Chapter Text
The apartment was too quiet. Too empty. Too small for the weight Logan carried alone. Rain tapped relentlessly against the window, a slow, mocking reminder that the world outside kept moving while he had stalled somewhere months ago.
The air was thick with the scent of rain and loneliness — old coffee, damp clothes, and something heavier that clung to the walls. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, the glow of his phone cutting through the dim room. He’d gone over it again and again — the call, the silence, the what-ifs. But no one had ever mattered like Oscar. Not like him.
And he couldn’t do this alone anymore.
His thumb hovered over Oscar’s name. Don’t. Just don’t.
But his heart wouldn’t listen.
He thought of their last night together — how the tension had broken something between them, how neither had been brave enough to fix it. Words thrown too sharp, apologies never spoken. And then, the silence. The silence that had eaten him alive.
It was easier, he’d told himself. Easier not to see the hurt in his eyes.
But it wasn’t easier now. It was unbearable.
He scrolled through their old messages — teasing jokes, ridiculous memes, voice notes that still made him smile despite everything. And suddenly, the thought of never hearing that voice again felt worse than rejection.
With a shaking breath, he pressed call.
The ringing stretched out like a held breath. One tone. Two. Three—
“Logan?”
That voice. Quiet, cautious… but familiar. Too familiar.
His throat tightened. “I— I didn’t know who else to—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Oscar said softly. And just like that, the sound of his voice steadied something inside Logan that had been trembling for months.
“I think I’m… at my lowest,” Logan whispered.
There was a pause, long enough for him to regret saying anything — then, a promise:
“I’ll be there.”
The line clicked off.
Logan stared at the phone, chest pounding. He didn’t know what terrified him more — that Oscar would come, or that he wouldn’t.
He waited. Hours blurred. He paced the apartment, straightened nothing, checked the window every few minutes. The rain had turned heavier, wind rattling the panes. Every sound made him flinch. He almost convinced himself Oscar wouldn’t come after all — until the knock.
Soft. Careful. Certain.
He froze.
It’s him.
When he opened the door, the world outside blurred. Oscar stood there, drenched, hoodie clinging to his shoulders, hair plastered to his forehead. His cheeks were pink from the cold, his eyes bright — searching.
“I… I shouldn’t have called,” Logan whispered, his voice cracking in the middle.
“I know,” Oscar said gently, stepping inside, shutting out the storm. “But you did.”
They stood close — too close — neither sure what to do with the space between them. Logan wanted to reach out, to touch, to anchor himself to the reality that Oscar was here, real and breathing in front of him. But guilt kept his hands still.
Instead, they sat on the floor, backs against the wall, silence thick but not empty.
“I thought maybe you’d given up,” Oscar said quietly. “That you didn’t want me around anymore.”
Logan shook his head, voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know how to ask for help without dragging you down with me.”
Oscar’s gaze softened, a small furrow between his brows. “You couldn’t drag me anywhere I don’t want to go, Logan. You never could.”
That warmth in his tone cracked something open inside Logan. He turned to look at him — really look — and found those same eyes that had always seen straight through his walls.
“I’ve been… at my lowest,” he admitted. “And I didn’t think anyone would care enough to stay.”
Oscar reached out, fingertips brushing Logan’s sleeve. A small touch, almost nothing — but it burned through the numbness. “I care,” he said simply. “Always have.”
Logan swallowed hard, blinking fast. “I said things I didn’t mean. I hurt you.”
Oscar’s thumb traced over his wrist, grounding him. “You hurt yourself more. But you never made me stop caring.”
The quiet between them deepened, softer now — like the space right before a confession.
“I don’t know if I can forgive myself yet,” Logan murmured.
“You don’t have to,” Oscar said. “Not tonight. We just… start here. Step by step.”
For a long moment, they just breathed together. The rain had softened to a steady rhythm against the glass, a heartbeat that filled the silence.
“I missed you,” Logan said finally. “Even when I told myself I didn’t.”
A faint smile tugged at Oscar’s lips. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”
Something loosened in Logan’s chest — not healed, but no longer broken beyond reach.
Time slipped by unnoticed. They talked — about the past, about racing, about stupid little things that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow did. They laughed once, tentative but real, and that sound alone felt like a victory.
Eventually, they moved to the couch. A blanket. Two mugs of tea gone cold. The world outside quieted to a soft drizzle.
“I think…” Logan started, voice gentle, “I can start trusting myself again. And maybe you. Slowly.”
Oscar reached over, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face — slow, careful. “Step by step,” he echoed. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”
Logan leaned into the touch without meaning to. The warmth of Oscar’s hand on his cheek felt like the first real thing in months. He closed his eyes, exhaling. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For staying. For coming back. For still wanting to.”
Oscar smiled faintly, eyes soft. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re kind of impossible to stay away from.”
Logan huffed a shaky laugh. “You always come back.”
“Always,” Oscar said.
And in that quiet, rain-soaked apartment — with the storm finally gone and the air tasting of hope again — Logan believed him. For the first time in a long, long time, he truly believed him.