okay, so this is actually a rewrite from a fic i wrote about a year ago for a different fandom. i just found it literally, like, thirty minutes ago and i thought it would be perfect for a cargan story. i don't really have much to say about it other than i only checked for mistakes once, so if you catch any, i apologize for them.

disclaimer: nope. don't own anything.
warning: implied character death and adult themes, some language.

Carlos knew that it wasn't right that he could let go; that he couldn't - or rather, wouldn't - move on after Logan died. He knew that moving on is what Logan would've wanted, but Carlos didn't care. For once, he wanted to be selfish. If anything, he deserved to do and get whatever he wanted. He's spent a good majority of his young life with everyone else in mind. It's his turn now.

Unfortunately, the one thing he really wanted wasn't exactly obtainable anymore.

Besides, he loved - well, loves, because that's never going to change - Logan, how could he just "move on"? Carlos has never had anything like what he did with Logan before. Not even a new helmet or cute, fluffy kittens could possibly give Carlos the same high he got around Logan. The way he sees it, it'd be like betrayal. How could he just pack his bags and move onto the next available person? This isn't the same as moving into a new house. When something you love more than life itself is suddenly taken away from you but the cold, merciless hand of life, it's not easy to get over. And Carlos was beginning to think he never would.

Not that he really minds.

Of course, on those days when it's harder to get up in the morning that others, and corndogs just don't have the right taste - not that they really do anymore anyway - those visits to the bar after work don't seem like such a bad idea. A little whiskey here, some vodka there, a few shots far and in between, and a hurricane to wash it all down; that's usually how the visits went down. And yeah, it might make the light-weight a little more drunk than he planned on getting, and yeah, it might not be the best way or place to pick up some smokin' hot blonde chick with kickin' curves - who probably won't even remember her last name two drinks later - but if that's what it takes to make him feel any bit better for the night, then what's the harm in it?

Besides, it's not love, it's a sport fuck.

This, Carlos also knew, isn't something that Logan would approve of. Not in the least bit. There was always that feeling of guilt lingering in the pit of his stomach afterward, and breakfast was a lot harder to swallow the next day. It never failed.

The life Carlos was living now was nothing short of miserable. There's no denying that. It's hard not to dive into an unhealthy lifestyle after your loved one dies in some way that the doctor's still haven't figured out. No matter how hard he tried to fight it off, to stay clear of acting the way he has, Carlos would always give up eventually. He just wasn't that strong. Not anymore.

Logan would've wanted Carlos to just go and live life the way it's supposed to be lived and to just be happy, and Carlos knew that. He just couldn't see how that would be possible. He was his happiest with and around Logan and Logan alone.

Carlos could agree that this way of going on with life isn't exactly what anyone would call "happy", but at least it was something. It could be worse; he could be doing all kinds of drugs and be living in a cardboard box in some shady alley, begging for spare change.

But either way, it was only hurting Carlos, and he knew that.

All of Logan's belongings were still lingering all over the house. His clothes were still in the closet, his cell phone was still activated, books, miscellaneous papers from works - everything. Carlos couldn't find the heart to throw any of it out. Having them around probably isn't helping out with his situation at all, but it's whatever. To him, it'd be the equivalent of just tossing Logan himself into the dump. This way, it was kind of like the other man was still there, just ... away on business.

He would still set the table for two, have movie night every Wednesday and watch all their favorites, set out the shaving kit in the morning and fix Logan's favorite breakfast; and it's a damn near foolish thing to do because he knew in his heart, Logan isn't coming back. But Carlos didn't care; he wanted to be able to hang on to what he could.

His worst fear is forgetting.

But, no matter what even unfolded during the day, they would always end the same. Carlos would slip into his side of the bed, smiling as he turned to the picture of Logan he kept nestled into the pillow, and he would talk to Logan. He would tell him everything that happened, complete with that stupid smile and lots of hand gestures. He didn't do it because he wanted to pretend Logan was still there and never left - though everything else he did around the house was exactly that - but because there was part of him that liked to believe that he really hadn't gone anywhere. Not in spirit. Carlos could swear up and down that there was still warmth on the other side of the bed.

So, this isn't letting go. This isn't moving on, and it never will be. This is hanging onto what you still have and never letting go.