My feet pound against the ground as I run, the music (🎶Mordern loneness_Lauv) in my ears loud enough to drown out my thoughts but not the memory of what just happened some few minutes ago.

...I've always thought pretending is stupid, and do you know what I think feels more stupid about pretending? _Is praising a dead person at the funeral when you know very well that person was a complete jerk!

People might hate me now , calling me ungrateful brat, but am glad that I stood with what I believe in_ I wasn't going to stand there and sing praises for the the man who refused to let me call him "Father." The man who insisted I call him "Uncle" because I was born out of wedlock. To him and his Mayor wife , I was a secret, a shame they dressed up as a family obligation.

Few minutes ago,,, 

The sky was grey and heavy, like it was mourning along with the crowd which had gathered around the open grave.

Everyone stood in stiff silence, their heads bowed, hands clasped in front of them, a mix of genuine sorrow and forced reverence painted on their faces.

"Merlin , you are the only one in the family who hasn't send your farewell. I believe you have been close to Mr. Butler, he was like a father to you, he took care of you and loved you like a father would even when he was just an uncle , so I  think it'll only be fair to give you a chance to say something before we bury him." the paster had said angering me silently.

"Am sorry but I wasn't close enough to know much about him, I have nothing to say about him." My head held high , I said.

Murmurs rose around the crowd after people hearing what I said , their faces clearly screamed 'What an ungrateful brat!'

My stepmother's face was a mask of cold fury pale with pure hatred when she looked at me; my siblings who everyone know as my cousins , including themselves ,  looked like they wanted to drag me away by my collar.

My head twisted to the side only for my cheek to meet an electrifying punch , I staggered back trying to find balance,  "You've  got guts! How dare you talk like that you fat piece of shit! My father gave you a home! Everything you would ever need!" 

People pulled Jackson away_ my so known as cousin.

"Please! Please ! Let's not disrespect Mr. Butler by starting the fights during his burial , as we all know , he was a great man and he deserves all the respect in the world." The paster said trying to calm all the jumpy nerves around the coffin.

●●☆

He's gone now, though, and I should feel something_grief, anger, relief. But there's nothing. Just this empty ache I can't seem to shake.

So, I go for a run. I run to the only place that, I for some reason find peace _ Haven sea .

At times like this _ evenings , no one comes to this place , fishers only fish at daytimes because they believe that there are some kind of strange things like supernaturals that this sea holds lately, so am always the only one here at times like this because I don't believe in supernaturals.

The air is cool , the sun a smudge of orange on the horizon. The smell of salt and seaweed washes over me, and for a moment, it helps.

The rhythm of the waves is steady, grounding, and I almost feel… okay. I slow my pace, pulling the headphones down around my neck.

This stretch of sand has always been my escape. It's where I come when life feels too big, too loud, too much. But tonight, something's off.

At first, I think it's a trick of the light , a strange shape near the shoreline, half-buried in the sand.

Driftwood, maybe, or some tangled mess of seaweed. But as I get closer, I realize it's neither.

It's a person.

I stop dead, my heart lurching. A young man lies sprawled in the wet sand, his body half-covered.

He's… he's beautiful, like something out of a dream. And he is totally naked , his skin glows faintly in the dim light, and his features are sharp, almost too perfect_ high cheekbones, full lips, a jawline that looks like it could cut glass.

But he's not okay. He's hurt. I can see the way his chest rises and falls, shallow and uneven, one hand clutching his side.

"Hey!" I call out, stumbling forward. My voice sounds strange, shaky, like it doesn't belong to me. "Hey, are you okay?"

His eyes flicker open, and I swear I forget how to breathe. They're this impossible shade of blue-green, like the ocean at its deepest point, and for a second, I feel like I'm drowning in them.

He tries to speak, but no sound comes out. His lips move, forming words I can't understand.

"It's okay," I say, more to myself than to him. "I can help you." I look around but there's no trace of any clothes around.

Up close, I notice the faint scars on his skin, crisscrossing his sides like old wounds that never quite healed. He stirs, his lips parting, but his voice is still too soft to understand.

I don't think. I just act. I take off my hoodie and put it on him , then my trousers , and I remain with a t-shirt and my shorts.

He scratches them as if trying to take them off , as if they burn his body. I ignore that and hook my arms under his shoulders and haul him up.

He's heavier than he looks, his body solid and strong, but there's something odd about the way he moves, like he's not used to walking.

By the time I drag him back to the house, the sky has turned dark, the stars faint against the creeping clouds.

My stepmother is waiting for me on the porch, arms crossed, her mouth already twisted in that familiar scowl.

We hadn't talked since the funeral earlier and I know she has been building hell for me.

"What is this?" she snaps, her gaze flicking to the stranger slumped against me.

"He's hurt," I say, my voice tight. "He needs help."

Her laugh is sharp, cutting. "Not my problem. Get him out of here."

"But_"

"No. Absolutely not. You're lucky am letting you stay under this roof! On the second thought, I have no reason to keep you in this house! You have no family here ! Your father is long dead , and no one hear knows you!"

The door slams shut in my face, and I'm left standing there, the weight of the boy_no, the young man_still pressing against me.

For a second, I think about leaving him there, about walking away and pretending this never happened.

But I can't.

I don't know why, but I can't, guess am just not one of Mrs. Caroline Butler!

So, I wait until the house is quiet, the lights all off. Then I sneak him up the back stairs, every creak of the wood making my heart race. My room is small, barely more than a closet, but it's enough.

I ease him onto the bed, pulling a blanket over him.

Who is he?

What am I doing?

I sit down on the floor, leaning against the bed frame, my head spinning. I don't know what I've gotten myself into, but one thing's for sure: nothing about this night feels normal.