It takes almost an hour after Sylvia has left, before I am able to walk away from the bedroom;

more specifically, from that painting.

"Well dear, if you need anything, I've left a note with my number on the kitchen counter. Don't hesitate to call me!" she had said, with Tobias by her side. "Oh, and since you're so young, if you ever want to have a nice evening out you're welcome to swing by the bar next to the town square. My Tobias works there, he'll take care of you!"

With that, and another brief nod from Tobias, she walked out of the door and into the night, leaving me alone with my scattered thoughts, rushing up the stairs and back to the edge of the bed.

It's weird; the more I look at it, the more the painting seems to have the same strange pull that my great-grandfather's picture seemed to have on me. But yet, no matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to find a single logical reason as to why that might be.

Feeling my eyes beginning to burn, I finally take a step back and make my way downstairs.

Viktor.

That's the name of the artist. Viktor. How can a name so unfamiliar bring forth such a strong reaction in me? I am certain: I've never, ever heard of that name in my life. After all, how could I possibly forget a name so peculiar? Viktor Morskoy.

"Viktor..." The word escapes my lips before I have the time to realize it, and I can't help but raise a hand to cover them.

The name rolls out smooth on my tongue, with a sharp turn in the middle, and if I didn't know any better I would say it feels natural to call it. Like I've done it hundreds, thousands of times before. Like it belongs in my mouth. Like my voice had been given to me just to pronounce it.

Get a fucking grip, Ezra.

I shake my head, palms pressed firmly on my forehead. This is not normal. I've come all the way here just to run away from everything and find some peace, so why am I already losing my shit like this?

Sighing, I throw myself on the couch, eyes glazing over the dancing flames in front of me. I just need to stop thinking; then, maybe, the buzzing in my ears will finally come to a rest. I just need to...

Suddenly, a light flashes from behind me, coming from the kitchen and casting my shadow over the fireplace.

Maybe it's because I'm tired from the drive, or maybe it's because my brain has been so hyperactive lately that I've started losing focus, but the very first thought that comes to mind is one equally as hopeful as it is pitiable.

"Mom?"

Instinctively, my head spins around so fast that I'm lucky my neck isn't broken, expecting to see my mother standing in the kitchen, preparing for dinner.

But of course, there's no one.

There's no one, and the headlights of the car that was passing by in front of the window disappear from sight.

I guess, after all, this could also be the reason for my recent behavior. No matter how dull I might perceive it to be, I can't just ignore the grief sitting in my heart like a brick tied to my ankles, dragging me down further and further.

I miss her. I really do. I miss all of them. And yet it feels like I'm ignoring their memory.

Dreams, paintings, silhouettes... I've been so occupied with all of this nonsense, that I've forgotten to actually feel the hurt I'm holding inside.

That's it.

Getting up from the couch, I grab my jacket from the chair next to it and make my way to the front door. If the flames won't help me calm down, then maybe the stars will.

As soon as I step foot outside, I'm greeted by the cold wind blowing in my face, sending shivers all over my body. Arms hugging each other, my feet begin walking on their own, without a clear destination.

I need to move. I need to feel the air in my lungs, I need to feel the sweat on my back, and I need to move.

It doesn't take long before my surroundings begin catching my attention, away from everything else. Saltwater may be gloomy during the day, but at night, it's almost haunting. Despite my best efforts, I can't find a single lit-up window, nor a soul wandering around the streets. The only sound I can hear now and then is the faint cry of a distant dog, followed shortly after by a firm shushing. Perhaps it's just a less frequented part of town, but the more I explore it, the more the buildings seem to turn into ruins, the paint to flake off, and the road to deteriorate, to the point where I'm afraid I'll sprain my ankle if I shift my gaze even for a second.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Still, my feet keep guiding me in this direction. I can tell the sea is getting closer, as the saline smell grows stronger with each step. At the end of the narrow street, I can see an opening, facing a beach with the white moon shining right in the middle.

Almost as if in a trance, I follow it, eager to feel the pale light on my skin. I pick up the pace, breaking into a jog, and then into a full-on sprint. The sea has never looked so inviting before, nor the moon so enticing.

I can picture myself already, throwing off my clothes and shoes, toes buried in the cool sand, only to finally dive into the freezing waters, allowing it to strip away all of my concerns. Allowing me to feel free, even if just for a minute.

I'm finally about to reach the edge of the cobblestone when something stops me dead in my tracks.

Something, or rather, someone.

I'm not sure how my body alone managed to notice it, but even without seeing it, I know. I know there's someone else nearby. Eyes stuck wide open, I slowly, painfully slowly, let my gaze shift to the left until it sets on a man.

