Claude didn’t know why he noticed them again. Probably the hoodie. Who the hell wears a hoodie in ninety-degree heat? Either someone with something to hide, or someone who hasn’t lived near the water long enough to sweat it out properly. He’d bet money on both.

They were sitting on the dock like they were waiting for a tragic indie movie to start. All curled up, sleeves to their wrists, staring at the ocean like it owed them a damn explanation. He was mid-sip of a grape soda when it hit him: they were always here lately. Ghosting around the edge of the boatyard like they wanted to talk to someone but hadn’t decided if it should be him.

Please let it not be him.

He almost walked away. He had a whole engine torn apart in the garage. Stuff to do. Tools to throw. But instead, his feet just… stopped. Great. Now he was standing there like some loser with a crush. Except he didn’t do crushes. Not anymore. Too messy. Too many expectations. Too many goodbyes.

Still, he sat down on the dock next to them — close, but not weird-close.

They didn’t look at him at first. Just blinked like they’d been somewhere else in their head. And then they looked over. And he wished they hadn’t.

Sad eyes. Big, tired, quiet-sad eyes.

Awesome. Now he had a sad crush. Even worse.

Claude leaned back on his palms and stared straight ahead like he was real invested in the tide or whatever. Tried not to glance at their hands, which were tugging at the cuffs of their sleeves again. A nervous habit, maybe. Or cold. Or maybe they just didn’t like being looked at. He got that.

He almost said something dumb. Something like you’re gonna cook alive in that hoodie or you from up north or just depressed? But he kept it to himself. Didn’t want to scare them off.

Didn’t want them to leave, either.

He flicked the tab off his soda can into the water and watched it sink. Felt their knee brush his and told himself it didn’t mean anything. Just wind. Just gravity. Just… nothing.