annashay 
A group of gay friends who met on a long-defunct online community finally meet up in person, but one of them doesn’t show up.
| Image generated with OpenAI |
The cabin looked like it came with a tetanus warning.
Nestled deep in pine trees and bad decisions, it had the saggy charm of something rented too quickly, too cheaply, and possibly without adult supervision. The porch leaned. The mailbox was hanging on by one hinge.
Michael pulled in and lingered behind the wheel, staring at the cabin like it might start talking. His GPS had lost signal ten miles back, right around the time the road narrowed to a single lane of existential dread.
Now, he wasn’t sure if he was here to reconnect with old friends or star in the gay reboot of The Blair Witch Project.
He checked his phone. No service.
Of course not.
Getting out felt like an act of misplaced bravery. He grabbed his bag and climbed the front steps, one slow creak at a time. Under the doormat, just as the email promised, was a key wrapped in a sticky note that read:
No murder pls 🙂
Michael snorted. “Yep, definitely Chris.”
He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The cabin smelled like cedar, dust, and a faint hint of weed. It was cozy in the way a place is when raccoons have squatters’ rights. The couch was draped in mismatched blankets, while across from it sat a bookshelf filled with warped paperbacks.
Michael set his bag down and glanced at the table.
A basket sat in the center, filled with trail maps and vegan granola bars. Beside it were five ceramic mugs, each one labeled in Sharpie.
Michael spotted his first.
Hot Mike.
He stared. “Oh my God.”
Of course Chris would keep that old joke alive. He picked up the mug and shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching.
It had been more than a decade since he’d spoken to any of them.
Not because of lack of care or a falling out.
Just… life.
A slow unraveling.
Messages got shorter.
Logins less frequent.
Until finally, the website, the chatroom, disappeared.
Like it had never existed.
Then, out of nowhere, came Chris’s email.
I’m finally cashing in on my promise. No excuses this time.
The five of us. A weekend retreat. In the real world.
Bring snacks. Or shame.
The crunch of tires on gravel pulled Michael out of his thoughts. He moved to the window just as the car outside rolled to a stop.
A man stepped out with a low bun and sunglasses, pausing before making his way toward the cabin. He looked like he ran an apothecary out of his living room.
Michael opened the door.
They both stared.
The man smiled. “Michael?”
Michael blinked. “Leo?”
Leo chuckled. “Holy shit. You look… not like your old profile pic.”
Michael huffed a laugh. “That was ten years ago.”
Leo hesitated. “Do we… hug?”
Michael shrugged. “We used to. Digitally.”
Leo gave a quick, polite lean-in.
Awkward. But it counted.
Leo gave the place a once-over. “Okay, this is either a gay wellness retreat or a pre-murder Airbnb. Tell me that moose head doesn’t blink.”
“There’s no moose head.”
“There will be. It’s watching us already.”
Michael handed him a mug labeled Bossy Bottom. “Found these on the table.”
Leo grinned. “Classic. Think he made them?”
Michael shook his head. “Handwriting screams Etsy twink.”
Leo raised the mug. “God, I missed this.”
“This?”
“You. The vibe. The banter. Weird how your body remembers people even when your brain forgets.”
Michael let out a soft sigh. “Yeah.”
A pause.
Comfortable, but tenuous.
Leo cleared his throat. “Any sign of him?”
Michael shook his head. “Not yet.”
Leo frowned. “Weird. He was always the first one to log on.”
“Last to log out, too.”
Leo set his bag down. “Think he’s still coming?”
“I hope so.”
“He always said he’d get us together.”
Michael looked down at his mug. “Yeah. He did.”
They stood there, unsure how to bridge a decade of silence.
Leo scratched the back of his neck. “I almost didn’t come.”
“Same.”
“Kind of feels like one of those bait-and-lure scams. ‘Congrats! You’ve won a free trip to die in the woods. Bring snacks.'”
Michael’s eyes flickered with dry amusement. “If it is, we’re two snacks short.”
Leo laughed. “God, you really are Michael.”
Michael gestured toward the fridge. “Want something to drink?”
They cracked open two beers and sat at the kitchen table.
Warmth began to settle between them.
Recognition beneath the dust.
“Did you ever think we’d actually meet?” Leo asked.
Michael’s gaze drifted to the mugs on the table. “Not really.”
Leo’s eyes followed Michael’s. “Same. I figured it’d be something we talked about until we didn’t.”
Michael looked at Leo. “Guess Chris meant it.”
Another car crunched up the drive.
Moments later, a knock.
Michael opened the door. “Jasper?”
The man on the porch smiled, a little uncertain. “That’s me. And you’re… Michael, right?”
“Yeah. And Leo.”
Leo gave a small wave from behind him.
