Bryne Netherland
The waves washing up on shore looked inviting, almost as if they had their very own siren call as he watched the sand darken before the waves slipped back to its watery bed. Bryne was all alone, sitting within the small alcove he had discovered only a few weeks ago. It was amongst the rocks that faced the sea; during the day the sun beamed down on them and left them warm which had made the young man feel quite at home.
And home was hard to find, for Bryne, nowadays.
His grandmother had passed away only two months ago in her sleep. Of course, he had seen the signs but Bryne had chosen to ignore them and treated her as if she was the most precious stone he had ever seen or held. It was of course from her old age, her bones had grown weaker and she had started wheezing in her sleep but it didn’t make him love her any less. She was his home, his life revolved around her and it now all felt as if it was all torn away from him.
He took a very long drag from his cigarette, his eyes falling closed as he blew out the smoke through his nostrils. The sea’s air soothed his tired lungs and cleared his head for a moment as he took a shaky breath in. Then it hit him; the date.
“Fuck.”
It was Summer Solstice, the onetime of the year where he was allowed to linger around the edges of a crowd and observe others without drawing attention to himself. Bryne enjoyed people watching, he was obscenely good at picking out small details on a person and telling them their ‘whole life story’, although he was really just stating the obvious but no one really pays attention like he does.
It was also the one night where he could blend in and pretend everything was alright. The moods of others affected him and even made him smile from time to time. It also gave him an excuse to silently swoon from afar if he was lucky enough to see Noah Talon.
“Ah, Christ.”
Bryne finished his cigarette and flicked it away, he had smoked it right down to its filter and a few of the ashes had singed his fingertips. His brows furrowed as he stared at the butt of the still glowering stick before raking a hand through chestnut coloured curls, he might as well go.
If only to forget for just a little while longer.