He's sitting on one of the rocks closer to the water, head hanging low, as if focused on something resting on his legs. I don't think he has noticed me, not yet, but I can still feel every cell in my body screaming at me to turn back and run away. There's something about him. Something I can't quite point out, that is setting off all the alarms in me.

Maybe it's because we're in the middle of the night, or maybe it's because I haven't seen anyone else the whole time I've been outside, but I can't shake off the feeling that this man is not safe.

Holding my breath as best as possible, I cautiously attempt to turn around, before I am stopped once again. This time, by a voice.

"Leaving already?" It has a sort of playful tone to it, almost mockingly so. The man on the beach has now lifted his head and is looking at the waves straight ahead, arms stretched behind him to hold himself up. "You could at least say hi."

His voice is airy, with the slightest hint of grittiness in the back of the throat; it's welcoming and relaxed, tempting even, naturally inviting you in.

It takes me a few moments before I can put together a coherent thought.

"H...Hello. Um, sorry for barging in on you like this. I was, uh, on a run. Well... Goodni—" Before I can finish my sentence, the man lets out a quiet giggle.

"Why are you so nervous? Am I that scary?"

"I'm—I'm not nervous. Just... startled."

He hums, before turning to the side a little, allowing the moonlight to fall on his cheekbones. Reflexively, I squint my eyes a little, as if trying to catch a glimpse of his features. "Startled by what? Never seen a guy on the beach?"

I don't know why, but the more he speaks, the easier I find it for the words to flow out of me. It's like he's casting a spell on me; with each and every sentence, I catch myself letting my guard go down, more and more and more.

"Well... I just moved in today and, um... There's not a single soul around so I didn't expect to run into anyone, that's all..."

"I admit it is pretty quiet at night on this side of town, but that's why I like it." The man throws his head back slightly, as if contemplating something. "Hey, since it's just us two, mind joining me? I was starting to get bored."

"Me?! Ah!" My voice comes out so loud, I can't stop myself from slapping my hands on my mouth. He laughs once again, warm and contagious. "Who else? Come on, don't leave me hanging. There's space for the both of us here."

Against my own judgment, I quietly step towards him.

What am I even doing? Why am I going along with this? Why am I ignoring the signs my body is trying to give me? Why can't I just go back home?

But the closer I get to him, and the more of him I take in, the quieter the voices in my head become. I can now see his hair, and I realize that it wasn't the moon making it look unique: it is actually grey. A light, cool shade of grey, with a few strands closer to being almost white.

Mesmerized, I climb on top of the rocks, struggling to find my balance and make the last push to where he's sitting, until I feel a hand grab my arm. "Come on, one last push." He pulls me up, his grip surprisingly strong, and suddenly, I'm laying on my side next to him, scrambling to regain my composure.

"Thank you..."

"Don't mention it."

"Um, by the way, my name is..." Once I'm settled down, I finally turn to him, and I think that's the biggest mistake I've ever made in my life.

I almost cannot believe my eyes.

The man is staring at me, head cocked to the side with his ear resting gently atop of his shoulder. His wavy hair falling lazily on his forehead, his eyes hiding a touch of amusement. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to stop looking at them.

Sometimes, words cannot be used to describe what you're seeing. And I believe not even a poet would be able to capture just how world-stopping the color of his eyes was, at least for me.

If I had to put it into a sentence, I think the only correct way to picture them would be as the ocean. But not a calm, serene ocean. They were deep, too deep, as if one could easily fall and be trapped into them had he wished them to; they were a violent ocean, the type of ocean you read of in books, where pirates have met their fate and sirens have sung their eerie songs for centuries. The type of ocean that is so dark you can't avoid fearing what's hiding beneath its surface, lurking and waiting for the next prey. The deepest blue of murky water, broken only by the white of menacing waves.

"Hello? Cat's got your tongue?" A smirk graces his lips, and I'm ripped out of the fog clouding my brain. He knows. He knows what he does to people, and he clearly enjoys it.

"...Ezra." I manage not to stutter, but my voice still comes out as merely more than a whisper.

He's beautiful; there's no denying it. He's the most beautiful person I've ever seen. He's so fascinating, I start believing that not even an entire night's worth of admiring could possibly be enough to take the entirety of his allure in. Then and there, I understand.

He's not like me. He's not like everyone else. He's different; he's nothing close to my dark, jet black hair and dull eyes.

He's the type of man people die for.

"That's a pretty name. Ezra." He extends his hand once again, this time for me to hold. Reluctantly, I follow along, wrapping my fingers around him, his palm as cold as the night air.

"I'm Viktor. It's nice to finally meet you."

***