer back and drank it down in long, angry gulps. He wasn’t sure who he was angry at—himself, Wade, the universe for pulling him back into this mess.

When the bottle was empty, he stared at it in his hand. His reflection warped in the glass, his own tired eyes staring back at him. He was still stuck—stuck in the same damn spot, spinning his wheels while Wade had managed to climb out of the pit they’d both been in. Wade had climbed out, and hardly had to deal with any of the consequences. He was supposed to what?— forget all the nights they made each other feel like dirt? Beat each other up? Got too high to function? Lived in squalor?

Sure, it hadn’t been as bad in the beginning, but it was pretty damn close, and Wade wasn’t exactly clean when they got together either. Logan just had his own problems and thought he could shove them to the side. Because he was in love, and he felt obligated to try and fix him. 

Logan gritted his teeth and hurled the bottle across the kitchen. It shattered against the wall, the sharp sound echoing through the flat. Shards of glass rained down, glittering in the dim light.

He stood there, breathing hard, his fists clenched at his sides. He hated this. Hated how far Wade had come when he was still stuck with all this…. Hurt. He hated how badly he wanted him back, how badly he wanted to act like nothing had ever happened. Because Logan was a forgiving person— almost too much. 

Logan sank to the floor, resting his back against the cabinets as he ran his hands through his hair. The sticky smell of beer mixed with the frustration boiling in his chest.

“Get your shit together,” he muttered to himself, his voice a low growl. But no matter how hard he tried to shove it all down, he couldn’t deny the truth gnawing at him.

He missed Wade. He missed him so much it hurt. And for the first time in a long time, Logan wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to do next.

Logan pushed through the heavy oak doors of the bar, letting the humid air of the night give way to the cooler, dimly lit interior. The place smelled like stale beer, cheap cologne, and desperation—all the things he needed tonight. It wasn’t his usual spot, but that was the point. No one here would know him, and more importantly, no one would know what he was running from.

He made his way to the bar, the sticky floor clinging to his boots. His eyes skimmed the crowd—men and women hunched over drinks, couples pressed into dark corners. The place was a melting pot of rough edges, calloused hands, and tired eyes. Exactly his speed.

Logan ordered a whiskey neat and leaned against the counter, scanning faces. He wasn’t looking for anything—or so he told himself—but then his gaze landed on him.

He was leaning against the far wall, casually sipping a beer, and Logan couldn’t help but notice how his long legs stretched out in front of him like he owned the joint. His hair was dark brown, almost black, curling just slightly at the ends. A trimmed beard framed his jawline, and his sharp cheekbones were made for trouble. He wore a black leather jacket over a gray Henley that clung to his chest and shoulders in a way that made Logan’s mouth go dry.

What caught Logan’s attention most, though, was the small flash of orange peeking out of the guy’s back pocket—a handkerchief, tucked into the left side of his tight jeans. Logan knew the code, of course. Anything, anywhere.

He swallowed hard and knocked back the rest of his whiskey before moving toward him.

The guy looked up as Logan approached, a slow, easy grin spreading across his face. His green eyes glinted in the low light, sharp as a wolf’s.

“Hey there,” the man drawled, his voice low and smooth, the kind that could talk you into anything. “Didn’t think I’d catch anyone’s attention tonight.”

Logan shrugged, forcing himself to act casual. “You looked like you wouldn’t mind catching it.”

The guy chuckled, tilting his beer toward Logan. “Guilty as charged. Name’s Aiden. What can I call you?”

“Logan,” he muttered, extending a hand.

Aiden shook it, his grip firm and lingering just a second too long. He gestured to the stool beside him. “You drinkin’ alone?”

“Not anymore,” Logan said, sliding into the seat.

A couple of drinks and a lot of conversation later, Logan was feeling loose enough to follow Aiden out of the bar. The guy was easy to talk to, easy to look at, and easy to say yes to when he suggested they head back to his place.

The walk to Aiden’s apartment was short, just a few blocks away. It was a small, clean place with minimal furniture—just a leather couch, a TV mounted on the wall, and a bed shoved against one corner.

As soon as the door closed, Aiden was on him, pressing him back against the wall. His lips were warm and insistent, his hands sliding under Logan’s shirt to skim over his stomach.

Aiden leaned into Logan with a grin that practically purred confidence, his lips brushing lightly against Logan’s ear. His hands were steady, skilled, tracing over the lines of Logan’s chest like he already knew what he wanted and how to take it.

Logan let himself be pushed back toward the couch, his boots thudding against the floor as Aiden’s weight pressed against him. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation—the heat of another body, the rough scrape of stubble against his jaw. For a moment, he thought he could get lost in it, drown out the noise in his head, forget.

But the harder he tried, the clearer the image became.

The hands on his chest didn’t feel like Aiden’s anymore—they felt like Wade’s, larger and calloused, the way they always lingered just a second longer than they needed to. The soft murmur in his ear became Wade’s voice, all sarcastic charm and sharp edges, cutting through the fog in his mind.

Logan’s heart clenched as he opened his eyes. The dim room around him blurred, his gaze fixed on Aiden’s face. But it wasn’t Aiden he saw. It was Wade—laughing, teasing, pulling him in and never letting go.

The weight on his chest wasn’t lust anymore. It was grief. Guilt. And that same relentless pull he’d been fighting ever since he saw Wade again.

Aiden kissed him, slow and deep, but Logan froze. His hands stayed at his sides, useless. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like what he wanted. It didn’t feel like Wade.

Logan’s breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut. What the hell am I doing?

The couch creaked under them as Aiden shifted, his brow furrowing. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice dipping into concern. “You okay?” 

Logan didn’t answer at first. He couldn’t. His throat felt tight, his chest heavy.

“You’re not here,” Aiden said gently, pulling back. His green eyes searched Logan’s face, looking for answers he wouldn’t find. “Whoever it is, it’s not me, huh?”

Logan sat up abruptly, scrubbing a rough hand down his face. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t get a full breath no matter how hard he tried. “I—I thought I could do this. But I can’t.”

Aiden cocked his head, the faintest smirk playing at the edge of his lips as he leaned back slightly. “Hey, relax. No need to get all worked up about it.” He stretched out an arm over the back of the couch, casual, as if this happened all the time. “If it’s a no-strings kind of thing, just… imagine I’m whoever you want me to be. Doesn’t bother me any.”

Logan froze. His gut twisted violently at the suggestion, the words ringing in his ears like a challenge he didn’t want to hear.

Aiden shrugged, his eyes scanning Logan’s face. “Look, I get it. We all have our baggage, right? Doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.” He said it like it was the easiest thing in the world, a simple fix for a complicated problem.