Jasper exhaled with a chuckle. “You both look… different. And somehow exactly the same.”
Michael stepped aside. “Come in. We’ve got drinks. And a mild identity crisis going.”
Jasper entered and set his bag down with care.
They reintroduced themselves slowly.
No one rushed.
Silence stretched.
Not uncomfortable.
Just careful.
“I kept wondering if it was really Chris,” Jasper said. “The email felt like him. But it also felt too good to be true.”
Michael sipped his beer. “We still haven’t seen him.”
They all glanced at the door, as if that might summon him.
It didn’t.
Halfway through their second drinks, headlights flickered through the trees.
A car door opened, then shut.
A few seconds later, a tentative knock.
Michael opened the door to a man in a faded hoodie, the hood up against the misting rain. He looked up slowly, damp curls slipping over his brow.
Michael squinted. “Devon?”
The man tilted his head. “Michael?”
“Yeah,” Michael said with a smirk. “I thought you’d be taller.”
Devon didn’t miss a beat. “I thought you’d be hotter.”
From the kitchen, Leo cackled. “There he is!”
Devon stepped inside and shrugged off his hoodie.
Leo handed him a beer. “Dude. I was sure you weren’t gonna show.”
“I almost didn’t,” Devon admitted as he twisted the cap off.
“Same here,” Jasper added from the couch. “This feels surreal.”
“It is surreal,” Devon said. “This is the first time we’ve all been in the same room. Ever.”
Michael leaned against the wall. “So, what now?”
They glanced at each other.
“We’ve got three days,” Leo said. “Should we play board games and trauma-bond like adults?”
“There’s a firepit out back,” Jasper offered. “We could do s’mores. Tell embarrassing stories.”
Devon raised a brow. “Do we even have non-embarrassing stories?”
Leo snorted. “Not from that chatroom.”
They laughed, the quiet slipping back in as the sound faded.
Michael pushed off the wall. “Alright. We unpack. We eat. We figure it out.”
Devon opened a cabinet. “So, are we cooking or ordering reinforcements?”
Jasper checked the fridge. “He stocked it. Pasta, wine, hummus, and way too much cheese.”
Leo held up a labeled container. “Is this homemade dip?”
Devon grinned. “Of course. You think Chris would invite us all the way out here and not make it feel like a welcome party?”
Michael smiled. “It’s weird how much this already feels like him.”
A thoughtful silence wrapped around them.
Chris had been the glue.
He always sent the last goodnight.
Remembered every birthday.
He even renamed the chat something ridiculous each month to make them laugh.
He was the spark.
The heartbeat.
The one who swore they’d meet someday and made them believe it.
Now he was the only one missing.
Leo set the dip down gently. “So… where the hell is he?”
The fire crackled, its glow flickering across four faces that had only ever existed together in pixels until now.
They had dragged out mismatched chairs and blankets, forming a loose circle behind the cabin.
Jasper lit a citronella candle.
Leo leaned back with a cup of wine balanced on his thigh. “Alright. If we’re talking about life, someone else needs to go first. I already overshared with the monkeypox story.”
Michael stretched his legs. “That was oversharing? I thought that was your intro.”
Jasper smiled behind his drink. “At least you didn’t lead with your trauma chart.”
“I’m a Leo with mommy issues,” Leo deadpanned. “No secrets here.”
Devon gave him a look. “Still a bottom, though. Astrology only explains so much.”
Leo pointed. “You’ve changed. You’re funnier now.”
Devon shrugged. “I’m just tired.”
Their laughter came easier.
Less filtered. Warmer.
Michael set his cup down. “I got married.”
The circle paused.
“Still am,” he added. “To a guy named Jonah. Six years now.”
Leo raised his cup with a grin. “Look at you. Actual adulting.”
Michael gave a faint smile. “It’s good, mostly. We’ve hit a rough patch, though. Honestly, when I got Chris’s email, part of me needed the break.”
Jasper nodded. “I get that.”
Devon looked over. “You still in Boston?”
“Just outside. I teach now.”
Leo blinked. “Wait. Like high school?”
Jasper poured more wine into his cup. “Lit and comp.”
“So from quoting Oscar Wilde at 3am to shaping young minds. Love it.”
Devon nudged the fire with a stick.
“I’ve been single for… forever. I came out pretty late. After the site shut down, I didn’t really have anyone who got it. So I threw myself into work.”
“What do you do?” Michael asked.
“I’m a freelance archivist. I digitize old collections.”
Leo raised his eyebrows. “That’s perfect for you.”
Devon looked down at the stick in his hand. “Yeah. Quiet life suits me.”
Jasper gave him a sidelong glance. “Ever get loud?”
