Often times, music was in the background while he was focused on doing something else. Moving through crowds, blocking out people talking. Now, he just laid unmoving on his bed, facing the ceiling with his headphones playing the ever-expanding playlist of breakup songs.

Logan walked in from the bathroom, with no physical response from Troye. He was deep in contemplation, hopping from one train of thought to another. His mind stumbled upon the intimate episode between him and Romero and Troye turned away from the bathroom, trying to relive the memory with pink cheeks.

Sighing, Logan took Troye's movement as the dreaded silent treatment. This time, it weighed on his heart heavier than usual, he wanted to apologise. For what exactly? Logan didn't really know. Was Troye offended by Logan's encounters? Or was it some deeper insecurity that surfaced from their conversation?

After Troye's breakdown about finances, Logan had summarised that Troye was easily affected by his own thoughts. So, it would not be very surprising that Troye had, once again, come to a false conclusion about his own character.

Logan chuckled inwardly and ironically. Once upon a time, he thought that getting to know other people well was a massive effort he didn't want to make. Now, he was willing to beg Troye for some semblance of explanation so he wouldn't be left in the dark about his friend.

Troye dug into his mind for the tactile memories of Romero touching him. It made his breathing slow and smooth, as if he were trying to limit any physiological movement so it wouldn't rupture the gentle memories.

He was so engrossed that he thought he had been transported, between focusing so intensely and his drowsiness, to the exact moment that Romero laid a hand on his hip.

The bed dipped and he was startled.

"I can still take the couch if this makes you uncomfortable." Logan said softly, he was seriously pitying himself.

With a shake of his head, Troye laid down again. The memory was banished into the depths of his mind, to be discovered another day. "You're injured." Troye stated, now looking at Logan's neck.

"Yeah. I'm-" Logan wanted to elaborate, but he would only be digging a deeper lie, "yeah..." He repeated to reaffirm his point.

The lights were shut off, and they laid next to each other, eerily silent. Logan could so easily just insist that he slept outside, but he felt selfish. He wanted to be close to Troye for comfort - someone to anchor him, just for one night. The blanket covered over their shoulder. Logan facing Troye and Troye facing the autumn streets through the window.

Eventually, through the darkness, Troye shifted around. He was more accustomed to facing the bathroom while sleeping on his side. When he turned, he saw Logan staring right at him with moon-lit eyes. He couldn't break the gaze.

"Are you alright?" Logan asked, a question for the dwindling flame behind Troye's irises.

Troye ignored him, then gave it a long moment's thought. He wanted to say he was fine, that everything was going according to plan. But nothing was.

"I'm a terrible adult." It summed up his lukewarm love life, his drooping savings and the hatred he had for who he was and how things were turning out. "I'm scared." The second emotion sitting atop his struggling mind like a king with his riches.

Amongst the sputtering heater and whipping winds, a shattering rung in Logan's chest. He moved close immediately. Threw his arm around Troye's back and pressed his friend against him. He wanted to protect and to predict that all would be well in Troye's future. He couldn't.

The tense ligaments pulled tighter in Troye's body. He realised that he had been fighting the need to be desired for too long. Silence was the perfect camouflage for him. Troye ducked his head and pressed his forehead against Logan's collar bone.

Finally receiving a taster of what it was like to be with Troye. Logan pulled their bodies close, offering all the affection he could to Troye. Yet another step in their friendship, perhaps a little too close to the fork in the road.

Troye bit back the moisture gathering in his eyes. "Thank you for staying with me." Even when I'm weak and lonely.

Logan brushed his hands in idle circles about Troye's back.

And he thought long and hard about what it meant to be there for someone.

Unconditionally.

~

Daylight came, and tried its best to stir life into New York.

Logan's body clock told him it was time to wake up, it had always been like this, even if the day allowed him to sleep in.

Although, he frequently slept with someone else, Logan was never one to share a bed like this. Neither had he ever woken up with someone's hair in his face and legs tangled in a heat-seeking mess. Logan fell in love with that exact moment.

