Beneath the Spanish Sun

The plane’s engines hummed as Logan gazed out the window, watching the rolling waves of the ocean beneath him as the sun set. He’d never been to Europe before, never even thought of Spain until he met Guy. Even in the confined space of the airplane, Logan could already imagine the golden rays of June and the smell of suntan lotion as he lay on the beach. His heart fluttered with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. It could be the adventure of his life.

Guy. Just the thought of him sent a rush of warmth through Logan. They had met online right after Christmas, one of those fluke encounters in a photography forum. Guy's profile had been filled with hauntingly beautiful images of Spanish coastlines and winding village streets, each one tinged with hypnotic light. Logan had been captivated by the photographs first, then by the mysterious man behind the lens. Dark blonde hair and tanned, with a mischievous smile that seemed to leap through the screen. They had started messaging about art, photography, and life before things turned personal, intimate even. Guy made Logan feel wanted, seen in a way that no one had before.

Now, they were going to spend a whole week together.

The next morning, the plane touched down in Barcelona, and Logan’s stomach tightened with excitement. Customs, luggage, everything felt like it moved in slow motion until, finally, he stepped through the sliding doors and saw Guy standing at the arrivals gate, holding a small sign that read, “Bienvenido, Logan.”

"Guy!" Logan called out as he ran to embrace him, the awkwardness of online chemistry translating into the real world almost seamlessly. Guy smelled of sun and sea salt, his blue eyes sparkling as they parted, grinning at each other.

“You made it,” Guy said, his accent curling around the words like music.

“Of course, I did,” Logan replied, feeling that familiar rush of nervous energy. "I wouldn’t have missed this for anything."

They headed out into the Barcelona afternoon, the city alive with the buzz of tourists and locals, bicycles whirring down the tree-lined boulevards, the smell of coffee and fried churros filling the air. Guy had rented a small apartment for the week in Gràcia, a bohemian neighborhood, and they spent the first few days wandering the narrow streets, holding hands, kissing beneath ancient archways. Logan found himself lost in Guy’s world—cafes and markets, secret beaches where they would swim in the early mornings—as nature intended it, laughing as they splashed in the cool water.

Every night, they returned to the apartment, exhausted and sun soaked. They would fall into bed together, limbs entwined, breath mingling in the darkness. It felt like something out of a dream, a perfect escape from Logan's usual life, far from the rain-soaked suburbs of Columbus, Ohio, and his boring job. If it could only last forever.

Yet, beneath the surface, something gnawed at Logan, a small doubt that he couldn't quite shake. There was a distance to Guy, something carefully held back. Guy was incredibly generous, affectionate, but it was as if a part of him remained just out of reach, locked away behind that carefree smile. Logan brushed the feeling aside. He was just being paranoid. Long-distance relationships were difficult, and now that they were face-to-face, it was probably just a matter of adjusting.

By the fourth day, the tension finally broke.

They had spent the afternoon in Sitges, a small coastal town just south of Barcelona, walking along the beach and sharing ice cream cones like a cliché romantic film. He envisioned Guy’s villa on the coast, sipping Spanish cava and intimate nights bathed in sea breezes.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet, Guy turned to Logan with a soft, almost regretful look in his eyes.

"Tomorrow, we should go back to Barcelona early. I need to take care of some things," Guy said quietly.

Logan felt his heart sink. The week was flying by too fast. "But... we still have a few days left, don’t we?"

Guy hesitated, then forced a smile. "I wish we did, Logan. But there's something I need to sort out. You’ll understand, right?"

Logan nodded, but the unease returned, settling like a stone in his chest.

Their final night together was quiet, the conversation over paella light, but the silences between them grew longer. When they lay together, it felt different, like Guy was already somewhere else, his mind distant even as they touched. By morning, the sun was out again, but the warmth between them had waned. Guy helped Logan pack his bag, the suitcase feeling heavier now, burdened with more than just clothes and a few souvenirs.

They took a taxi back to the airport in the early afternoon. The drive was filled with small talk, neither of them willing to address the looming goodbye. When they arrived, Guy walked Logan to the entrance of the terminal. The warmth of the Spanish sun had become oppressive.

“I’m going to miss you,” Logan said, his voice breaking slightly and tears welling in his eyes. He didn’t want this to end. Not like this.

Guy smiled softly, his eyes clouded with something Logan couldn’t decipher. “Me too,” he whispered, pulling Logan into a tight hug.

Then, just as Logan was about to step away, Guy pressed something into his hand.

Logan frowned, pulling back to look. It was a thick envelope.

“What’s this?”

Guy avoided his gaze. “It’s yours,” he said simply.

Logan hesitated, opening the envelope carefully. Inside was a thick stack of bills—more money than Logan had ever seen at once. His heart froze.

“What the hell is this?” Logan demanded, his voice low and sharp. “Guy, what’s going on?”

Guy finally met his eyes, but there was no smile now, just sadness. “It’s what we agreed on. Isn’t it?”

Logan felt his stomach twist. “What we... agreed on? What are you talking about?”

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

“You thought...” Guy’s voice faltered, but he forced himself to continue. “You thought this was real? That I was... I mean, we met on…, well, you remember.”

Logan’s mind raced, fragments of conversations, messages, and small details suddenly clicking into place. He had reached out to Guy through a site, hadn’t he? He’d found him in a space that catered to... escorts, but in the haze of their emotional connection, he had pushed it aside, believing it had become something more.

“I’m sorry,” Guy said softly, his voice full of regret. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But this is... your job.”

Logan’s world shattered in that moment, the warm Spanish sun suddenly feeling cold and unforgiving. His heart pounded as the reality set in, each second of silence between them crushing the fantasy he had built. He stared down at the envelope, the stack of money in his hands feeling heavier than anything he’d ever carried.

“I... I need to go,” Logan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he shoved the envelope back at Guy, his hands trembling. The words felt hollow, as if they couldn’t begin to express the storm raging inside him. Tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of Guy. He turned and hurried inside the terminal, each step pulling him further from the dream he’d chased across an ocean.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

The illusion was gone, broken into a thousand jagged pieces. What had felt like the beginning of something beautiful was nothing more than a lie—an escape from the loneliness he had never been able to outrun. As Logan disappeared into the crowd, the weight of his solitude returned with brutal clarity.

Maybe it was time to stop running. Time to face the emptiness head-on, to stop searching for connection in all the wrong places. Beneath the Spanish sun, Logan realized, he hadn’t lost Guy. He had lost himself.

And now, it was time to find his way back.