Devon smiled. “Only online. Once.”
That got another round of laughter.
They passed the wine and snacks, the night stretching without urgency.
At some point, Leo launched into a story about his ex, Nico, who ran a queer arts collective. Nico broke up with him after Leo forgot his birthday two years in a row.
“I said, babe, I didn’t even remember my birthday. Neurodivergence is a bitch.”
Michael chuckled. “Do you always cope with humor?”
Leo shrugged. “It’s that or cry in Trader Joe’s again.”
Jasper looked over. “When’s the last time you felt happy?”
Leo’s gaze drifted between them. “Honestly? Right now.”
The fire popped.
No one rushed to fill the silence.
Devon glanced around the flames. “Did you guys think about the site much? After it shut down?”
Jasper nodded. “I didn’t realize how much it meant to me until it was gone. It was the first place I felt like I could be myself.”
Michael sipped his wine. “Same. I was still closeted when I joined. Chris was the first person I really talked to about it. He made it feel less… impossible.”
“I came out because of him,” Jasper said. “He told someone they weren’t broken. That stuck with me.”
Leo shifted. “I used to think he might’ve been into me.”
The others looked over.
“What? It’s not that wild. We flirted all the time.”
“You flirted with everyone,” Michael said.
“Yeah, but with Chris, it felt different.”
Jasper leaned in. “Did you ever say anything?”
Leo shook his head. “We stopped talking before I could.”
The air felt heavier now.
Michael ran a hand through his hair. “I miss him.”
Devon didn’t look up. “He always said we’d meet one day. I didn’t think it would actually happen.”
The silence said the rest.
By the time Michael woke, the smell of coffee was already in the air. He shuffled into the kitchen.
Jasper stood at the stove, stirring something.
“You cook now?” Michael asked with a scratchy voice.
“No Pop-Tarts, which is basically a hate crime.”
Leo shuffled in behind them. “Who made the demon fire in my skull and why is it punishing me?”
“Wine hangover?” Jasper asked.
Leo groaned. “No, emotional intimacy hangover. I got soft last night. I said nice things. I might have felt stuff.”
“You’ll live,” Michael muttered into his coffee.
Devon was the last to emerge. He gave them all a small wave and went straight for the tea.
They gathered around the table again. It was less awkward this time.
Familiar, but not casual.
Like the muscle memory of friendship was beginning to return, but still sore in places.
It was Michael who finally said it.
“So… are we still pretending this is normal?”
Everyone looked at him.
“I mean, Chris invited us. Chris booked this place. But Chris still hasn’t shown up.”
Jasper shifted in his seat. “He’s probably just running late.”
“By a full day?”
“Maybe he had a delay… ” Jasper trailed off.
No one spoke for a moment.
Devon looked around the table. “Does anyone know anything about his actual life now? Like where he lives? What he does for work?”
Jasper shook his head. “No clue. After the site shut down, I figured he just… moved on.”
Michael let out a slow breath. “We all did.”
A hollow silence filled the space.
Leo stood. “I’m gonna take a walk.”
Michael glanced over. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just need to move. Sitting still makes me spiral.”
He stepped outside before anyone could respond.
Morning slipped into afternoon as each of them found a way to distract themselves.
Jasper read on the porch.
Michael walked the trail behind the cabin with his earbuds in.
Devon stayed inside, drawn to the messy bookshelf that had been bothering him since he arrived.
Chris used to tease him about his need to alphabetize everything, but the scattered titles were getting under his skin.
He started at the top row, sorting by author, then title. He straightened spines, nudged stray books into line, adjusted gaps until the shelf could breathe.
By the time Leo and Michael returned, Devon was crouched near the bottom shelf.
That’s when he saw them.
Envelopes.
Tucked between two books where the spines didn’t quite meet. Easy to miss.
But Devon didn’t miss things like that.
His brow furrowed as he pulled the envelopes out. “Guys? Can you come here a second?”
The others trickled in as he laid them on the table.
“I found these between two books,” Devon explained. “He knew I’d see them. He used to joke I couldn’t walk past a messy shelf without twitching.”
Leo pulled out a chair and sat. “Classic Chris.”
Devon glanced at the bookshelf, then down at the letters. “Even online, he just… got people. Like he could read what you weren’t saying.”
Michael began separating the envelopes. Each one had a name written on it.
Michael. Leo. Jasper. Devon.
And one more.
Chris.
Devon reached out, then hesitated. “Why would he write one to himself?”
No one answered.
The room felt different now.
Heavy.
Uncertain.
Michael opened his envelope first.
Inside was a letter. He read it aloud.
Michael,
Thank you for keeping us grounded. You were always the steady one, even when everything felt chaotic.
I know it wasn’t easy. I know you carried more than you ever let on.
