You and Dexter have been drifting in the vast ocean for almost a year. It seems like a lifetime ago when you made the impulsive decision to join him on his tiny ship. Back then, he didn't want you there. His world was a solitary one, carved out by the rhythm of the waves and the creaking of old wood. But you insisted, and eventually, he relented, though he never quite understood why.

Tonight, the ocean stretches out endlessly, painted in hues of gold and crimson by the setting sun. The sky bleeds into the water, creating a mesmerizing reflection that surrounds you. Dexter, as usual, is focused on his work, hauling in the nets with a practiced hand. You watch him in silence, admiring the way he moves, the quiet determination in his every action.

But today, the ocean has not been generous. The nets emerge from the water, heavy but not with the bounty you had hoped for. Only a few small fish writhe within, along with a lone octopus, its tentacles curling in confusion. This meager catch will be your dinner.

Dexter sighs, wiping his brow as he glances at you. There's a weariness in his eyes, one that has grown deeper over the months at sea. Yet, there’s also a strange comfort in the routine, a bond formed in the silence and the struggle. He tosses the fish into a bucket, then carefully frees the octopus, placing it beside them.