Logan’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. The couch felt too small, the room too close. He forced himself to meet Aiden’s gaze, and for a brief, horrible moment, he almost considered it.

Just imagine.

The thought made his stomach churn. Wade’s face flashed in his mind, unbidden—the way his smile lit up a room, the annoying snort of his laugh, the feel of his calloused hands lingering on Logan’s skin.

He couldn’t do it. Not like this.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Logan muttered, shaking his head as he stood up. He grabbed his jacket off the armrest, the leather crumpling in his fists. “This was a mistake.”

Aiden sighed, standing as well, though there wasn’t any real anger in his expression. “Suit yourself, man.” He lifted his hands in mock surrender, offering a crooked grin. “But you should probably stop looking for ghosts in places they don’t belong.”

Logan didn’t respond. He turned on his heel, walking out without another word.

The second the door clicked shut behind him, Logan let out a shaky breath, his chest burning with frustration. The cold air bit at his skin as he stepped out into the night, but it couldn’t touch the heat boiling under his ribs.

“Just imagine,” he muttered bitterly, spitting the words out like poison. His fists clenched in his pockets as he walked, his boots heavy on the pavement.

As if that would ever work.

Because Wade wasn’t just anyone. And Logan couldn’t pretend otherwise, no matter how hard he tried.

Vanessa’s apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of her playlist echoing from the cheap speaker in the corner. She lay tangled in the sheets with Wade, both of them catching their breath, her dark hair spilling over the pillow like ink. She grinned lazily, stretching her arms above her head.

“Well,” she murmured, smug and satisfied, “that was fun. Not bad for a guy fresh out of rehab.”

Wade snorted, his face half-buried in the crook of his arm. “Hey, I’m nothing if not a giver.”

Vanessa laughed, soft and genuine, and rolled onto her side to look at him. “You gonna get all weird about this? Because I’m not. Just scratching an itch.”

“Me? Weird?” Wade grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah. Just glad someone still thinks I’m a catch.”

It was mostly true. It felt good to be here, to be wanted again, even if it wasn’t serious. Wade hadn’t touched anyone—or been touched—in a long time. Rehab didn’t exactly encourage that kind of thing, and even if it had, he hadn’t trusted himself. Now, though, with his head clear and his hands steady, it felt like the itch Vanessa had mentioned had been burning under his skin for months.

And yet…

As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t shake the nagging guilt twisting in his gut. Because for all the laughs and the easy, familiar rhythm between them, Wade’s mind had gone somewhere else. Somewhere he knew it shouldn’t have.

Logan.

It had happened without him even realizing it. At some point—somewhere between the scrape of nails on his back and the teasing words whispered in his ear—Vanessa had melted away. It wasn’t her mouth he imagined, or her hands. It wasn’t her voice.

It was his.

The gravelly, deep timbre of Logan’s words in his ear, his weight pressing down, his face close enough that Wade could see the faint scar that cut through his bottom lip. Wade had seen him just earlier that day, but it had been enough to send his mind spiraling. Logan’s hair—longer now, a little wild—the way his flannel clung to broad shoulders, the way he still smelled faintly like smoke and leather when he’d leaned in at the diner.

And now Wade hated himself for it.

Because it wasn’t fair to Vanessa. Because it wasn’t fair to Logan. Because the only thing worse than wanting someone you couldn’t have was pretending someone else was them.

“Hey,” Vanessa said softly, nudging his arm. “You still with me, or did I knock you out cold?”

Wade forced a smirk, turning his head toward her. “Just basking in the afterglow, Ness. Give me a minute to recover.”

She arched a brow, unconvinced. “You sure? You got quiet there.”

“I’m fine,” he lied, reaching for the cigarette on her nightstand and lighting it with a flick of her cheap lighter. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling through his nose. Anything to keep his mouth occupied. Anything to keep from saying something stupid.

Vanessa watched him for a moment, her expression softening. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Me? Nah. Thinking’s not really my thing, remember?” He forced a chuckle, but it sounded brittle.

Vanessa didn’t push. She simply lay back again, content to let him have his space.

Wade stared at the ceiling, cigarette dangling between his fingers, and swallowed the bitter taste rising in his throat. He’d wanted this—connection, distraction, whatever you wanted to call it—but all it had done was leave him feeling emptier than before.

Because it wasn’t Logan.

And now, even in his clearest moments, Wade couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Wade lay there for a while, smoke curling lazily up toward the ceiling, his thoughts a mess. The cigarette burned down to the filter before he realized it, and he hissed softly, stubbing it out in the ashtray. Vanessa’s breathing had evened out beside him, her dark lashes brushing her cheeks as she dozed.

He shifted quietly, sitting up at the edge of the bed. The night outside her window was still, the soft glow of streetlights filtering through half-closed blinds. Wade ran a hand through his long hair, tangling his fingers in the strands as he tried to shove the guilt down, but it lingered like acid in his chest.

Logan.

Even when he didn’t want to, even when he swore to himself he wouldn’t—Logan still occupied the corners of his mind like a stubborn ghost. That scruffy bastard with the gravel voice and rough edges had burned himself into Wade’s thoughts, and now, even here, even after he’d just been with someone, Wade felt lonelier than ever.

He rubbed a hand down his face, letting out a long, shaky breath. The man had seen him at his worst—been there through the screaming matches, the passed-out nights, the endless cycle of self-destruction—and he still hadn’t been enough for Wade to get his shit together. Wade hadn’t deserved him then. Hell, he probably didn’t deserve him now.

But God, did he want him.

“Wade?” Vanessa’s voice broke through the silence, soft and half-asleep.

He froze for a moment before glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Her eyes barely opened as she shifted against the sheets, watching him. “You’re thinking too hard again. You good?”

“Yeah,” he lied, voice rough. “Just can’t sleep. Might grab some water or something.”

Vanessa didn’t question it, just made a quiet noise of acknowledgment before rolling over and burying her face in the pillow. Wade stood and padded out of the room, careful not to wake her again.

In the kitchen, he opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting off the cap and taking a long drink. The cold felt sharp in his throat, a jolt against the warmth of the apartment. He leaned against the counter, staring blankly at nothing, letting the quiet settle around him.

But his mind wouldn’t shut up.

He thought about Logan at the diner earlier that day—how he’d looked across the booth at Wade like he was seeing someone unfamiliar. Wade had seen the conflict in his eyes, that flicker of something raw and vulnerable before Logan had shoved it down and hidden behind gruff words. Wade hadn’t missed the way Logan’s gaze lingered on him, though—on the longer hair, the stubble, the way he’d filled back out into his own skin.

For a moment—just a moment—Wade had let himself believe that maybe he was good enough again.

But now, standing alone in Vanessa’s kitchen in the middle of the night, Wade wondered if he’d ever really be enough.

