The next day at the same time, James returned to Logan's apartment. He let himself in, since Logan gave him his key earlier, and announced his entrance.

"Logan! I'm here!"

"Hi James!" Logan called out from the bedroom.

James followed the voice down the hall and stopped at the threshold to his room. He must have just come out of the shower and had a towel around his waist. James stayed silent but continued to look. How did Logan have such a great body? His skin was so smooth and muscular, and his back arched perfectly down to his waist. He took off his towel and James looked away quickly. The desire to spy was strong, but it just wasn't right to peep that much. His face turned bright red and he went back towards the kitchen. There were some dirty dishes in the sink that he began to wash up.

"Sorry about that," Logan said. He was headed down the hallway now. "I thought I had a little more time."

"No worries," James said quickly. "How are you today?"

"Eh. I'm okay."

"Just okay?" He peered over at Logan while he scrubbed out a plastic container. The shorter boy was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, now fully dressed but looking exhausted.

"Didn't sleep well last night," said Logan.

"Ahhh, that sucks. How come?"

"Bad dreams."

"Awww."

James placed the last of the dishes onto the drying rack, then popped over to the fridge and checked the food plan. Dinner tonight was eggs.

"Do you ever get tired of eating the same thing, every week?" James asked.

"Kinda. Could you pour me a glass of juice please?"

"Sure no problem." James took a plastic bottle of cranberry juice out and put some into a short glass. He handed it to Logan carefully. "Got it?"

"Yup. Thank you."

"At any rate," James continued. He returned the juice and took a carton of eggs out now. "Have you considered changing the menu?"

"I have," said Logan. He finished the juice and put the glass down on the counter, making sure that it was far enough back from the edge. "But it's just easier for the aid if it stays the same."

"Really? It's all about convenience for your helper?"

"Yeah. I hate sounding selfish. You know, it happens anyway. Someone here just to take care of me. I sort of really hate how self-centered it makes me seem."

"That's just silly," James said with a little laugh. He found a pan and set it on the stovetop. The previous aid had kept the cupboards very well organized. "You need someone to help you, it's not because you're lazy and you just feel like it."

"Uh huh, I know, but still." Logan frowned and stepped towards James. "I don't want to hassle them too much."

"Making different food is no problem," said James. "What if I changed the menu?"

Logan pressed his lips together in thought. If James suggested it, obviously Logan couldn't feel bad about making him go out of his way for him. He folded his hands together and nodded, smiling. "If that's what you want, I would appreciate it."

"I really like to make the most of my jobs," James explained. He cracked a few eggs into the pan but kept looking over at Logan from time to time. He really was adorable, even with his weird looking eyes. His skin was flawless and all of his features suited him very well. James was very, very fortunate that he could see, or else this magnificent beauty of a man would go unknown for him. He wondered how Logan felt. It was interesting how he asked what James looked like. What did he think?

"That's cool that you're so into it," Logan said. "I wish I had a job to be involved with."

"I'm sure there's something you could do if you really wanted to. Ever considered that?"

"Yeah, but you know I won't leave." Logan touched his hand against the wall and followed it around to the outside of the kitchen. He sat down on one of the stools and put his head in his hands.

"What's so scary about going outside, anyway?" James asked. He turned off the heat on the stove and plated the eggs.

"Everything. I've just been terrified of everything out there. I'm scared I'll die if I leave."

"You could die in here, too," James said. "Not trying to worry you or anything, but it's true."

"I know," Logan said with a shy smile. James placed the eggs down in front of him and handed him a fork.

"Need anything else?" the aid asked.

"I'm fine, thank you. Oh, and James?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you go downstairs and get the mail for me, please?"

"Sure, of course."

"There should be a key hanging on a hook by the front door. A tiny key with a round tag."

James left the kitchen and went to the door. There was a coat rack along one side of the wall, and the key that Logan described as hanging there beside a baseball cap.

"Mail room is somewhere on the first floor," Logan said. "The boxes are labeled like the apartment numbers."

"No problem. I'll be right back!" James left the building and took the elevator downstairs. He stepped out and followed the little metal sign that said, "MAIL" and an arrow. A dip in the hallway lead to a room filled with small boxes. He found Logan's apartment number, snatched up the stack of mail and returned to the fourth floor.

"Looks like it's mostly ads," James said as he stepped back inside.

