Pain. Grueling, unrelenting, unwarranted pain. Logan knew how to handle it; the motions came to him with ease, settling into every muscle every nerve like a ghost returning home. Generally, it got easier the longer it went on, and he could successfully numb himself to the dull ache of repetition. The guys weren't much different than usual. College kids who saw a whore, decided to poke fun, and then freaked out when the Shades moved to comfort Logan in his distress. Seeing something unknown to them only made the hits harder and the insults more….creative.

The Shades were helpful to a degree. They could never soothe physical pains, but they brought a comforting warmth that settled cozy around his mind, finally lulling him into blissful, carefree darkness. If someone found him and brought him to a hospital…he supposed that would be fine. The aggravating itch was still there, considering the family that ran it, even if it was minute. But if this ended up being his final resting place, that would be okay, too. Though Logan doubted the criminality of those harming him to reach the degree of murder.

Light pounding through Logan's retina cleared them of their charge and proved him right. Even if he hadn't been, well. Who cares, really. Cops were more likely to arrest his corpse, the question of why this body was rigid, why the eyes were glazed over as they watched ethereal strands of the underworld tangle together unanswered before they deposited it into the waiting morgue without further inquiry. Logan had nothing to lose, either. Just pain and misery and a never-ending drug addiction that crawled under his skin and welcomed the paranoia as an old friend. And Aden…he could live his life without the shadow of the past lingering nearby, a phantom plaguing his existence.

But Logan wasn't dead. Painfully sore, absolutely. Horrified that the only thing he can see with absolute clarity is sitting on his chest, yes. His gut twisted in anxiety, and fear is present at the forefront of his groggy mind.

It looked down upon Logan with familiar orbs of glowing red in the otherwise dark socket of its skull head. Its split tail drooped behind it as it kneaded small paws nervously on Logan's battered chest. Two reddish-brown stripes were the only color upon its night sky pelt, identical to the birthmarks hanging as twins around Logan's neck.

The first thing to note was that the creature acted stranger than usual. When it appeared, it usually did so because Logan was on the brink of death; overdosing, a client who lost their temper, a client's partner that took out the betrayal on his diminutive form. You name it. Most of the time, the hound struck enough fear into him that Logan couldn't close his eyes, couldn't give up his fight despite how much he wanted to.

This time, the thing seemed more like a cat excited for some unknown act that Logan hadn't been invited to. He chose to proceed with more caution than usual. "What do you want?" he asked, the terror in his voice crystalline.

As usual, it was silent in its reply, though it had stopped its onslaught on Logan's chest. Logan can't help the spite that nipped at his fear. Why should he ever receive the answers he was desperate to find? It was bad enough that he was living in a hellscape of reality without an exit sign, but even worse when that exit sign only led to another labyrinth completely void of any direction.

The hound vanished without warning, a smoke that dissipated so quickly, Logan jumped. In its place, the sound of a door opening.

"Oh, thank god, you're awake."

Logan's sight was still blurry, but the voice he remembered well. The sound made him wince as it tore through the haze of his waking conscious state. If he could sink further into the bed, through the floorboards, and into the Earth's crust, Logan would do it in a heartbeat. Regardless of the crunching bone and rivers of blood that the action would undoubtedly cause.

Aden's apprehension was evident in how he moved slowly, almost as if he awaited my permission. A smile turned the corners of his lips up ever-so-slightly, though it was hesitant, and the light didn't reach his beautiful amber eyes. However, there was relief pulsing in their colorful depths, a strange warmth that Logan had nearly succeeded in forgetting.

Once sun-bleached hair had darkened over the years, though it still cast a golden glow in the sunlight streaming through the single window Logan only now took account of. It's shorter, too, a faded cut that grows longer towards the top of his scalp, creating a set of bangs that shadow the right side of his forehead.

There were three lines of ink staining the back of his neck. They're achingly similar to Logan's two birthmarks, though Aden hadn't had them the last time Logan observed him from afar.

Overall, Aden looked good. Happy and healthy, just as it should be without this plague of a man lying in his bed.