He stared at his reflection in the dark window, water bottle dangling from his hand. His own face stared back—healthier, sure, but still Wade Wilson. Still the same man who’d fucked it all up. He still was the bruises and cuts, and track marks. It was only two and a half months ago now, but everything… it felt so far away— and he knew it wasn’t. 

With a sigh, he set the water bottle on the counter and scrubbed both hands through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots.

“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself. “You’re not that guy right now.”

He wanted to believe it. Hell, maybe even Logan wanted to believe it. But Wade knew better than anyone that wanting something didn’t make it real.

He turned the light off and headed back to bed, slipping quietly beneath the sheets beside Vanessa. She didn’t stir this time, and Wade was grateful for the silence. He lay there, staring at the ceiling again, wondering how the hell you fixed something that was broken so far beyond repair.

The next morning, Wade sat at Vanessa’s kitchen table with a cup of coffee, his hair tied back loosely to keep it out of his face. Vanessa moved around the kitchen barefoot, yawning as she dug through a cabinet for cereal.

“You’re quiet today,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

Wade smirked faintly, swirling the coffee in his mug. “Me? Never. Just enjoying my morning existential crisis in peace.”

“Ah, I see,” she teased, shaking the cereal box and pouring some into a bowl. “Let me know when you come up with any life-changing revelations.”

“Will do, Ness,” he replied, though his heart wasn’t really in it.

As she poured milk into her bowl, her phone buzzed on the counter. She grabbed it absentmindedly, glancing at the screen. “Huh. It’s Logan.”

Wade froze mid-sip, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. “Logan?” he repeated, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah.” Vanessa frowned at the message, reading it quickly. “He says he wants to meet up later. Something about needing to talk.”

Wade’s stomach twisted, the coffee suddenly sitting heavy in his gut. “Talk about what?”

Vanessa shrugged, plopping down in the chair across from him with her cereal. “Didn’t say. Maybe it’s about you. Maybe he just needs a drinking buddy.”

Wade stared into his mug, swirling the dark liquid again. “Doubt it’s about me,” he muttered.

Vanessa chewed a bite of cereal, watching him carefully. “You don’t know that. Maybe he’s just figuring shit out, too.”

Wade didn’t answer. He just sat there, the familiar ache in his chest blooming all over again.

Vanessa leaned over the counter, showing off just enough cleavage to draw Wade’s attention, her voice playful and teasing. “Youuuu wanna go again? As friends, of course.”

Wade’s eyes dropped automatically—because, well, he’s Wade—and then flicked back up to her face with a lopsided grin. “You’re an enabler, you know that?”

“Hey, I’m doing you a favor here, champ,” she shot back, smirking. “You’ve been out of the game for months. I’m just trying to get you back into fighting shape.”

Wade dragged a hand through his messy hair, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan. “God, you’re a saint, Vanessa. Truly. A missionary of charity. But for purely medical reasons, I might need a minute. I’m outta practice. This fine machine’s still got some kinks to work out.”

Vanessa tilted her head, grin widening as she walked around the counter to sit beside him. “Kinks, huh? I didn’t think you were one to shy away from those.”

Wade barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not! I’m just…” He trailed off, looking at her for a beat longer than he meant to. His smile faltered, just a fraction, before he plastered it back on. “I’m just trying not to overwhelm you with my glorious comeback. I gotta ease you into this, Ness.”

“Sure,” she teased, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Because I wouldn’t be able to handle you.”

“You absolutely couldn’t,” Wade shot back, but his voice was softer now, like he wasn’t really talking about the joke anymore.

Vanessa looked at him for a moment, her smirk dimming just slightly as she read between the lines like she always did. “Hey,” she said gently, bumping her knee against his. “You’re doing good, Wade. Don’t overthink it.”

He blinked at her, lips parting like he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he said quietly, running his thumb over the rim of his coffee mug. “Yeah, I know.”

Vanessa gave him a look, half knowing, half fond, before letting the teasing creep back in. “So, for real—when you’re ready to get back on the horse, you know where to find me. No pressure, no strings.”

Wade shot her a crooked grin, his usual bravado sliding back into place. “Vanessa, baby, you are too good to me.”

“I know,” she said with a wink, grabbing her cereal bowl and walking back to the kitchen.

Wade watched her go, his smile lingering a little longer this time. For all his jokes, for all the chaos still bouncing around his head, it felt nice to feel normal—if only for a little while.

And maybe Vanessa was right. Maybe he was doing okay. He just wished he could believe it.

Wade leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as Vanessa disappeared into the kitchen. He scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a low groan. Wow, me. Denying sex with the hottest woman ever—who also happens to be my ex and now my roommate—because I’m hung up on my other ex. The one I was absolutely fucking horrible to.

He dropped his hand and stared at the half-empty coffee mug in front of him. What’s next, Wade? Joining a convent? Swearing off tacos?

His lips twitched into a small, humorless smile. As ridiculous as it sounded, the weight of it all pressed down on him. Here he was, freshly sober, living with a woman who probably deserved a medal for putting up with his bullshit, and yet all he could think about was Logan. The way Logan looked at him when he first got clean, the way he’d said this doesn’t fix anything, and how much it hurt to know he was right.

And yet, Logan still stayed in his head. His stupid, grumpy, ridiculously attractive head, haunting Wade like a shadow he couldn’t shake. Wade wanted to think about anything else—anyone else—but the truth was, Logan was the first thought in the morning and the last one before he passed out at night.

God, I’m a mess, Wade thought, smirking bitterly to himself. But at least I’m a hot mess now.

Vanessa’s voice called out from the kitchen, breaking his spiral. “You okay out there, or are you spiraling into existential doom again?”

Wade blinked and glanced over his shoulder, forcing a grin. “Me? Doom? Nah, babe, just basking in the glory of my personal growth. You know, turning down sex and all. I’m practically Gandhi now.”

She peeked around the corner, one eyebrow arched. “Gandhi, huh? Guess I should’ve made tacos instead of cereal if you’re going full monk on me.”

Wade let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’d still eat the tacos. I’m not a psycho.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes but smiled, and Wade leaned back in his chair again, his grin fading slightly as his thoughts drifted back to Logan.

Yeah, you’re really killing it, Wilson. Denying the hottest woman ever because of a guy you couldn’t even hold on to without wrecking him. Hell of a track record.

—

Got it! Let’s tweak that interaction to show the warmth and undeniable connection between them despite the distance. Here’s a softer and more heartfelt scene:

The Unexpected Encounter

A few weeks had passed since Logan and Wade last spoke. They were both caught in their own worlds—Wade working on his recovery and trying to rebuild his life, and Logan, well, still running from whatever it was that pulled him toward Wade. He’d taken a few steps toward moving on, but every day felt like pushing against the tide, the pull of something deeper always gnawing at him.

