As the clouds crept over the sun and the church filled with people, Logan Carter felt a pang of regret for the choices that had led him here. 

"We're gonna be late," Logan muttered to the guy behind him, trying to keep his voice low. The guy's warm breath tickled the back of Logan's neck, sending shivers down his spine. He bit his lip, trying to suppress a moan.

"Shut up," the guy hissed back. "I'm gonna finish soon," he said, starting to thrust more aggressively. 

The air in the bathroom cubicle grew hotter by the second, with the sound of the service outside mixed in between muffled moans and skin hitting skin. 

"I'm coming," the guy growled as he came inside Logan. "Not a word of this to anyone," the guy reminded Logan, his tone almost threatening, as he pulled up his pants and buckled his belt.

With the guy gone from the bathroom, the only thing keeping Logan company was his own thoughts. He pulled up his pants and buckled his belt, praying they were still clean despite what had just happened. When he finished getting dressed, he sat on the lid of the toilet, trying to calm himself before exiting the cubicle.

As he stepped out of the cubicle, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His hair looked disheveled from the other guy's constant tugs, his white shirt was wrinkled, and his face was still flushed. He splashed water on his face to alleviate the redness and tried to fix his hair, making it look presentable enough for church. As he did so, a tear escaped his eye and ran down his cheek. “How could I be that stupid?” He thought as he wiped it away.

Logan emerged from the bathroom and looked for an empty seat on one of the last row benches to not bother anyone. As he sat, he couldn’t avoid wincing through gritted teeth; the hard wood of the benches wasn’t doing any favors to the pain in his lower back. He noticed that in front of him sat a couple of old ladies who were whispering while the father was speaking. A few minutes later, Logan found himself more interested in the ladies' conversation than in the sermon that the father was giving.

“I heard they used an empty coffin,” one of the ladies whispered to the other.

“Really?” The other woman said, surprised, a little bit too loud, causing a few heads in the row in front of her to turn around.

“I swear on my husband’s grave,” the woman replied to her friend's surprise. “I even heard they are going to sell their house.”

“Seriously?” The other woman said, surprised again. “Their son has been missing for three months; have they given up already?” The woman asked in disbelief.

“Maybe, they need closure,” the other woman said before shutting up for the rest of the service.

After the ladies finished talking, Logan had no choice but to listen to the father or dwell on his thoughts. He shifted positions on the bench, and the discomfort in his lower back came rushing back, reminding him of what he had just done in the bathroom. He looked down at his lap in embarrassment and disappointment in himself. He gripped his hands hard until he started making little cuts in his palms with his nails. He couldn't believe he had let himself be used by another straight guy who would never want anything from him other than sex. As a few tears made their way out of his eyes, he looked up and saw a picture of his friend who had been missing for three months already. As he looked at the picture, he tried to imagine what he would tell him if he were here.

"He'd probably say something along the lines of 'you should respect yourself more’ and ‘you'll find someone who deserves you someday,'" he thought to himself with a faint smile on his face.

As he began to remember his friend, the weight of the situation began to fall on his shoulders, streams of tears started to fall from his face, and sobs started to make their way out of his mouth. He tried to muffle his sobs, but every time he tried to silence them, they would just come out louder again.

The couple of ladies in front of him turned their heads with worried expressions, but they made no effort to try to soothe him.

As Logan continued to cry, he decided to step out of the church to get a bit of fresh air. When he got outside, he sat down on the church steps. After he had calmed down, he looked up at the gray and cloudy sky that looked like it could rain at any moment. As Logan looked around, he noticed his friend's older brother, Finn, having a heated argument with another guy. After a few minutes, Finn left, leaving the other guy alone.

Logan watched as another guy sat down on the curb with his head in his hands. He looked lost and defeated, and Logan felt a pang of sympathy for him. He knew what it was like to feel lost and alone after his friend Aaron's death. Without really thinking, Logan got up and walked over to the guy. "Hey," he said softly. "Are you okay?"

The guy looked up, surprise evident in his eyes. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, his voice barely audible. Logan sat down next to him. "Are you sure? You seem upset."

The guy shrugged. "Just some drama. Nothing I can't handle."

Logan nodded understandingly. "Did you come to the service too? I didn't recognize you," he asked curiously.

The guy looked up with troubled eyes. "I was going to," he said, with regret in his voice. "But I shouldn't have come."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the clouds roll by. Logan felt a sense of calmness wash over him. It was nice to be accompanied by someone, even a complete stranger.

"Hey, I'm Kyle," the guy said, holding out his hand. Logan took his hand and shook it. "Logan."

