Julian stared, letting his eyes linger on the man's silhouette. Last time, he reminded himself. I won't see this again.

They practiced breathing in the shallows until Julian mastered the mouthpiece. Then they descended.

Diving was the opposite of surfing. If the jet ski was adrenaline, the deep was a journey inward. Gravity dissolved. Sound died.

Julian floated in a dream of deep indigo, a world of electric coral and silent, neon fish. The only sound was the rhythmic hiss-hiss of his regulator and a faint, crystalline popping—like tiny hammers against glass.

Time was a casualty of the deep. It felt like minutes, but Orca was already gesturing for them to surface.

When Julian broke the water, the sun had softened into a bruised, orange glow. Twilight was coming. His ears ached, but the high was too potent to quit. They went down a second time, but the pain in his inner ear sharpened. Julian called it, ending the dive with a heavy sense of regret.

By the time they stripped off the wetsuits on deck, the sky had shifted into a velvet violet-pink. There was no wind. The sea was a sheet of silk, undulating in slow, lazy swells.

"Julian!".

Julian ran barefoot to the railing. Below, Orca was back on the jet ski, waving him down. "Want to catch the sunset?".

Julian didn't hesitate. Even with the face covering, the man looked undeniably cool. They chased the sun as it hovered on the edge of the world.

There are moments in life where you wish you could just stop the clock. This was one. They sat on the water, the yacht and the island becoming white specks behind them. Julian watched the gold fire sink into the sea. Neither spoke. They stayed in the silence until the fire faded and the clouds turned to ash.

"Back?" Orca asked.

"Yeah," Julian replied softly. "Back".

The return trip was cold. Julian shivered as the wind hit his damp skin, the regret of the day's end settling in his bones.

Dinner was fresh sea fish, caught by the chef and perfectly prepared. Julian ate until he was heavy with it. Before bed, he lay on the deck, staring at the stars. There were too many to count, a dizzying canopy of light. He let his eyelids fall shut.

Footsteps sounded behind him, stopping at his side. Julian didn't open his eyes.

"Julian," Orca whispered. "You asleep?".

Julian didn't answer. He felt the man sit beside him. He assumed Orca was looking at the stars too, but then he felt a touch. Orca was playing with his hair.

It wasn't a sexual gesture. It was aimless, almost paternal—the way one might pet a child or a kitten. But Julian's hair was short; Orca's fingers would loop a strand only for it to slip away. After a few tries, the man gave up and simply rested his hand on Julian's head, a slow, grounding rub.

Julian's heart hammered against his ribs. He regretted pretending to be asleep, but the thought of opening his eyes now, after that touch, was too embarrassing to contemplate. He forced his breathing to stay steady, praying the man wouldn't do anything else.

Orca was a gentleman. He pulled his hand away after a few moments.

Julian let out a slow, silent breath. Then he heard it. A soft click. The sound of sunglasses being set down. Then the rustle of fabric—the mask.

He took it off.

If Julian opened his eyes now, he would see him. The pulse in Julian's neck was a frantic drum. But he stayed still. He stayed in the dark.

"Really asleep?" Orca murmured.

Julian didn't flinch.

Orca gathered him up. He was solid, warm, and smelled of salt and expensive soap. He carried Julian back to the cabin and laid him on the bed, even taking the time to tuck the duvet around his shoulders.

"Sleep," Orca whispered.

But he didn't leave. Julian felt the air shift as the man leaned down, his voice a warm ghost against Julian's ear.

"Don't you want to know what I look like?"

Julian held his breath. His heart hammered against his ribs.

Of course he wanted to know.

He had imagined the face under the mask a thousand times. But he knew the weight of that secret. To look was to stay.

Orca was offering a bridge, a step toward something real, but Julian hadn't taken that step in a year. He wasn't starting now—not when he was here to say goodbye.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his breath into a steady, hollow rhythm. The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the muffled rhythm of the waves against the hull.

Eventually, a low sigh ghosted through the air. Footsteps retreated. The door clicked shut, and Julian finally exhaled.

That night, he dreamed he opened his eyes. Under the mask, he saw Samuel Frost.

Julian jolted awake, the fear from the dream tangling with the dull ache of overworked muscles. His mood soured. He stepped out onto the deck to find a world of gray; heavy clouds smothered the horizon, as if the brilliance of the day before had been an illusion.

He scanned the yacht. No sign of Orca. A crew member gestured toward the water. "He's out for a swim."

In this wind? He really thought he was a whale. Julian looked out. A black speck bobbed in the deep blue. As it drew closer, the silhouette sharpened.

Orca wore a full-body thermal suit, hood and all, moving through the water with standard, professional grace. He looked like a creature of the deep.

When Orca finally emerged from the surf after thirty minutes, the black neoprene clung to his skin like an oil-slick second skin. He pulled off his goggles, leaving only his sharp, predatory eyes visible through the hood—the very image of a "masked-type" obsession.

Julian pulled out his phone. He framed a shot, thinking it would make perfect material for the account. Through the viewfinder, the world narrowed. Details he had missed with the naked eye became impossible to ignore.

Orca walked toward him, and Julian froze. A specific, prominent shape shifted with every stride—an unforgiving silhouette of "the ball and the stick".

Julian's face went hot. He lowered the phone instantly, pulse spiking.

"You're... you're back?" Julian kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, but his eyes betrayed him, flicking down for a split second to that impossible silhouette. He was paralyzed by the awkwardness.

Orca didn't seem to notice his distress. He stood beside Julian, water dripping from the suit. "Tell me what you want to do today," he said. "We head back after lunch".

Julian shook his head, unable to look at him. "Nothing. I'm fine".

"Were you filming me?" Orca asked.

Julian's brain short-circuited. "Sorry. I'll delete it right now"!

"No need," Orca replied. "Send it to me. I'll upload it".

Julian stared at him. If that went online, the man's reputation would be scorched. "It's... it might not be suitable," Julian managed.

"I trust your eye."

"Really, it's not great..."

"Let me see."