One evening, Logan found himself wandering the streets, deep in thought, trying to ignore the aching pull in his chest that he hadn’t quite figured out. His feet carried him through the familiar streets, the noise of the city around him muffled as his mind raced with questions he didn’t have answers for.

He was passing by a small corner shop when he heard a voice that made his heart skip—so familiar, so unsettling.

“Logan.”

He froze.

Turning, he found Wade standing across the street, a few steps away, his casual grin hiding the slight vulnerability in his eyes. He looked… different. The kind of different that made Logan pause—his hair was a little longer, his face fuller, a stubbled jawline, but the smile? That smile was still the same one Logan remembered. The one that somehow got under his skin, even when he didn’t want it to.

Logan’s mouth felt dry, and he instinctively rubbed the back of his neck. “Wade,” he said, almost in disbelief, as if he hadn’t expected to see him there. He should’ve known. This city was too small.

“Yeah,” Wade smirked, his hands in his pockets, looking like he had all the time in the world. “Guess I’m not as good at avoiding people as I thought.” His eyes softened as he took in Logan, noting the tension in his posture.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just stood there, the distance between them palpable, but Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that they were connected somehow—like it had never really broken.

Wade shifted on his feet, breaking the silence. “I was, uh, just grabbing some air. Didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Logan couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up. “Neither did I.” He stepped forward, only to stop himself. “How’ve you been?” he asked, unsure if it was a question he actually wanted the answer to, or if he was just making conversation to fill the awkward space.

Wade leaned back against a nearby light pole, his eyes glimmering with that mix of playfulness and something deeper Logan couldn’t quite place. “Same as always, man. Getting by. Sobriety’s not easy, but I’m making it work. Got a meeting with my sponsor in an hour.” He glanced at Logan, raising an eyebrow. “You look… like you’ve been keeping busy yourself.”

Logan shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t get past the feeling of Wade being right there in front of him, but so far out of reach. But he didn’t want to make this awkward. He didn’t want to fuck it up.

“So, what now?” Wade asked after a beat, his voice softer than before, as if he was waiting for Logan to make the first move. “I mean, I’m just doing my thing, but… maybe we could talk more?”

Logan nodded slowly, his throat tightening. “Yeah,” he said, then quickly cleared his throat. “Maybe we could. You know, catch up. I’m… I’m glad to see you doing better, Wade.”

There was a pause, just the two of them standing there, the streetlights casting a gentle glow over their faces, illuminating the unspoken things between them.

Wade gave a small laugh, like he was almost embarrassed by the sincerity of the moment. “Yeah, well, baby steps. But I think I’m on the right track now. I mean, I know I still got a long way to go, but it feels better than it did before.”

Logan stepped forward, closer now, until they were standing just a few feet apart. For a moment, it felt like the old tension, the old spark, was creeping back in, subtle and undeniable. He swallowed hard.

“You’re not the only one trying to figure things out, you know?” Logan said quietly, looking away for a second as he tried to keep his composure.

Wade gave him a look, like he was reading Logan in a way that felt too familiar. “What do you mean by that, Logan?”

Logan hesitated, but then the words tumbled out before he could stop them. “I’m still figuring out how to… how to not want to fix everything with you. I’m still, uh, trying to figure out if I should even try. But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Wade took a step forward then, his gaze softening as he regarded Logan. There was no bravado, no deflection. Just Wade, standing there, a little unsure, but open.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. So when you’re ready, we can talk more. Or not. Whatever you need, Logan.”

Logan swallowed again, and in that moment, the wall he’d built around himself seemed to crumble just a little bit. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get the words out, Wade nodded toward the street corner.

“I gotta go to that meeting,” Wade said with a small smile. “But, uh… maybe next time, yeah?”

Logan didn’t want him to go, but he didn’t want to hold him there, either. “Yeah, next time.” He gave him a nod, though he still stood frozen for a second, watching Wade turn and walk down the street.

As Wade disappeared around the corner, Logan felt the familiar ache in his chest, but this time it wasn’t something that felt like a weight. It was lighter, somehow, like the door had cracked open just a little.

Wade’s Meeting with Jubilee

Wade sat slouched in the chair, his legs sprawled out in front of him, fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie. He looked healthier—clean-shaven today, his hair pulled back into a small ponytail—but there were shadows under his eyes, and Jubilee noticed the way he kept chewing on his lip like he was working up to something.

Jubilee settled into her chair across from him, spinning a pen idly between her fingers. “So,” she started, letting her voice fall somewhere between casual and probing, “what’s going on with that Logan guy?”

Wade froze for just a beat, his hand stopping mid-fidget, before he forced out a shaky chuckle. “We’re opening with that? Not a ‘hey Wade, you look devastatingly handsome today, how’s life treating you?’”

“I see you every week, Wilson. Don’t fish for compliments, you know you’re a seven on a good day,” Jubilee teased. Then, more seriously, “Come on, last time we talked you said you and Vanessa were… well, getting intimate again. Still doing that?”

Wade blinked, startled, then shook his head. “Nah, we’re done with that now. It was…” He trailed off, rolling his eyes at himself. “It was a bad idea. Fun, sure, but I wasn’t exactly in it, you know? I couldn’t even—” He stopped himself abruptly and waved his hands. “Never mind. Not important.”

Jubilee quirked an eyebrow. “That’s not avoiding anything at all. So spill.”

Wade groaned and rubbed at his face. “I hate you sometimes, Jubes.”

“Yeah, yeah. Talk.”

He dropped his hands and stared at the floor for a moment, suddenly looking smaller. “Logan, huh?” His voice was quieter now. “Yeah. He’s… He was everything, you know? Until I made him nothing. I tore that guy to shreds. You’d think I’d stabbed him, the way he looked at me by the end.”

Jubilee softened her posture, recognizing the shift in Wade’s tone. “What happened? Like really, Wade. Not the bullshit version you joke about.”

Wade let out a long breath, his chest deflating like he was releasing something he didn’t want to let go. “What didn’t happen?” he muttered bitterly. “We were great when we were good. When we weren’t? It was bad. Ugly bad.” He hesitated before continuing, his voice unsteady. “We got mean. Both of us. He’d yell. I’d scream back. It wasn’t just words, either.”

Jubilee stilled, her eyes narrowing in concern. “Wade…”

Wade’s laugh was humorless, hollow. “Yeah. I know.” His gaze stayed fixed on a spot on the floor, like looking at Jubilee would burn. “There was one time, this really stupid fight—hell, I don’t even remember what started it. I was probably high. Logan was probably drunk. It doesn’t matter. I said something I shouldn’t have, and he grabbed me by the arm. Didn’t even hurt me, just—held me there, like he was daring me to keep going.”