When he realised that he was wide awake, but had no intention of releasing his friend, Logan knew something was wrong.

He suspected that he had fallen in love.

Perhaps a little too quickly and too harshly, the ground was willing to accept his decent, but not eager enough to break his fall.

Had he truly fallen in love with Troye? Or was it the concept of a lover that excited him? This could have been anyone in his arms, and maybe he would be just as, if not more, unwilling to move an inch away from the bed.

Logan could have cried; with how helplessly confusing this was. He thought that he had known it all - the ins and outs of life in the clutch of his hand. While he knew what who he was, he never envisioned that something so abstract as love, could play a leading role in his life.

So, he hung on. He cradled Troye's lulling head against his chest, ignoring the lack of blood flow in his arm directly under Troye's head. He felt the bony legs that were against his own. He thought about the finer details of their friendship.

It had always been thin ice that they were treading on. Their friendship was built upon little common interest and a great rift in personality. However, they were bound together by a loneliness so great that it ate away their reasoning.

He took a deep breath in, and savoured the scent of shampoo against his stuffy nose. His exhale was shaky, then he felt something escape his eyes.

His eyes now shut tightly as another tear slipped through the gates. For once, he allowed himself to indulge in the thought of his future. He saw nothing. Nothing but a pair of silhouettes standing side by side.

He realised that he wanted that. He just wanted someone by his side. It was a simple wish.

Logan felt fingers tapping at his hip. He looked downward to see Troye shuffling away from his chest, he fought the need to hang on with a blade and passion. Troye smiled sheepishly, thankfully not moving too far away from Logan, "I couldn't breathe."

A chuckle broke through Logan's tears. It sounded pathetic, as if he was vulnerable but happy. He had never been able to bare his soul to anyone and feel liberated like this. Logan wiped his tears away, labelling it futile now that Troye was awake. They would have to wake up and face the world. Separately.

Naturally, Troye rolled away from Logan's arms to grab his phone. He liked to listen to music when he woke up, it gave his brain something to process before he did anything strenuous.

Logan stared at the back of Troye's head. And it was like a great chasm ripped through the centre of the bed and he was left alone again.

He didn't know what whether or not to make a move on Troye. It troubled him to think that he would be selfish to spring sudden feelings on his friend.

Rolling back around, Troye faced Logan with a tight-lipped smile. He stuck one side of his headphones in Logan's ear and hit play on his phone. It was then that Troye's morning haze had passed, and he could see the falter in Logan's expression.

The slightly heavier breathing of Logan also revealed the dried tracks of tears, which reflected the diffused sunlight. Troye's heart fell, and somewhere in the middle of his stomach, it hovered.

A lost boy was all Troye saw, and he would know that expression all too well.

He closed the gap between them and actively placed his arms around Logan the way his friend did for him the night previous. He was sure it wasn't as comforting, since he had fairly bony arms and a weak grip, but it was the best he could offer while laying down.

Logan curled up, happy to feel Troye's body against his own. He felt as though it was where he belonged, within someone's arms. He thought he would be more aroused about it all, but he wasn't, he finally felt the spreading warmth in his gut that people raved about.

He was tripping and falling over his heart and heels and shoulders for someone else.

Right then and there, he tore himself off of Troye and grabbed his friend by the back of his neck and dove in for a kiss. Troye was stunned between the thoughts of losing his first kiss to Logan and the sensations that graced him.

His arms were pinned by his side as Logan secured the two of them to each other. His heart was beating at an unhealthy speed and he was paralysed. The look on Logan's face prior to the kiss struck a chord in Troye's heart. He didn't know that Logan could appear so breakable.

Despite the iron strong jaw or steel grey eyes, Troye was indeed attracted to the fragility of Logan.

Before Troye knew it, he was laying on his back with Logan tenderly kissing him. Troye thought briefly that maybe he had led Logan on with cuddling and sleeping together. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to say that he was 'leading Logan on' because romance has always orbited in a different galaxy to his.