They chatted about small things for a few more minutes. When it was time for the service to end, they exchanged numbers and said their goodbyes.

Before walking up to the church again, Logan turned around and saw Kyle leaving. "Kyle!" he called out loudly. Kyle turned around and waited for Logan to reach him. "Sorry, but I have to ask, did you know Aaron too?" Logan asked, feeling a pain in his heart at the sound of his friend's name.

"We were classmates in high school," Kyle replied with a faint smile before turning around again. Logan watched him as he lit up a cigarette and walked away.

Logan looked for a bench to sit on and stayed there until the service was over. As he waited, the first drops of rain started to fall, wetting his clothes and hair. After a few minutes, people started leaving the church, trying to get to their cars quickly to avoid getting wet by the rain that was pouring heavily. 

Logan stayed on the bench the whole time and when no one was there anymore, he left for the church. As he walked down the aisle, the water from his damp shoes and clothes left a trail behind him. When he arrived at the altar, which was placed in the memory of his friend, he laid a hand on top of the coffin as memories of him and Aaron flooded his mind. 

He looked at the picture of his friend, which his parents had chosen, and saw that he was smiling. A few tears made their way out of Logan's eyes again, and it seemed that today he was going to cry for everything. He stayed in the church for a few minutes before he left. 

The rain was coming down in torrents, drenching Logan to the bone. As he made his way out of the church, he bumped into someone and quickly muttered an apology, his eyes still glued to the ground. But when he heard the voice that replied, gentle and familiar, he looked up and saw Aaron's father standing in front of him.

"Mr. Donovan!" Logan exclaimed, taken aback. He had been avoiding the family ever since Aaron's disappearance, not knowing how to face them.

"Thank you so much for coming," Mr. Donovan said, his voice soft but his eyes betraying the deep pain he was feeling.

Logan felt a lump rise in his throat. "You don't have to thank me, it was nothing," he replied, feeling a sense of shame wash over him.

There was a tense silence between them, heavy with the weight of unsaid words. Then, Mr. Donovan spoke up again, his voice laced with concern. "Do you need an umbrella?" he asked, offering his own to Logan.

Logan opened his mouth to decline, but before he could say anything, Mr. Donovan took his hand and placed the umbrella in it. "Don't worry," he said, giving Logan a smile that was filled with warmth and understanding. "My car is just over there," he added, pointing to the other side of the road.

Logan felt his eyes start to sting with unshed tears. He watched as Mr. Donovan rushed off towards his car before turning around and heading home, the umbrella shielding him from the rain.

***

Logan announced his arrival with a weary "I'm home" and left Mr. Donovan's umbrella by the door so he wouldn't forget to return it. His grandmother greeted him with a warm kiss on the forehead, and Logan bent down to meet her at eye level. "Sorry I didn't go with you," she said, her voice tinged with regret.

"It's okay, Grandma. Really," Logan replied, his exhaustion evident in his voice. He climbed the stairs to his bedroom, feeling his grandmother's worried gaze on his back.

Once he reached his room, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a few moments, trying to clear his head. After a few minutes, he began to peel off his wet clothes, tossing them haphazardly onto the hardwood floor. Once he had changed into dry clothes, he lay down on his bed, staring at the bedside table where a picture of Aaron and him rested among other photographs.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help you," Logan whispered, his voice choked with emotion as tears streamed down his face and dampened the pillow beneath his head.

After a while, Logan left his room and walked down the corridor to the last door, where his grandfather's office used to be. After his grandfather's death, Logan had turned it into a painting studio. As he opened the door, the overwhelming smell of oil paints flooded his nose. It had been three months since he had last entered the room. The most recent painting was still set up on the easel. A few days before Aaron's disappearance, Aaron had begged Logan to teach him how to paint. Despite having no idea how to use oil paints, Aaron had tried to paint something.

As Logan thought of Aaron, tears flowed freely down his face. He picked up the unfinished painting of a landscape that Aaron had made and placed it alongside other unfinished works. He briefly considered giving it to his parents, but quickly discarded the idea. "They probably wouldn't want something that reminds them of their dead son," he thought to himself before opening the windows to air out the painting studio.

As he was about to leave, he leaned on the door and looked back at the moonlit painting studio with a pained smile. He wondered if he could ever paint again.

***

"On the seventh day the child died. David’s attendants were afraid to tell him that the child was dead, for they thought, 'While the child was still living, he wouldn’t listen to us when we spoke to him. How can we now tell him the child is dead? He may do something desperate.'"

2 Samuel 12:18