He paused, the memory visibly replaying in his mind. His voice went quieter. “And I hit him. First.”

Jubilee’s expression didn’t shift, but Wade saw the flicker of something—sadness, maybe?—in her eyes. She didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t even remember doing it,” Wade continued, his voice hoarse. “Just this—snap. And then his eyes. He didn’t hit me back. You’d think he would’ve, right? Considering what he is, who he is? But no. He just looked at me, like…” Wade swallowed hard. “Like he didn’t even know who I was anymore. And that broke me, Jubilee. I’d rather he’d punched me through a wall.”

Jubilee took a deep breath, folding her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “You stayed together after that?”

“For a while. Too long,” Wade said, shaking his head slowly. “We just kept holding on, like if we let go, we’d lose everything. But the more I screwed up—drinking, pills, you name it—the more he pulled away. And I hated it. I hated myself for it.” He forced out a laugh that quickly turned into something that sounded more like a choke. “I still do.”

Jubilee tilted her head, her tone soft. “You think you deserved it? The way it ended?”

“Yeah,” Wade replied immediately, without hesitation. “Of course I do. I pushed him to that place, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. I mean, who hits the person they love?”

Jubilee’s voice was steady. “Someone who’s hurting, Wade. And yeah, it’s messed up, but it’s also not all on you. You don’t get to carry the blame for everything.”

He finally looked up at her, a flicker of disbelief on his face. “You’re kidding, right? He was—he is—a good man. I don’t deserve half the chances he gave me, and I still fucked them up.”

Jubilee shook her head. “You’re not hearing me. You can’t undo what happened, but you can make sure you don’t go back to that place. You’re here, Wade. You’re sober. You’re actually trying. That matters. You’re not the guy you were back then.”

Wade didn’t respond right away, staring past her like he was watching his old self from the other side of a window. “Doesn’t feel like I’m all that different,” he murmured.

Jubilee leaned forward, catching his gaze. “Then prove yourself wrong. Not to me, not to Logan—you. You’re doing the work, Wade. That’s what counts. But you gotta forgive yourself for being human, or you’re gonna keep running in circles.”

Wade sat there for a long moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t know how to do that—how to let go of all the guilt—but for the first time, it felt like maybe, maybe, he could try.

“You’re annoying when you’re right, Jubes,” he muttered finally, a shadow of his usual smirk creeping back.

She grinned, throwing her hands up. “It’s a gift. Deal with it.” She snapped, making those little fireworks with her hands. Wade always enjoyed that touch. 

Wade stared at the floor, his fingers idly picking at the frayed hem of his hoodie. Jubilee waited, letting the silence stretch. She knew him well enough to know he needed time to process before speaking again.

Finally, he exhaled a shaky breath. “I think like… I was a villain. Like, Logan was the hero, doing his self-sacrificing shtick, and I was the chaos that wrecked everything. I guess… I guess I still feel like that sometimes. Like, no matter what I do, I’m just waiting to fuck it all up again.”

Jubilee tapped her pen against her notebook, her tone patient. “Wade, you’re not a villain. You’re not a hero either, but guess what? Neither is he. People aren’t just one thing.”

Wade huffed a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, people who aren’t just one thing don’t usually end up in group therapy for screaming at vending machines.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop deflecting with jokes. You keep saying how bad you were, but what about the good stuff? Because I know there was some. You wouldn’t care this much if there wasn’t.”

Wade rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. “Yeah… there was good stuff. Lots of it. He made me want to be better, you know? Like, actually better, not just pretend I wasn’t a screw-up. And he was… he was patient. More patient than anyone else would’ve been with me.”

Jubilee raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like he saw something in you worth sticking around for. Maybe you should figure out what that was.”

Wade blinked at her, like the thought had never occurred to him before. He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he mulled it over. “I don’t know if I can. I mean, what if I figure it out and I still don’t measure up? Or worse—what if I do, and it’s too late to fix anything?”

Jubilee leaned forward, her gaze steady. “Then you don’t do it for him. You do it for you. If you ever see Logan again and it works out, great. But if it doesn’t, at least you’ll see now you didn’t give up on yourself.”

Wade tilted his head, giving her a sideways glance. “You ever think about quitting this sponsor gig and becoming a life coach? You’re annoyingly good at this pep talk thing.”

She grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Nah, you’d miss me too much.”

He let out a small, genuine laugh, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed a little lighter.

After a beat, he shifted forward again, his tone quieter. “You know, I thought about calling him. A couple times. Just to see if maybe… but I always chicken out. It’s like, what do I even say? ‘Hey, remember me? The asshole who couldn’t keep his shit together?’”

Jubilee shrugged. “Maybe just start with ‘hi.’ Sometimes it’s not about what you say, it’s about showing up.”

Wade nodded slowly, her words settling in his chest like a small ember of hope. “Yeah. Maybe.”

—

You’re right; Vanessa wouldn’t offer Wade alcohol knowing he’s sober. Let me adjust the scene to reflect that better while keeping the humor intact:

Wade pushed open the door to Vanessa’s apartment, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. The talk with Jubilee had been hard but clarifying. For once, he felt like he was making real progress.

He shrugged his jacket off and froze mid-step at the scene unfolding in the kitchen.

Vanessa was leaned back against the counter, her shirt hiked up just enough to show a shot glass balanced on her chest. A woman with bright pink hair and a mischievous smirk leaned over, licking the salt off Vanessa’s neck before expertly snagging the shot glass with her teeth and tossing it back.

“Woo!” Vanessa laughed, holding up a lime wedge for her friend to bite into.

Wade stood there for a moment, blinking. “And to think I was worried about finding sober-friendly entertainment when I got home.”

Vanessa’s head snapped up, and her face broke into a grin. “Wade! You’re back! How was therapy? Did you cry? Wait, don’t answer that yet—you’re just in time for my boobs’ grand finale!”

The pink-haired woman spun around, eyeing Wade with an amused smile. “So this is the famous Wade. The one you said would either join in or start roasting us. Guess we’re about to find out which one.”

Wade smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “I’m tempted to roast, but honestly? Kind of impressed you’re pulling this off without spilling anything.”

Vanessa held up her arms, mockingly presenting herself like a magician. “Years of practice. But don’t worry, we’re saving all the booze for us.” She winked, her voice playful but pointed.

The pink-haired woman raised her shot glass in a faux toast. “Don’t worry, sober guy—we’ll keep the chaos contained to the kitchen. Scout’s honor.”

Wade grinned, letting the tension ease. “I’ll hold you to that, but if I hear one glass break, I’m confiscating all your limes.”