I just want you to know it mattered. You mattered.
You still do.
Michael swallowed hard.
Leo opened his next, his hands trembling as he unfolded the letter and began to read.
Leo,
Thank you for making me laugh when everything else felt too much.
You never knew when I was struggling, but somehow, you always said the wrong thing in exactly the right way.
You made life feel lighter.
I needed that.
Devon sat down slowly as he pulled out the letter and began to read.
Devon,
Thank you for listening.
Even when I couldn’t say what was wrong, you never pushed.
You just let me be, and that was enough.
I hope someone’s doing that for you now too.
Jasper read his last.
Jasper,
You always brought the heart.
You made space for everyone else’s stories, even when you didn’t share your own.
I don’t think I ever told you how much that meant to me.
I felt seen, just being around you.
I hope you know how rare that is.
He set the letter down like it might tear if he breathed too hard.
They sat for a long moment, none of them ready to ask the question they were all thinking.
Michael picked up the last envelope.
The one with Chris’s name on it.
He unfolded the letter slowly.
And read aloud.
If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it.
His voice barely rose above the creak of the cabin.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
I didn’t want to say it in the email.
If I had, maybe none of you would’ve come.
Or worse, you’d come for the wrong reasons.
Out of pity. Out of guilt.
I didn’t want that.
What I wanted was this.
All of you. Together. For real.
Leo stared at the table, his jaw tight.
Jasper leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
Devon sat frozen, eyes fixed on his letter like he could hear Chris’s voice inside it.
Michael kept reading.
I spent years wanting to make it happen. You all talked about it once, remember?
Meeting at Pride. Renting a house.
Crashing a wedding just to say we did.
I used to picture what you looked like.
How your voices would sound.
What it would feel like to take up space together.
Not as usernames.
Not as pixels.
As people. As friends.
Maybe even as family.
Then the site died. And the silence grew. And I stopped trying.
I figured maybe it had just been a phase. Like strangers talking on a plane.
But I never stopped missing it.
I never stopped missing all of you.
Michael paused, taking a shaky breath.
Last year I got sick. It got worse faster than I expected.
There were things I wanted to say.
But more than that, I wanted to leave something better than words.
So I booked the cabin. I found your emails.
Please don’t be mad. I had to try.
This isn’t about me dying.
It’s about you living.
Together.
You have a few days.
Don’t waste them on silence.
Michael folded the letter and placed it gently beside the others.
No one spoke.
The fire had burned low, but no one moved to stoke it.
Outside, the wind brushed against the cabin, like a whisper at the door.
Leo’s voice was rough when he finally spoke. “Jesus, Chris.”
Jasper stared at a spot on the floor, unmoving. “He should’ve told us.”
Devon looked over. “Would you have come if he had?”
Jasper didn’t answer.
Leo got up, paced once, then dropped back onto the couch. “He was dying, and he still managed to plan a reunion. I barely manage brunch plans.”
Michael let out a quiet laugh, but it cracked halfway through. He turned away, blinking hard.
Devon’s voice was low. “We were all so close once. And then it just… faded.”
No one replied as they sat there together.
The silence wasn’t empty.
Just fragile.
Like the moment might break if anyone moved.
Michael looked up. “We owe him more than this.”
Leo met his eyes. “Yeah. We do.”
Devon let out a thoughtful sigh. “So what now?”
Jasper glanced at each of them. “We give him what he was trying to give us.”
Devon nodded. “I think I forgot what that little group meant. It wasn’t just a chatroom. It was the first place I didn’t feel weird. Or broken. Like I actually fit somewhere.”
That evening, they built a fire outside.
They sat close to the flames.
They talked. Remembered. Told stories.
Some they had forgotten.
Some they had never dared to say.
Michael revealed that he used to rewrite his messages five times before hitting send.
Jasper confessed that half his Oscar Wilde quotes had come from Google.
Devon admitted he didn’t know what “ASL” meant when he first joined.
He thought people on other chat sites were asking if he spoke American Sign Language.
So he always said no.
He couldn’t figure out why no one wanted to talk to him.
It wasn’t until one night, while he was venting about how the world seemed to hate him, that Chris gently explained it – Age/Sex/Location.
Leo laughed until he cried. Then he cried until he laughed again.
They didn’t try to wrap it in a lesson.
They didn’t reach for closure.
They just stayed in it.
Present.
Together.
For Chris.
And each other.
At some point, Michael stood and wandered a few steps away from the fire.
He looked up at the stars.
Then he looked down at the letter folded in his hand.
“You kept your promise,” he said softly.
Behind him, the others sat in quiet remembrance.
And just beyond the firelight, a fifth chair waited.
Empty.
But not alone.
