"Look there," Jamal pointed at the small balcony and we both stepped out. "Shit, Logan might have tried to break the grill."

I noticed the bent grill at the corner, but I shook away Jamal's assumptions. The grill was too strong and I didn't want to think of the possibilities that Logan could break it. I didn't want to think that he could jump right from here without anybody noticing or helping him. I didn't want to.

"It's pretty high up here. This apartment has fourteen floors, right? We need to talk to the landlord or security guard and see if the terrace door's locked. We need to keep him safe," Jamal whispered to me and I nodded in agreement.

"Is Logan still showering?"

"Yeah I checked up on him a few minutes ago and he was shaving," he replied and shoved his hand in his pocket. He retrieved rolls of newspaper and thrust it against my chest. "I found these in the mess, look."

"What is it?" My forehead creased as I unfurled one of the papers. My eyes darted between the paper and Jamal who had his arms crossed against his chest. There was a picture of the ruins of a car and my heart hammered against my chest. I scanned the paper and a lump lodged in my throat when I read Logan's last name- Kellerman. Not once, but thrice.

There were three names, one of a woman aged forty, a man aged forty-two and a boy aged ten. This was almost three years ago and all of them passed away in the horrifying accident at the highway. All, but Logan.

"He lost his entire family, JJ. All of them wiped out in this fucking accident," Jamal hissed and I could see the anxiety and worry looming in his eyes. "Now he's on his own. This is really fucked up. He's in knee-deep shit and we need to take him out of it."

I remembered when he had stolen flowers from the shop- four specific roses. I wondered whether it was the true reason for stealing was what he said or whether it had a deeper meaning. Whatever it was, I wanted to help him.

"JJ? Hey, Blondie, are you alright?"

"Er-yeah, yeah. I'm just a bit shook." I snapped out of my thoughts and tried to not cry. I used to think about Logan's family and maybe, I did have an idea, but it felt surreal. I used to console myself that his parents were uncaring and therefore left Logan on his own or Logan ran away from his home because of some disputes.

He was still seventeen and I wondered who his legal guardian was?

Suddenly, we heard the bathroom door close. We hurriedly stuffed the newspapers in our pockets and stepped in the room. We were trying to act unfazed and Logan didn't suspect anything. He was wearing black jeans and his regular full-sleeved, sky blue shirt. He looked much better and cleaner after showering.

I walked to him and asked, "How do you feel now? Lighter?"

He nodded and I felt at ease. However, I knew that he hadn't recovered yet. The road to recovery was long and rocky. He still needed help and from an adult- preferably a counsellor. Also, he needed to be more around people- be more social. That could help him, but I didn't know how to convince him.

He was glaring at Jamal who was texting in his phone. "I don't want him here."

"We'll leave then--- "

"No, not you. I don't want him here. Tell him to get the fuck out of my apartment," he said flippantly, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Oh-okay," I replied and stalked towards Jamal.

There were consequences to Jamal's harsh words and Jamal knew that he had hurt Logan too. So, when I asked him to leave, he didn't object. He gave a pat on my shoulder, an apologetic glance towards Logan and left.

Logan sighed wearily and plopped on his bed. He rubbed his temples and admitted, "My head hurts."

"I have ordered some food so after eating that, you can take the meds," I offered and he simply nodded. I stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do and I heard him sigh. He scooted on the bed as if inviting me to sit and I sat beside him. We sat there for a solid minute. I was fiddling with my fingers and he had his head buried in his hands tiredly.

I lifted my hand slowly and touched his. He peered at me through the gap in between his two hands. My eyes never left his as I held his one hand and brought it down gingerly. I intertwined our fingers and placed our hands in between the space between us. We both stared at our connected hands, his slightly tanned than mine. The sunlight coming through the curtains made our linked hands glow brightly. It signified our first step towards friendship.

His hand felt dried, calloused, probably because of dehydration, yet firm under mine. I lightly squeezed his hand as our eyes met, conveying him that I cared about him. I couldn't be a light in the tunnel for him, but I wanted to show him that light within him. I wanted to make him feel that he was loved by people, that people cared about him even though he thought otherwise. Above all, I wanted him to love himself.

His facial expressions eased with no sign of any negative emotion that always seemed to linger around him. His lips curled into a ghost of a smile as faint dimples appeared. He understood me.

When the bell of his apartment rang, we didn't clumsily pull our hands away as if we had touched fire. We didn't blush or awkwardly look away as if we had been in a daze. Instead, we took a glimpse of each other with a small smile. I gently squeezed his hand again and let it go as I stood up and strode towards the door.

I took the bags of food and paid, while Logan brought out plates and glasses from the kitchen and set it on the table. We sat at the small table and ate in silence, but the silence meant so many words that could never be spoken correctly. The silence was ours.

* * *

Things were going fine-great actually. Logan was allowed to work back at the shop with grandpa's usual threats. Grandpa didn't mind renting the apartment to Logan as long as he paid on time. Logan sulked less and smiled occasionally at the customers. I wanted him to seek professional help since his mental illness drove him so many times to take his own life.

One quiet afternoon when he was having Mac and Cheese for lunch on the bench outside the shop, I approached him.

"Hey," I said gleefully, my voice wavering the slightest and sat beside him. He glanced at me and even offered his lunch which I denied. I started warily, "Listen . . . I-I wanted to talk to you about this and if you don't feel comfortable, I'll stop."

It felt like he figured what I was going to talk about, but he nodded anyway.

"I know I can't ask you to do this or force you, but have you ever considered, or-or thought of visiting a---"

He got up swiftly, his nostrils flaring slightly and I immediately caught his arm.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I won't talk about this," I murmured and tugged at his arm. "Please sit down, I promise I won't talk."

He sat down again and after sitting in silence for minutes, I felt his hand on my thigh.

I looked up and he rasped in a low voice, "I did have a few sessions with counsellors before."

"You did?" My eyes widened at his revelation. "Did it help?"

"Yeah," he confessed and I looked at him expectantly. "Now Joy, don't-don't look at me like that. I stopped going because of work and I had someone to look after at that-that time."

I didn't say anything for a while and then asked cautiously, "Now can you go?"

He swallowed hard and I could see his Adam's apple bobble. "Yeah, maybe I'll go."

"Really?" I blinked at him and he gazed at me with a look that felt so close to optimism- so close to hope. "And I'm there if you want to talk or stuff . . . Also, you can call this number in case you don't feel like talking to me or-or--- "

"I know what a suicide hotline is, Joy," he cut me off and I gulped. My intention was to not offend him or remind him of his illness, but to just help. I studied him, but he didn't look mad. He simply took the chit from me and clutched it in his hand.

Logan was getting better and I couldn't help, but my chest swelled in pride.

"I got to go home now, bye Logan." I stood up and smiled at him. "Tell grandpa that I'm not feeling very well."

"Are you okay?" was his immediate question and I nodded in reassurance.

"Yeah, I'm feeling fine. The doctor's supposed to come and check up on me so I got to go," I explained and took a few steps further when I heard his voice.

"Take care, Joy," he said nervously and I could feel the warmth spreading in me.

"Thanks, Logan, you take care too."

* * *

A/N :

I feel that Logan and Joy holding hands was nothing romantic, but something pure and friendly. Something that we would do just to show a person that we care. Logan's slowly getting better and his healing has a long way to go.

I hope this is not boring lmao.