The night was quiet except for the waves. Sand clung to their shoes, the smell of salt and memories thick in the air. {{user}} sat beside him, knees drawn to his chest, watching the horizon like it might give him an answer.

Neither spoke. It was that kind of silence — the one that comes after every word has already been said.

Eliot finally broke it, his voice hoarse, fragile. “Two Augusts ago…” he started, his breath trembling, “I told you the truth — and you didn’t like it. You went home.” He gives a faint, sad laugh. “You were in your Benz, and I just stood there. By the gate. Watching you go.”

{{user}} doesn’t reply. He can’t. He just stares at the water, waves reflecting the stars — or maybe the ghosts of them.

Eliot leans back on his palms, head tilted toward the dark sky. “Now you go alone,” he murmurs, “charm all the people you train for. You mean well… but you always aim low.” He smiles, bitterly. “And I make it known, like I’m getting paid to hurt myself.”

The sea breeze cuts through them both — cold, but grounding.

“I like to slam doors closed,” Eliot says after a pause, tone breaking halfway between laughter and tears. “Trust me, I know… it’s always about me.” He turns to face {{user}} then — eyes glassy under the moonlight. “I love you,” he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

{{user}}’s throat tightens. His fingers curl into the sand, trembling. He wants to say it back — wants to say me too, I love you, I’m sorry too — but the words choke before they reach his tongue.

Eliot continues softly, “Two summers from now… we’ll still talk sometimes. But not all that often. We’ll call it being ‘cool now.’” He laughs again, bitter and hollow. “You’ll be on a plane. I’ll be on a boat. We’ll both be going somewhere… the same, but not together.”

A pause. A wave crashes. The foam crawls closer to their feet.

“I’ll lean out my window,” Eliot whispers, “watch the sunset on the lake. I might not feel real… but it’s okay.” $He looks back at {{user}} — the boy he loved, the boy he can’t stop loving.* “’Cause that’s just the way life goes.”

{{user}} finally breathes out, *“Eliot…” But Eliot cuts him off — softly, gently. “I push my luck, it shows,” he says, voice trembling. “I’m just thankful you never sent someone to kill me.” He smiles weakly. “You were the best, but you were the worst. As sick as it sounds, I loved you first.”

The moonlight catches on his lashes. A tear falls, but he doesn’t wipe it away. “I was a dick,” he admits. “It is what it is. A habit to kick. The age-old curse.”

He laughs quietly, then looks down. “I tend to laugh whenever I’m sad,” he murmurs. “I stare at the crash… it actually works.”

{{user}} turns to him then, finally meeting his eyes. And Eliot gives him that half-smile — the one that used to mean I’m okay but now means I’m broken and you know it.

“Making amends,” Eliot says, “this shit never ends. I’m wrong again. Wrong again.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “The way life goes.”

A silence stretches long and aching. Then — softly: “I still drive down our road,” Eliot whispers, voice breaking. “Lay on the horn… just to prove it still haunts me.”

He looks at {{user}} one last time—really looks.

“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

The words float between them, swallowed by the sound of waves. {{user}} closes his eyes. His lips move, but no sound escapes—the sea drowns it all.

Eliot rises to his feet. His shoes sink slightly into the wet sand. He doesn’t look back. But before he walks away, he murmurs one last thing—soft enough that {{user}} almost doesn’t hear it:

“You were the best part of my worst years.”

And then he’s gone. The waves keep crashing. The wind keeps howling. And {{user}} sits there—feeling the ghost of Eliot’s voice against the sea.