Aden moved forward, each step careful and deliberate, before setting a seemingly warm beverage on the side table to Logan's left. Wisps of steam battled the room's chill as it rose as spires into the air. It entranced Logan for a brief moment, pulling him out of the sudden agony this reunion had caused. He hadn't wanted any reconciliation between them, but even if he had, this wasn't how he would've endeavored to present himself. Gaunt-faced, gray skin so covered in sin that it stained his decaying bones. Hair a greasy, bloody mess.

Logan felt like he was about to throw up.

Aden reached forward to grab the towel that rested on Logan's head, destroying the latter's thoughts as fear ran down his spine. Logan was quick to flinch away from his touch, wincing at the moment of brief contact. The towel's weight disappeared, and Aden pulled away ever-so-slightly, the cloth in hand.

"It's alright," he murmured gently. "I'm sure you're disoriented and confused, but I gotta check the swelling." His words were soft, spilling out like honey.

But Logan wasn't disoriented. It'd be better if he was.

"You've still got a little underneath your left eye, but it seems to have gone down overall," Aden continued with those tender, deceiving words. "That's good."

His fiery amber eyes met Logan's as he watched Aden with caution, and there was movement as Aden shifted uncomfortably on the bed. It would seem Aden wasn't quite ready for a reunion either; the awkward tension in the room weighed so heavily in the air that it felt like it would crush them. Unforgiving mutilation at the hands of inelegance.

There was a flickering light of joy bright in amber eyes laden with worry and agony, but Logan couldn't trust it. Realized that he didn't care about Aden's discomfort or the tension that brought it. He was someone Logan needed to treat with an extreme amount of caution. Logan managed their separation—albeit terribly—once. He wasn't about to slip back into Aden's arms just to be discarded a second time. The annoying, warm feelings tickling the long-dead butterflies in his stomach be damned.

Logan could tell Aden was about to ask a question to break the silence, but he quickly realized he couldn't hear that voice again. Not without unnecessary doubt trying to weigh him down again. "I need to get going," Logan muttered curtly, flipping the heavy blankets off of him and preparing for the nausea that would follow. It always did with beatings this harsh.

"What? Hold on, you're still not well enough to walk," Aden retorted immediately, placing a hand on Logan's sternum and forcing him to hear that smooth baritone anyway.

Logan winced at the pain before abruptly shrugging it off, shoving past Aden as he headed out of the bedroom. Just as he thought he would, Logan found himself dizzy and on the verge of throwing up as his eyes desperately scanned his surroundings for a way out. His heart hammered in a panicked frenzy as he struggled to find the front door. Logan was trapped on unfamiliar grounds. When was the last time he'd felt this way? Probably in that alleyway, he'd guess. The feeling was becoming burdensome.

"Wait, Logan! I have to make sure you're not concussed. Let me take you to a nearby clinic, please," Aden pled, swiftly following Logan out of the room.

There was an adamant refusal to stop and look at Aden as Logan caught the twinge of desperation hanging on Aden's words. Nausea, once held at bay, overcame him, and Logan's knees buckled, sending him hurtling to the ground.

Aden grabbed him before he hit the white-washed hardwood floor, pulling Logan back to his feet just as his breathing became quick and laborious. The memory surfaced without consent, and rage embraced Logan's terror in a maelstrom of negative energy.

"Stop touching me!" Logan hissed, smacking Aden's hand away with reflexive hostility and steadying himself on the armrest of the faux leather couch. The Shades lingered, their wispy tendrils restless at the evident distress.

There was tension in the silence that followed. Aden stood still, his hand extended where it once caught Logan's fall. Pinched brows and a frown surfaced, showing confusion for the entire situation. Of course he was confused. He had no idea what had happened since they separated.

Aden finally withdrew his hand, a pained voice asking, "Logan… don't you remember me?"

It's like a brick being dropped on glass. Logan trembled at his question. Of course he remembered Aden. The guy had been everything to him. When Logan first opened his eyes over a decade ago, he saw Aden as his hero. A guardian that saved him from the angry torrents of the river all those years ago when sociopaths playing parents tried drowning their only son.

When Logan moved into the mansion on the Kellington estate, Aden became more than that. A friend who saw the darkness that moved as one with Logan's soul and brushed it off without a hint of fear in those amber eyes.