Logan finally pulled away, kneeling above Troye, both of Troye's arms were pinned on the bed. Both agreed on one thing, upon seeing each other, they had taken too many steps at once. However, Logan thought that he could take one more step and say the words that would explain their mysterious outburst.

He was tongue-tied.

~

Logan's shift at the job went about as well as his morning did.

He had thought about calling in sick but decided that the distraction would be far more productive than ringing Scotty for some evening 'advice'.

Shortly after Logan and Troye kissed in the bedroom, they didn't speak a word. It didn't seem like Troye was cursing Logan for what he did, but both of them had retreated into opposite corners and were unwilling to open up.

As they grew to know each other more, when they read between the lines and zoomed in on the fine print, loose strands of personal information fell in and out of place. Still it was very clear that they didn't like talking about themselves.

It was currently late in the evening, Logan had never been one to stay at his workplace for this long, but there wasn't much of a point in returning to his own bed either. So, he decided to stay and get paid for whatever he was doing.

His job was fairly monotonous when he wasn't putting calls through to the hosts or sorting out client accommodation as they wait for their interviews. It was mostly administrative busywork, sorting through the schedule for the next day – even though he didn't have a shift tomorrow – occasionally, he would be called up to help with the evening rush-hour discussions.

"Luxembourg." Logan turned around to see his boss standing there, with all his salt and pepper hair. "We need help with 750." A tilt of his head compelled Logan to follow and motioned Logan to drop the stapler.

FM750 was a station cloaked in mystery. It was almost comparable to Atlantis, spoken of but never seen. There was a time when FM750 was popular, but that was in the early days of the multi-decade downfall of radio networks. It used to be a story-telling station, where folks tuned in for a different genre every day of the week.

Now, FM750 was more often than not white noise, with only evening to late-night confessions that people sent in through mail. The story-telling stopped, and Logan hazarded a guess that the world didn't have time to tell more stories.

The host's job, apart from producing and managing all the equipment themselves, was to read out letters anonymously, give advice and speak about their own life as well.

Stepping into the narrow studio for FM750, the condition was quite frankly worse than what Logan had in mind. It was atmospheric to euphemise, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Unlike the usual room he worked in where everything was lit up, it was dimmed with an old musty smell that clung to objects several decades older than Logan himself.

There was no glass window looking into a sound-proof room, the room itself was self-contained with all the equipment at an arm's length. It was a miracle that Logan didn't feel claustrophobic.

Surprisingly no one was in the room, but everything was turned on. Lights flickered here and there, causing Logan's attention to scatter.

"The host is off today, so it's all yours." Logan turned around to see his boss with a cheeky smirk. This is exactly what I did not need... Logan thought exasperatedly. He just wanted to relax for a night, perhaps become less stressed about his life than he already was by sorting stacks of paper.

Logan then realised this was probably a follow-up to the conversation that he last had with his boss, about potentially being a live host. This was his entryway. It made complete sense for the company to put him in a low budget project, so nothing goes catastrophically wrong.

"The host has pre-recorded tonight's programme before she went off on leave, but something came up and she won't be able to record tomorrow night's session." His boss shimmied into the room and pulled out the rolling office chair for Logan, "Which is why, you are here. To record and edit tomorrow's session. As well as getting paid time-and-a-half."

"Right..." Logan gulped, his nerves lit on fire, and he could count the his resting heartrate in his ears. "What do I do...?"

Logan's boss shrugged, even he wasn't so sure why FM750 still existed, it was someone higher up who decided to keep it running. "The host gave you some information on how to do most things. It's fairly freeform, advice and reading. No heavy lifting."

Nodding, Logan stepped in further and took the seat that his boss held out. There was a double-sided piece of paper in front of the microphone, which was fairly new and up to date compared to the rest of the studio.