Vanessa laughed, her cheeks flushed—not just from the tequila but from the sheer fun of the moment. “Come on, you have to admit, it’s good to see me smiling again, right?”

“Depends,” Wade teased as he headed toward the couch. “Am I gonna have to Uber this one to bed when she inevitably passes out in the hallway again?”

“I make no promises!” Vanessa called after him, her laughter ringing out behind him.

Wade flopped onto the couch, smiling despite himself. The familiar, chaotic energy of Vanessa’s antics filled the apartment, but this time, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt… normal. Comfortable.

—

Logan: Hate how much I keep thinking about u. Get out of my head.

Wade blinked at the screen, rereading the text twice to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Wade: Uhhh u ok there, peanut?

Logan: Drunk.

Wade smirked faintly, shaking his head.

Wade: Lol. Obvious. Go to bed, dude.

Logan: Can’t. Thinking too loud.

Wade’s smirk faded, his fingers hovering over the keys before typing:

Wade: Thinking bout what?

There was a longer pause this time, and Wade swore he could feel the tension bleeding through the silence. Then—

Logan: You.

Wade’s stomach flipped. He frowned at the screen, unsure whether to throw out a joke or take this seriously. He decided to test the waters.

Wade: Huh. Weird flex but ok.

Logan: Not a flex. Can’t help it. Hate it.

Wade swallowed hard.

Wade: Why tho? After everything I did?

Logan: dunno

Wade stared at the screen, his thumb hesitating over the keys. This was dangerous territory.

Wade: Maybe sleep it off. You’ll wake up hating me again. Problem solved.

Logan: Don’t think I evjer stopped hating you. Jus hate you and miss you at the samr time.

That hit harder than Wade wanted to admit. He sat back, running a hand through his hair.

Wade: What do u even miss? I am awful.

Logan: Not all of it was awful.

Wade chewed his lip, his pulse quickening.

Wade: Guess not.

Logan: Do you think about it?

Wade froze. He stared at the message, his chest tightening. He shouldn’t answer this. He really shouldn’t answer this.

Wade: Sometimes.

Logan: What do you think about?

Wade: U tryna psychoanalyze me now or…?

Logan: Just asnwer.

Wade sighed, leaning forward. Fine. If Logan wanted honesty, he’d give it to him.

Wade: Idk. How good it was. How bad I was. Lotta stuff. Don’t make me spell it out.

Logan: Spell it out.

Wade: Bruh.

Logan: Wade.

Wade groaned, staring at the screen like it had personally wronged him.

Wade: of course I think about you. The fun parts. The really fun parts.

The dots appeared almost instantly.

Logan: Yeah. Me too.

His heart thudded in his chest, and he exhaled a shaky breath. He hadn’t expected Logan to admit it. He also hadn’t expected the warmth creeping through his veins.

Logan: What if we?

Wade: Nope. Don’t even. Ur drunk

Logan: So?

Wade: So u will regret it in the morning

There was a long pause before Logan replied.

Logan: Maybe. Byt not tonight.

Wade shut his eyes, tipping his head back.

Wade: Go to sleep

Logan: please

Wade closed the phone and dropped it onto the bed. He sat there for a long moment, staring at the dark room around him.

“Hell of a track record, Wilson,” he muttered to himself, flopping back against the mattress. His heart was still racing.

Ding!

Logan: I miss your body.

Wade groaned, his hand covering his face as he fumbled to grab his phone again.

Wade: Logan.

Logan: What? I do.

Wade stared at the text for a long moment. His fingers hovered over the keys, tempted to type something snarky, but nothing came.

Wade: Go. To. Sleep.

Logan: Can’t stip thinking about it. You. Us.

Wade exhaled sharply, tossing the phone beside him. “This isn’t happening,” he muttered, his pulse pounding in his ears. But the phone dinged again.

Logan: i bet u still look good. 

Wade’s face flushed. He gritted his teeth and snatched the phone back up.

Wade: What are u even trying to do here?

Logan: Don’t know.

Logan: Feel you. 

Wade choked out a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

Wade: You’re drunk.

Logan: Yea. Jnd ur sober. So what’s yor excuse?

Wade stared at the words, his chest tightening.

Wade: My excuse for what?

Logan: Still caring.

The air in the room seemed to shift. Wade’s fingers paused over the keys, trembling slightly. He let the phone drop to his chest as he let out a shaky sigh.

He knew this was a bad idea. He knew Logan was vulnerable and drunk and wasn’t going to remember this the way Wade would. But that didn’t stop the faint flicker of hope that he’d buried months ago from sparking to life.

Still, he couldn’t let it show. Not yet.

Wade: That’s a problem for sober Logan. Night peanut

Logan: Night.

The messages stopped after that. Wade lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as his heart thundered in his chest.

It wasn’t much. Just a few drunken texts. But it was more than Wade had dared to hope for.

—

Wade sat cross-legged on the couch, a pen in one hand and his phone in the other. A small stack of job applications lay spread out on the coffee table, a mix of fast food places, retail stores, and even a janitorial position at the local high school. He hadn’t filled any of them out yet.

Instead, he stared at his phone, biting his lip to hold back a grin as another text popped up.

Logan: Sober, still thinking. I hate that I want to forgive you already.

Wade let out a quiet laugh, his stomach doing a ridiculous flip. He typed back quickly.

Wade: Who says you u to forgive me? I wouldn’t forgive me.

A moment later, Logan’s reply buzzed in.

Logan: That’s the problem wade. I do want to. It’s pissing me off.

Wade set the phone down on his lap, rubbing a hand over his face. His chest felt tight, but not in a bad way. More like he was holding in a laugh and a cry all at once.

He reached for the pen, trying to focus on the application in front of him. “Describe your greatest strength.”

He snorted. Not texting my ex like a lovesick puppy. Yeah, right.

His phone buzzed again.

Logan: What are you doing?

Wade: Contemplating my strengths. Pretty sure they don’t want “can recite every line from Alien” or “excellent at dodging responsibility.”

Logan: You’re an idiot.

Wade: And yet, here u are. Texting said idiot

Wade leaned back against the couch, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. His fingers hovered over the screen before he added:

Wade: Miss me?

Logan didn’t reply right away. Wade’s heart thumped as he stared at the screen, waiting. Finally, the dots appeared.

Logan: …Maybe.

Wade clutched the phone to his chest, grinning like an absolute fool.

A key turned in the lock, and Wade jolted upright, scrambling to look busy as Vanessa walked in, dropping her bag on the counter.

“Hey,” she called, kicking off her heels. “How’s it going?”

Wade waved at the pile of papers in front of him. “Living the dream.”

Vanessa glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“No reason,” Wade said quickly, shoving his phone under a couch cushion.

