Chapter One

❝It was not love at first sight exactly, but — familiarity.

Like: oh, hello, it's you. It's going to be you.❞

The ocean took its first breath.

     She laid on the sand with her bare feet, near the waves but never close enough that it could touch her. Watching them crash unabashedly, over and over again. As if the moon shone over the sea merely to whisper, "come, my love, let yourself take your first breath."

     Eleanor felt the same way. To most people, when the sun went down, it signalled the end of the day — for her, it was the opposite. The waves were alive. A force of nature lost in control. It was sights like these that made her believe the world was so much bigger than the rest of them. 

     And it was sights like these that made her heart break.

     She sighed, standing to wipe the sand off her sundress. Her co-workers should be expecting her soon. Though she was allowed to take short breaks like these, she didn't want to set a bad example, either.

     Anchor's was still in full swing. Full tables of laughing customers, waiters dropping sizzling hot plates, the faint yet distinct sounds of electronic music that wafted from the District. It never failed to put a grin on her face.

    "Len!" Jeff let out, relieved. "I almost thought you got lost there."

    "I had the stars to guide me." He rolled his eyes, and she grinned at him. "Were you worried about me, Jones?"

    "Of course I was." He held a hand to his chest. "Who else would charm our customers into our lovely shack?"

    "Are you saying that just to kiss my ass?"

    "Just doing what I can to survive, boss."

     Boss. It's been a year and she still wasn't used to it.

     Hours later, the crowd flickered out like the old lightbulb that sat atop the shack's counter. To the Anchor's crew, the busy night served as a good luck charm to the upcoming East Coast Championships. It was going to be packed tomorrow, as with the surfers arriving from all around the state. The crew had to give their all.

     Eleanor was the last to leave. She always was, and not because she'd lock the place up. Her hand would linger on the wooden pillars that held their shabby little shack intact. Graze her eyes over the anchor sign on the top.

     She sensed someone walking towards her.

     The boy was tall, she could tell, even in the dark. His hair was all over the place, strands sticking up from its end like he had run his fingers through it, and he carried a lean, nonchalant posture. But it was when their eyes did she almost halted.

     He had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. It was a fascinating colour — a mixture of blue and green and all the shades of the sea.

     And Eleanor knew for sure that she had never seen this boy before.

    "Are you lost?" she asked, offering a smile.

     The boy blinked and stopped a few steps in front of her, shifting his weight back and forth. Almost as if he was stumbling.

     She straightened up. "You're not drunk, are you?"

    "Not yet," he slurred. "Why is it so dark? I don't remember it being this dark. Has it always been this dark?"

     Oh, stars. "It's past ten," she said gently. Eleanor paused, glancing from the boy to the closed shack behind her, debating her options quickly.

     The boy started to sway.

    "Okay!" She rushed towards him with an arm around his waist. "I'm going to get you some water, okay? It'll make you feel better."

    "Nothing ever feels better."

     She froze, frowning at him. It wasn't so much his words that disturbed her, but how he said them. Dropped into a whisper, like dust blown quietly in the wind.

     He's just drunk.

     The road back to the shack was a feat for both of them. Though tall enough to reach his shoulder, the boy was much heavier than he looked. There was a few minutes of awkward stumbling before she all but dropped him on one of the stools.

    "You don't have to do this," he muttered, eyes fluttering to stay conscious.

    "Don't be silly," she chuckled. "It's a small town. People here take care of each other. You must be new."

     A pause. "I am."

     While she went inside to illuminate the place, she used the chance to steal a few glances. It was bright enough that she could see the shadows on his face, but not enough to discern his expression. It was a startling sight. Not because he was mysterious, but because it might be the contrary — that she, in fact, knew him.

    "Do I know you from somewhere?"

     He stared at her. "I don't think so."

     The bland confusion on his face convinced her enough. "Right, sorry," she shook her head, "I must be mistaking you for someone else. You just look familiar somehow."

     He didn't answer.

     Still no response even after she offered him the water bottle. The silence was not entirely unpleasant, however; the sounds of waves crashing in the distance and muffled music from up the streets filled the empty space.

