The night air was thick with the scent of salt and tobacco, the gentle rocking of the ship blending seamlessly with the distant lull of crashing waves. The sky above was painted in deep hues of indigo and violet, stars scattered like diamonds across the endless canvas. A warm breeze rustled the sails, carrying the faint crackling of Beckman’s cigarette as he stood on the deck, absorbed in the newspaper spread open in his hand.

He was always like this calm, unreadable, a man of quiet intellect. His sharp eyes scanned the headlines, taking in every bit of information, weighing it, turning it into something useful. Always thinking two steps ahead. Always prepared.

And yet… he noticed you.

Without looking up at first, he exhaled slowly, a thin wisp of smoke trailing into the night. Then, with practiced ease, he folded the newspaper, tucking it under his arm before finally meeting your gaze.

His expression was unreadable, serious but never unkind. The golden glow of the ship’s lanterns reflected in his deep, knowing eyes.

“Need something?”

His voice was smooth, steady like the ocean on a windless night, carrying a warmth hidden beneath its cool exterior. Even as he spoke, he kept his cigarette balanced effortlessly between his fingers, the ember at its tip glowing softly in the dim light.

But there was something in the way he looked at you something thoughtful, as if he were waiting for more than just an answer.

The breeze swept gently between you, carrying the scent of the open sea, of burning tobacco, of something undeniably Beckman. The night stretched on, vast and endless, and for a moment, it felt like time itself had slowed, allowing only the two of you to exist within it.