"I'm not surprised," said Logan. He had finished his dinner and put the plate in the sink, and now he was sitting in the living room.

"There are a few cards, though," James added.

"Oh yeah? Could you open them and read them to me please?"

"Of course." James plopped down beside Logan on the sofa and tore open the first of the letters. "This one is from Steven Kreutz, MD. The front has a picture of a little bird with a balloon tied to its leg. 'Happy Birthday Logan! Wishing you many more. Sincerely, Doctor Kreutz.' Is it your birthday soon?"

"Yeah, tomorrow," Logan said very plainly.

"Really? Do you want anything special?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yeah," Logan said with a shrug.

"Any of your other helpers ever done anything for it?"

"Nope."

"Wow, that's not fair."

"Oh I don't care. They're paid to help me out, not be my friend."

"Yeah, but still…" James looked at the next card and started to open it. "Your birthday is special."

"Doesn't seem special to me." Logan sighed and snuggled further back into the sofa. James smiled sadly.

"This one is from Tessa Robertson," he said, now looking at the card. "The front has a little felt cake glued to it. Here, touch it."

James held the card out to Logan, who carefully put his fingers over it and made small circles. He smiled like a little kid as he felt over the cake.

"That's cool, huh?" James asked. Logan nodded.

"What does it say?"

"'Dear Logan, I hope you have a wonderful birthday. Love, Tessa.' Who is Tessa?"

"A friend of my mom's who I basically don't remember."

"That's sweet of her to remember your birthday."

"Yeah…" Logan sounded melancholy.

"What's wrong?" James asked.

"I don't like getting older."

"Why's that?"

"Don't like time going by."

"Well, it's gonna happen," James said. He put the cards aside and paged through the rest of the mail. Nothing else seemed terribly interesting. "Is there anything you've always wanted to do, but never had the chance to?"

"Oh my God, like a million things of course," Logan said with a smile. He moved over a little closer to his aid.

"Like what?" James asked, feeling some delight rise up inside him as Logan became happier.

"I had big dreams when I was little," Logan went on to explain. "I wanted to travel. Go to Europe. Take a cruise. Become a writer."

"A writer, huh?"

"Yeah. Can't really happen now."

"Why not?"

"I can't write."

"You can talk, though."

"I used to dictate journal entries to Martha, but it takes a long time for her to write. It's just not the same."

The idea of Logan's journal piqued James's interest. He wondered what sort of things Logan would talk about.

"Do you still have the journal?" James asked.

"Yeah, but it's been months since we wrote in it."

"Oh, I see."

"I really wanted to be a poet," Logan said.

"A poet? You still can do that."

"I guess. I dunno. I've read so many nice poems, I thought that maybe I could do that, too."

"Have any favorites? I'm not really a poetry kinda guy, but I guess I could learn to appreciate almost anything."

"Uh huh. There are some that Martha and Edward, the aid before her, put together. If you go into my bedroom, there is one bookshelf in the corner. I never touch it, so I couldn't tell you exactly where, but there should be a binder with collected poems in it."

James got up and went back to Logan's room. As described, a single bookshelf sat close to the ground in the furthest corner, next to a window that had dark curtains over it. Just a few books sat on its three shelves. There was a binder marked, "Poetry," which James took out. He flapped it open once, but soon realized that it wasn't other people's poems; it was some that Logan had written. They were hand printed in neat cursive, probably from Martha. James couldn't help but look at a few.

There is no light here, in my world

A land covered by shadow

I journey here, alone, without a trace

And I leave no sound behind.

James sighed to himself as he read on, and it occurred to him that Logan must be extremely lonely in his little world. He wondered how it would feel to lose his vision, and all hope for a future. It didn't have to be that way. Logan could have a better life.

Every person has a someone:

Someone to come home to,

Someone to talk to,

Someone to feel special with.

But I only have a no one.

No one to come home to,

No one to talk to,

No one to feel special with.

What sort of life is this?

Where is he?

"Did you find it alright?" Logan called out from the living room. James looked up quickly and back at the bookshelf. There was another binder there, this one labeled, "Best Poems." He put away the one filled with Logan's work and replaced it with the other. He quickly looked inside to confirm that it was the correct book and went back into the living room. James didn't tell Logan about the first binder, but the last line of that one poem made him curious. Where is he?