     Curiosity compelled her to look at him again. The boy was slumped against the stool now, head slightly bowed down. What was he doing here? Why was he alone? How could his eyes be the brightest thing she'd ever seen, but the rest of him covered in shadows?

     He noticed her attention. "What now?"

     She hesitated. "Your eyes," she paused. "They're beautiful."

     Those said eyes narrowed, and her cheeks flushed, knowing she shouldn't have said that.

     The silence was now unpleasant.

    "Um," she coughed. She needed to say something safe to make up for her mistake. "So if you're not from around here, where are you from?"

    "Far from here."

    "Any specifics?"

    "Very far."

     The two looked at each other for a while, the boy as if it was a challenge, and the girl as if it was a game. A slow smile began to pull at her lips.

    "Okay." She leaned over the counter. "Well, I'm also very far from here, too. All the way up there." She pointed pass the beach, up the bustling streets with twinkling lights. "And this is my shack." 

     The last sentence spilled out of her mouth without a second thought. She felt the need to make it part of her identity.

     He scoffed. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

    "No," she said softly. "It's just something I'm proud of."

     She didn't know what she said wrong, because all he did now was stare at the counter. Stare at the sea. Then stare out the stars. Like he was looking for something but didn't know what that should be.

     A sudden ache went through Eleanor's chest.

     He's just drunk.

    "Must've been a wild party, yeah?" 

    "Do you think people can change?"

     She blinked at the sudden question. "I do."

    "How do you know?" he pushed. "People are unpredictable. Reckless. Impulsive. How do you know for sure they can keep such a promise like that to themselves?"

     One second. Two. Three.

    "I don't," she admitted. "But if you believe they can, then maybe they can start believing it, too. There's power in faith."

    "Believing in something still doesn't make it real."

     Despite the religious notion behind his words, she knew for sure it wasn't the case. And his persistence to counter against any optimism was almost as determined as her need to defend it. "But if believing something helps make it real, if it brings them joy or satisfaction, who are we to question them at all?"

    "Because they can get caught up with the illusion." His grip tightened around the bottle. "So much that the idea of the promise becomes all it ever is: an idea. A useless, stupid fucking idea that gets you nowhere."

     The words floated in the air, crackling with tension. Even the waves paused at the somber tone of his voice.

     She sure did.

    "Getting to nowhere is better than starting at nowhere." She wasn't sure if her words made sense. "Even if the idea seems impossible, it's what the courage that counts, don't you think? The courage to change."

    "But what if they did have the courage, and it's not enough?" His voice cracked. "They're not enough?"

     The gravity of his question burned in her bones so much, she felt like she was going to catch on fire. "I think the better question is to who are they not enough for?"

     She turned to him, voice quieter.

    "And is it such a burden to be less?"

     The boy stared at her, blue eyes drilling through hers with such intensity that she had to look away. Did she say the right words? Was he startled by her answer? How did they even get here?

     She swallowed heavily.

    "Are you done?"

     He blinked at his now crushed water bottle. "Yeah. Yes," he let out, running a hand across his face. "Fuck, what am I even doing here?" he murmured. She thought maybe he didn't realise she was still in hearing distance, but then his eyes flickered over to her. "I... you shouldn't have... I need to go."

    "Oh." Now it was her turn to blink. "Do you need anything else or — "

    "No."

     She had no time to say more before he stood and left.

     To most people, when the sun went down, it signalled the end of the day. But for certain people, when the sun went down and the moon shone, it provided shelter. Solitude. A silent promise that whichever part you choose to reveal in the dark, it would remain there, in secret.

     She knew, because that was what the night sky gave him.

     Eleanor just happened to pass by.

     So when she walked up the streets, past the flickering lights and empty pavements, she thought of him again. Worried for the boy that came at midnight, head downcast and hands shoved in his pockets. Wandering. Looking like he was lost.

     And for the entire night she wondered if he ever found his way back home.

A/N:

I have written thousands of drafts to try to tell this story right. I just hope I do justice to my own ideas, once and for all.