This is post-movie verse of Back Soon, one of my favourite LGBTQ movies from Gil's POV. It was bouncing around in my head ever since I rewatched it so here you are:

(For those who need backstory: Logan's wife Adrianne died in a horrible car accident that Gil was a part of. Adrianne died and so did Gil for a few seconds, but he was revived and carried a part of her spirit. Cue meeting together and feeling weird connection, oh, and Gil picks up on some of her tendencies which yields to sex-fest between the two straight men. Unfortunately, just as they are getting used to a happily ever after, Gil gets shot by a gang member he's no longer a part of and dies only to return without Adrianne's spirit and the two decide to "restart" their meeting ambiguously for people like me)

It scares me to think about it. The way my heart thumps so painfully that he must see it ramming into my chest when I see him. Or the way my mouth goes numb and dry like the heat on a Mexican summer day when our eyes meet after he does one of his ridiculously endearing hair-flips. Or the way I just can't help myself from loving him still. Or the reason behind all of these ways. And this time, I don't have Adrianne's ghost or soul or whatever inside me to blame. I am in love of Logan Foster out of my own free will. And he hadn't noticed yet.

I don't know whether to be grateful or upset at that. One one hand, I miss him. I miss his touch, I miss his secretive shy smiles, I miss his thoughtful notes, I even miss his nightly episodes of sleepwalking. I still wake up in the middle of the night expecting to lure him back into our bed and go back to spooning into his warmth.

On the other hand, I think he's finally come to terms with the whole situation, accepted the good weirdness of it all and moved on. It would be wrong of me to deny him that small measure of peace after all that he's been through.

But, still, I'm tempted to try.

I stare at the cell-phone in my hands, turning it over as I debate whether to call him or not. Or rather, if I should tell him. I don't even know what I'm going to say. Guess it really will be like old times. I snort softly, but that's the most humour I get out of it. I'm not one for self-mockery or indecision. This is almost worse than finding out the first time about these feelings I had for him and trying to figure out what to do with them. I do know, though, that I can't keep this 'everything's normal' charade up forever. Much less for much longer. It hurts just to try.

I have to tell him. At the very least he deserves to know the truth. I owe him that much.

I raise the piece of technology to my ear-ring, pressing the number to speed-dial him. I can feel myself shaking with nerves. God, I survived jail but I couldn't call my best friend.

It goes straight to voice-mail. Saves me the problem of having to actually talk to him and hear his response. That would kill me. Either way, telling him or not telling him and knowing exactly what he thought of me, thinks of me is slowly killing me.

The tone alerts me to draw a breath and dive in. "Uh...hey!" I say, feeling stupid for trying to put some inflection into my voice. "It's me, Gil."

I rub my face to prepare for the rest of the message I have to deliver. "Um, I have something important to tell you, so..." I sigh heavily, my body slumping with the noise. My courage wanes. "I guess, call me when you get this or whatever..." I lower it, ready to hang up on him before I shake my head.

I can do this.

I have to do this.

"Actually, if I don't tell you now, I probably won't. Ever," I continue with the normal quality of strength in my speech. "So, um, here goes...

"I still-I miss you, Logan," I pause, and then, to make sure he gets the whole message, I continue softer. As if that could signify the privacy of this moment or the intimacy of the secret I've been hiding. "All of you. Everything. I want..."

I sighed again and pitched my voice even lower. The words came out rough and ragged. "I want you back, soon. Mi amor,"

I hung up this time and dropped the phone beside me on the edge of the bed I was sitting on to begin waiting with my face in my hands. Waiting for his reply and waiting for for my life to restart again.

Because, without him, it hasn't begun.