When the nightmares rolled in like endless waves nipping at the sands of a glass-ridden beach, Aden was there beside Logan. A rock when he felt like his life was trying to blow him into oblivion. Aden was…so much more than Logan thought he would ever know.

But that was too much pain and far too long ago to dwell on for much longer.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Logan muttered bitterly, turning to leave once more. It hurt to remember everything that Aden had meant only to know it would never be.

Of course, it could never be as simple as just leaving. Aden grabbed hold of Logan's wrist, gentle but firm. "Logan, you need to rest and see a doctor before you go anywhere," he repeated with building agitation. He tried valiantly to hide it, but Logan knew him too well.

Logan turned and glared at him, eyes focused on the contact Aden had initiated. It burned. "Let. Me. Go. I can take care of myself."

"No," Aden replied sternly, meeting Logan's glare with his own fiery gaze.

"Fine," Logan hissed through gritted teeth, the skin-on-skin contact spreading a vengeful fire that blazed up his arm. He could see the door now, his torn and battered backpack resting beside it. Oiled cogs turned with ease in Logan's head, his plan swiftly formed, route set. "Then I'll make you."

Pain, mild in contrast to the burn across his arm, sparked up Logan's leg as his shin made contact with Aden's groin. Immediately, the burn dissipated as Aden's hand disappeared, and Logan took the opportunity to turn and run before he could see the damage he caused. His ears, though, betrayed him, and he could make out the faint groans of agony as Aden fell to the ground with a light thud.

It didn't matter. Or, at least, that was what Logan told himself. He couldn't allow himself to feel bad. He just…he can't.

Logan was still a little shaky, but he managed to pick up his bag and stumbled through the door with an uneven gait. Muscles cried as he forced himself to move swiftly down the steps, even jumping from the last few to land on the hard ground below.

Getting beaten to a pulp in the alley was one thing. But, even before that, Logan had spent the night with a client who just kept going and going and going as though his heart was made of some nuclear battery that never gave out. Considering his unexpected circumstances, he'd forgotten about it, but it all came rushing back as his legs gave way underneath him. Concrete met bone and cartilage, fresh pain coursing through his body.

Didn't matter. Logan needed to leave, escape this place before his trembling heart stopped him from doing so. He barely managed to acknowledge the smear of crimson he left on the otherwise clean pathway.

This neighborhood was familiar, and it was with ease that Logan managed to clear it, considering his battered and broken condition. Despite being out of breath, lungs shriveling at their depravity of oxygen, the constriction in Logan's chest released like the last breath of a dying swell. Stone and glass structures welded against nature as trees and various plants grew on rooftops and speckled the sidewalks below. A shaded canopy of color in the cool autumn air.

The soft reds and oranges brought calm to Logan's frantic mind. Fresh evergreen scent from surrounding pines touched the blood-tinted air siphoning through his nose. With one quick movement, Logan wiped the blood from his chin, his lips, his nostrils. It wasn't completely gone, but it was good enough to make him relax—or, well, as relaxed as he could get. The Shades trailed behind him, unseen by most, yet always there. Lingering beside Logan, slithering over his skin as they sucked the negativity from him and replaced it with comfort.

With the panic primarily dissipated, Logan felt the tears pricking at his eyes. It always happened when he saw Aden. An ache that blossomed when he was reminded of how Aden had been fine without him all these years. Jealousy poisoned Logan's blood at Aden's happiness, at the carefree way in which Aden lived his life. Anger reared its head at the sight of Aden's success. Yet, all of it was overshadowed by the dagger of betrayal piercing Logan's back.

Logan often wished he could shrug it off. Pretend that his sightings never happened. Pretend like most of them weren't him seeking Aden out, only to grow more sour, poisoned by his hatred. He wished he could just move on.

But he couldn't, and it was made even more apparent when his heart clenched, and his breathing grew erratic once more. Just as every other time Logan strove to forget, the memories overwhelmed him. Drove themselves deep into his skull like shattered pieces of glass shining crimson in the dull sun of Logan's world.

It was twelve years ago. Summer sunshine was warm on his skin, a welcome feeling after months hidden away in the basement. As quickly as it had come, the trip was over. Logan always dreaded returning home, and that feeling had taken root the moment they'd left the pristine gray-washed house. It always had.