Vanessa narrowed her eyes but smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure. Job applications making you all giddy these days?”

“Don’t mock my ambition, woman,” Wade said, his tone mock-serious.

Vanessa laughed and grabbed a soda from the fridge. “Just don’t forget to fill one of those out before the end of the day, Casanova. Rent’s not gonna pay itself.”

Wade saluted her lazily. “Aye, aye, captain.”

As she walked off to her room, Wade pulled his phone out again.

Wade: I might actually survive this.

Logan’s response came quickly.

Logan: Yeah. You might.

A couple of hours later, Wade was still sitting on the couch, half-heartedly scribbling on one of the applications while a rerun of Jeopardy! played on the TV. He chewed on the end of his pen, his phone sitting on the armrest like a magnet pulling his eyes toward it.

When the screen lit up, he snatched it almost instantly.

Logan: Thought you might like this.

Attached was a photo. Wade’s eyebrows shot up as he tapped to open it, and his mouth went dry the second it loaded.

It was Logan, shirtless, standing in front of what looked like his bathroom mirror. His jeans were slung low on his hips, just shy of indecent, and there was a confident smirk on his face that Wade hadn’t seen in years. His chest and arms were on full display, the light casting shadows that made every muscle look unfairly defined.

“Jesus Christ,” Wade muttered under his breath, sitting back as if the phone might burn him.

For a moment, he just stared, his brain short-circuiting. Logan. Logan had sent him this. And Logan looked—well, Logan looked really damn good.

A new message buzzed through before he could process it.

Logan: Well? Don’t leave me hanging.

Wade swallowed hard, quickly typing back.

Wade: I’m gonna need a minute here. U just murdered me. I need that 😍

The dots popped up, then disappeared, then popped up again. Wade could practically hear Logan grumbling to himself as he debated what to say.

Logan: Don’t make this weird

Wade: You sent me a picture of you looking like a Greek god and I’m the one making it weird?

Logan: Shut up.

Wade smirked, unable to resist teasing him a little more.

Wade: So… what’s the context here? Were you just thinking, “Hey, I bet Wade would enjoy this” while u flexed in the mirror?

Logan: Maybe I was drunk again. Maybe I wasn’t. What’s it to you?

Wade leaned his head back against the couch, laughing quietly to himself.

Wade: You’re killing me. You really are. Do it again.

The dots appeared again, but this time, Logan didn’t respond right away. Wade could almost imagine him scowling at his phone, torn between annoyance and—what? Playfulness? Desire?

When the reply finally came, Wade’s heart did a little stupid flip.

Logan: Maybe later. Don’t get greedy.

Over the next few days, their texts became more frequent, ranging from playful to outright flirtatious, with moments of surprising vulnerability peppered in between.

Logan: Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I missed your stupid jokes.

Wade: Well, duh. I’m the funniest thing that ever happened to you. Admit it, peanut.

Logan: Not admitting anything.

Wade: Then why are you still texting me, huh? Thought you were done with me.

Logan: I said I wanted to be. Doesn’t mean I am.

A little later,

Wade: ok, serious question: u ever regret that time we trashed that motel room in Calgary?

Logan: You mean the time you set the bed on fire?

Wade: Technically, you threw the lighter.

Logan: Because you dared me.

Wade: Details, details. But seriously, any regrets?

Logan: Yeah. That I had to pay for the damages.

By the fourth or fifth day, Wade decided to push the envelope.

Wade: So… when are we gonna do this in person? You know you wanna.

The reply took longer than usual.

Logan: Let’s just keep it texting for now.

Wade stared at the message, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Wade: Texting is cute and all, but you’re killing me here. What, scared I’ll look too good for you?

Logan: Don’t push it, Wade. 

Wade: Fine, fine. But don’t come crying to me when you can’t resist me anymore.

That night:

Wade: u ever think about what it would be like if we hadn’t yk, crashed and burned?

Logan: Every damn day.

Wade: …You just gave me feelings, peanut. Thanks for that.

Logan: Don’t get used to it.

Wade stared at the screen for a long moment, a rare silence filling the room. For once, he didn’t have a snappy comeback.

Vanessa strolled into the apartment, dropping her purse onto the counter. She immediately zeroed in on Wade, who was lounging on the couch with his phone practically glued to his hand.

“You are on your phone an awful lot,” she teased, kicking her shoes off. “Any luck on jobs, or are you just texting Logan all day?”

Wade lowered his phone just enough to give her an exaggerated offended look. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’ll have you know, I am gainfully employed as of this very moment.”

Vanessa raised a brow. “Oh yeah? Where?”

“At a car dealership,” Wade said, sitting up a little straighter. He flashed her a smug grin. “I start Monday. So, you know, got the whole weekend to mentally prepare myself for a life of selling Honda Odysseys.”

Vanessa’s face lit up with genuine surprise. “Wade, that’s amazing! I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

Wade shrugged, trying to play it cool, but there was a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Yeah, well. Gotta start somewhere, right?”

She plopped down beside him on the couch, grabbing one of the job applications he’d half-filled out earlier. “So, does this mean I can stop nagging you about being a productive member of society?”

“Absolutely not,” Wade quipped. “I thrive under the pressure of your constant disappointment.”

Vanessa snorted, leaning back into the couch. “Well, congrats. Maybe Logan’ll be impressed.”

Wade’s smirk faltered for half a second before he covered it with a snide retort. “Oh, trust me, Vanessa. The peanut’s already impressed. You should see the texts.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Please don’t make me regret being nice to you today.”

Wade laughed, tucking his phone away. But even as they bantered, his mind lingered on Monday—and on Logan.

Vanessa took out a box of fresh donuts from a local place and placed it on the kitchen counter. 

Wade stretched as he stood, popping his back with a satisfied groan. “What am I gonna do today? Oh, you know, solve world hunger, cure cancer, maybe rescue a kitten or two. The usual.”

Vanessa smirked and opened a box of donuts she’d pulled from the counter. “Well, Mr. Philanthropist, I have work in an hour. So, before you save the world, wanna carbo-load with some sugary goodness?”

Wade’s eyes lit up. “You bring donuts into this house and don’t expect me to devour at least three? Bold move, Loga—” He stopped, correcting himself. “—Vanessa.”

“Nice save. Now I really know where your minds at.” She winked, pushing the box toward him. “Go on, pick your poison.”

Wade leaned over the box, scanning the options like a kid in a candy store. He finally grabbed a chocolate glazed and took a huge bite. “Mm,” he said around a mouthful of donut, “you’re enabling me, you know. Can’t go saving kittens with sticky fingers.”

“Good thing you’re not actually doing any of that,” Vanessa teased, pulling out a jelly-filled one for herself. “So seriously, what’s the plan for today?”