"One thing she made very clear though. Be sure you keep yourself anonymous and if you decide to speak about other people, give them a fake name." Logan frowned at that, surely it couldn't have been detrimental to say their names, but if it was in the job description, Logan didn't have the energy to rebel. "You have the rest of your evening. Just make sure you aren't messing around alright? I need this done by 4 pm tomorrow."

Logan nodded and his boss was gone swiftly. He was now somewhat determined to take on the task, at least it was work experience.

The reason why Logan accepted being here as an intern was because he didn't feel like it was right to live off his parents' funds, so he made himself take up the job. The hours could be fairly brutal at times, especially since he was often required straight before and straight after his classes.

However, as time passed, Logan grew more and more fond of the inner workings of the company, and his half-year contract got extended twice. Now, he was more of a permanent part-time admin than an intern.

He never had the guts to speak to his boss about transferring into a part-time position. One, he knew the hours would be even more brutal, and two, it would seem like he was cockily asking for a raise. Granted, he probably deserved the raise, but he rather that he saved up slower than to piss off his fellow interns, especially when favouritism rumours were already cycling.

Once Logan got to know the equipment and tested the audio, he went straight into reading the letters. He had always been comfortable speaking, maybe not so much a monologue, but with the letter held between his fingers, it didn't feel like he was speaking to himself.

Most the letters were confessions, a few were asking for advice, he even got a poem. It was very surprising as to what he had to offer in terms of responses. It came from the mouth of a guy in his mid-20's but he felt like the advice given was sound. He wouldn't have known better anyway.

Over the course of the hour and a half of reading and responding, he had felt the need to be conservative about himself, but there was a poster plastered on the wall straight across from him. Dig deep. In block letters and faded colouring. Logan followed the instructions; he gave all he could.

There was one of a boy, who had atrocious handwriting, but the letter was beautifully tragic. He was around 25 and was in a happy relationship with his girlfriend, but his girlfriend was suffering from ovarian cancer. He wanted to use up their savings to get treatment for his girlfriend, but his girlfriend refused, and said it was better used for them to get an egg extraction so they could IVF a child that they always wanted.

The magnitude of these people's problems gave him a shock, they were so honest and it broke Logan's heart. Perhaps he was taking too much for granted. He was sitting here, happy for the most part even if a little lonely. Yet he whined about so much, and not appreciating enough.

It made him think about his addiction to sex. It was such a superficial craving, then he stopped there before he would bring Troye into his mind. His friendship with Troye meant so much more than his craving for company and pleasure.

So, he put down the letter from the 25-year-old boy, which happened to be the final letter in the stack, and opened his mouth.

He confessed his feelings about Troye, whom he named Angelou. Then presented the ever-expanding paradox between love and friendship, his confusion between fleeting company and everlasting connection.

He didn't know how painful it was to lose someone he had loved for years, but he offered whatever he could with his looming heartbreak.

His eyes were red towards the end but shut the microphone off with a bittersweet smile.

Sitting in the small room, with everything in arms-reach, posters collaged onto corkboards. Logan felt a little less lost.

In the violent confusion of his mind, he was glad that someone out on the streets of New York could understand his fears. Even if he couldn't see the other person, at least the world knows that Logan had a heart.

He sent Troye a text message.

Logan: Listen to FM750 tomorrow 7:00pm.

Logan: Please.

(Published 6/9/2019)

A/N: The climax of this section of the story comes quickly. 

I haven't got much to say that wouldn't spoil things, so let's pivot to future plans for this note. 

I've been working slowly on the next section of the story, which is good. The fear of portraying something I don't understand is slowly leaving me, and I'm looking at writing as a way to fantasize. Since that has always been the kind of person I am, fantasizing. God forbid I live in the moment and not think about what could have been. 

The next chapter will come soon, but not soon enough that I want to commit to a time and a day, since I've got some editing to do. It does contain a non-conventional verse poetry monologue situation, which needs a lot of brain juices to let simmer to medium-rare. 

I'll check back next chapter when it's ready to be served.