Wade shrugged as he licked a bit of chocolate off his thumb. “I dunno. Fill out the rest of these applications just in case this motel gig doesn’t work out. Maybe I’ll hit the gym.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Or maybe I’ll sit on the couch and bask in the glory of my donut-fueled mediocrity.”

Vanessa shook her head, laughing. “Well, whatever you do, just try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”

“Can’t make any promises,” Wade shot back, grabbing another donut. “But I’ll aim for only mildly singed.”

Vanessa stood, brushing powdered sugar off her hands. “Alright, well, I better get ready. Don’t let Logan distract you from filling out those apps, alright?”

Wade gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. No sexting until the important stuff’s done. Scout’s honor.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin as she headed off to her room to change for work. Vanessa works as a bartender at a trendy, slightly dive-y bar in the city, the kind of place that straddles the line between being cool and a little rough around the edges.

When she emerged from her room she went back to the counter to sling her purse over her shoulder. 

“Off to seduce poor, unsuspecting patrons with your devastating charm and edgy leather vibes?”

Vanessa grinned, adjusting her silver necklace. “That’s the plan. If they’re lucky, they might even get a free shot of tequila. If I’m lucky, they’ll tip more than five bucks.” She slung her denim jacket back over her shoulders and grabbed her bag.

Wade leaned against the counter, watching her as she adjusted her earrings in the mirror by the door. “You know, I’ve always wondered: do you wear those jeans for the tips or because you’re secretly trying to bankrupt the bar in distracted customers?”

“Both,” she shot back, flipping him off with a smirk. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Don’t bring home any strays!” Wade called after her as she left, shutting the door behind her.

Once the apartment was quiet, Wade glanced at the mess of job applications on the coffee table, then at his phone. A small smile tugged at his lips as he picked it up, navigating to his texts.

Wade: Still thinking about me, peanut?

He dropped onto the couch, staring at the screen, waiting for those familiar three dots to pop up.

Wade stared at the buzzing phone in his hand, hesitating for a moment before finally flipping it open.

Logan: I can’t STOP thinking. It’s fucking with my head.

Wade blinked, feeling a strange mix of relief and confusion. His fingers hovered over the keys before he finally typed back.

Wade: Peanut, have u been drinking? Be honest

The dots appeared immediately, and Wade sat up straighter.

Logan: Sober. Still thinking.

Wade’s breath caught, and he reread the text to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. Logan? Sober and admitting something like this? It didn’t feel real.

Logan: I hate what you do to me.

Wade swallowed hard, his stomach flipping. He hadn’t expected that—not in a million years. His fingers shook as he typed back.

Wade: what do u mean?

This time, there was a pause. Wade stared at the screen, willing Logan to respond, the seconds dragging on like hours.

Finally, the message came through.

Logan: I don’t know. Can I show you?

Wade let out a shaky breath, his chest tightening as he read the words over and over again.

Wade: For what it’s worth I hate what I did to u. Every day.

Logan didn’t reply immediately, and Wade sat back against the couch, his heart pounding in his chest. Whatever this was, it wasn’t closure—not yet. But it was something. And for the first time in a long time, something felt like enough.

Wade’s phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up in the dim room. He stared at it, his pulse quickening as the words appeared.

Logan: Let me see you. I’ll call off.

For a moment, Wade couldn’t breathe. He read the text again, wondering if he’d somehow misunderstood. Logan—his Logan—was actually asking to meet? After all these weeks of keeping their connection limited to texts, Logan was ready to cross the line?

He typed back quickly before he could overthink it.

Wade: U serious? 😳

The reply came almost instantly.

Logan: Yeah

Wade: Today?

Logan: Yeah. Today

Wade’s chest tightened. This wasn’t what he expected when he woke up that morning, but now his mind was racing, thinking about what he’d say, how he’d look, what Logan would think.

Wade: Name the place

There was a pause, and then Logan’s reply:

Logan: I’ll come to Vanessa’s. You still crashing there?

Wade hesitated for a moment before answering.

Wade: Yeah. She’s at work 4 the next 8 hours.

Logan: Good. I’ll be there in an hour.

Wade stared at the phone, his palms suddenly clammy. His knee bounced as he set the phone down on the couch.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He jumped up, pacing the room. “Okay, Wade, play it cool. Don’t act like a teenager. Just two grown men… having a conversation. Easy.”

But as much as he tried to convince himself, his heart wouldn’t stop racing. Logan was coming. And this time, Wade had no intention of screwing it up.

Logan sat in his truck, engine idling in the parking lot of the job site. The half-crushed pack of cigarettes on the dash tempted him, but he shoved the thought away. He hadn’t smoked since yesterday—progress, he supposed.

Instead, he leaned back, letting his head hit the worn seat as he stared blankly through the windshield. The world outside seemed muted, gray clouds hanging low. It matched the tangle of emotions sitting heavy in his chest.

Wade.

The bastard had a way of getting under his skin. Always had. From the first time they met, Wade had wormed his way into Logan’s life with his chaotic energy, his relentless humor, and his goddamn inability to shut up. For years, Logan had let himself believe it was just sex—wild, infuriating, addictive sex. But somewhere along the line, it had stopped being just that.

He missed him. Not just the sex, though that was a whole mess on its own. He missed Wade’s voice, his laugh, the stupid way he’d make a joke out of everything, even when he shouldn’t. He missed waking up to him sprawled across the bed, snoring like a freight train. He missed the way Wade used to look at him—like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

But it wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be.

Logan had spent weeks counting up everything—every fight, every broken promise, every time Wade had pushed him away and pulled him back. The alcohol, the lies, the way they’d torn each other apart. He wasn’t innocent in it either; he’d said things, done things he wasn’t proud of. They’d been toxic together.

And yet, Wade had changed. Logan could see it, even from the texts. He wasn’t sure he trusted it yet—Wade was good at putting on a show—but there was something different about him this time. He was steadier, clearer, like he’d finally found some kind of balance.

That should’ve made it easier. But it didn’t.

Because as much as Logan wanted to keep his walls up, to protect himself, he couldn’t shake the thought of Wade’s hands on him, Wade’s voice saying his name, Wade’s body pressed against his. It made him feel weak, like he was backsliding, and he hated it.

But he missed him.

“Goddamn it,” Logan muttered, running a hand over his face.

He’d told himself he wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t going to let Wade back in. He wasn’t going to risk it. But here he was, sitting in his truck, texting Wade like a lovesick idiot, about to call off work just to see him.

He didn’t even know what he was going to say when he saw him. Hell, he didn’t even know why he was doing this.

But he did.

He missed Wade. Missed him so much it hurt.

“Fuck it,” Logan muttered, slamming the truck into gear.

He didn’t know if this was a mistake, but he was going to find out.