Byron felt bitter and upset. Sitting on his motorbike alone, he drove slowly out of the parking lot, his face as gloomy as the gray clouds about to unleash a thunderstorm onto the land.
Just before he left the parking lot, an earth spirit—a dwarf-like figure—appeared and stopped him.
He hit the brakes. "What is it?"
"Please, warn everyone inside the hotel! The mafia you stole the watch from—he sent his men here, armed with guns. He's about to kill everyone. Please, warn them!" the spirit pleaded before disappearing.
Byron got off the motorcycle and ran toward the hotel to find the manager.
"I need to talk to your manager. This is urgent," Byron said to the clerk.
The clerk called for the manager, but they moved at a snail's pace. Byron drummed his fingers on the reception desk, impatiently glancing outside, worried that danger would arrive before he could leave. But the spirits had already asked him to deliver the message—he had to pass it on.
Finally, the manager appeared—a man who always wore a smile but secretly underestimated everyone deep down inside.
"What is it, sir?"
"You need to evacuate everyone immediately," Byron said, his glare sharp and serious.
"Oh? And why is that?"
"A mafia boss has sent his men here. They're armed, dangerous, and planning to kill everyone inside," Byron tapped his boot impatiently, hoping the manager wouldn't argue. He needed to get Etienne out of here—fast.
"How do you know that? Do you have proof?" the manager asked politely, a cunning smile playing on his lips.
"No, I don't, but what I'm telling you is—"
"I'm sorry, sir, but we have no time for your stupid social media prank. If this is for online content, please grow up and—"
This is why Byron hated when spirits used him as a messenger. No one ever believed him.
Frustrated, he abandoned the receptionist desk and headed straight to the restaurant to find Etienne.
***
"Seriously? You're 38, Mr. Bellamy—older than me—yet you're acting like a teenager seeking for attention! You just had to update your status, telling the world where you are, while a mafia killer is after your neck? Goddamn it!" Detective Charles Baxter was beyond pissed. He had to walk several meters away from his van before calling Etienne on the phone, so his men wouldn't hear him losing his composure.
"Well," Etienne replied over the speaker. He was sitting in the hotel's restaurant, preparing to have brunch. "I'm sorry, I didn't think much about it. My life was so peaceful before this, you know…"
"Yes, but get the hell out of that hotel! It's been an hour since you posted that photo—they'll be there any minute!" Charles anxiously watched the monitor tracking Etienne's location.
"Why should I hurry? I haven't even tasted my huge shrimp yet!" Etienne sulked.
"Because your life is on the line!" Charles was losing it.
Etienne glanced behind him to check if the waiter had arrived with his shrimp. Adjusting his sunglasses, he answered Charles smoothly. "But Detective… you said you'd protect me, didn't you?"
"Yes, but not like this! This is idiocy!" Charles grunted on the phone.
"Excuse me! Did you just call me an idiot?" Etienne gasped, clearly offended.
"I don't want to, but this—"
"Have to hang up—Byron's coming!" Etienne quickly ended the call just as Byron approached, closing the distance between them in what felt like a single, lightning-fast stride.
The moment Byron reached him, he grabbed Etienne's wrist.
"What are you doing?! Let me go!" Etienne tried to push him away, but Byron's grip was too strong.
Byron looked around, clearly tense, though relieved to have finally found him. "Let's go. Don't eat here—they'll find you."
"No, they won't! It's just a picture of me lying on your belly—how can they tell where we are?" Etienne kept struggling.
"Don't underestimate hackers."
"Well, then you should just leave, shouldn't you? You're the one they're looking for—I'm just an extra," Etienne sulked.
"Yes, but you're involved with me, so they will torture you, plucking off your nails or even broke your fingers until you tell me where I am," not wanting to waste any more time, Byron hoisted Etienne up, slinging him over his shoulder before striding out of the restaurant.
"Byron! Put me down! This is embarrassing! Just leave me!"
"Yes, that's exactly what we're doing."
Once they reached the motorcycle, Byron dropped Etienne in front of him, forcing him to lean against the motorcycle's tank, his back pressed against it while clinging onto Byron for balance.
"Why are you still taking me? I'm just a dumb blonde!"
Byron ignored him, kick-started the motorcycle, and sped off from the hotel like his life depended on it.
Just few minutes after they left, two black vans show up in the hotel and Gion's men are storming out of the van with machine gun. They barraged the hotel with the bullets, in which Etienne witness in horror.
"Don't look back," Byron warns.
"Byron... they...." Etienne forgot to blink.
Innocent people. Killed. Murdered. Barraged in hot leads.
Because of him.
Now that they escaped without they know it, Etienne doesn't know if he should see it as luck, or curse. Because the guilt, he can't let it go, and will stays in his mind for a long time.
***
Etienne sat alone at the edge of the coral stones, the saltwater rinsing over his clothes, drenching him—not just in seawater, but in guilt.
"How could it end up like this? Damn..." he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He should have been smarter when making risky plans. He had thought they would come to kidnap him, bring him to Gion, and then he could see who was really on his side—Byron or Charles. Only then could he decide where to place his loyalty.
But… those people?
They didn't deserve this fate.
"This is so messed up… I'm such a mess..." Etienne buried his face in his hands, unable to stop whispering apologies to the innocent people who had died at the hotel.
Byron had waited long enough—it was getting dark. Someone had to pull Etienne out of his spiral. Carefully stepping onto the slippery corals, he approached him. Once close enough, Byron pressed his chest against Etienne's back and placed a soft kiss on his nape.
"Looks like you need help to pull you out of this guilt trip," Byron murmured. "But I can't help if I don't even know what's on your mind."
"It's okay, Byron. It's on me."
"You can share some with me," Byron persisted. The sky was getting darker, and soon the waves would rise higher. If something happened to Etienne, he could be lost in the water, and no one would even know. More than that, Byron needed Etienne to understand—this wasn't entirely his fault.
Yes, if Etienne hadn't given away his location, those people wouldn't have died. But the decision to kill everyone so quickly? That was on them, not him.
"No, just leave me alone by now," Etienne sighs, tormented by guilt again.
"Alright." Byron walk away, but he doesn't go far. He stays in range where he is distant enough to give Etienne space to feel himself, and close enough to make sure someone will be there if the waves ever engulfed him. Because ocean is unpredictable.
As he watched Etienne, Byron figured it out.
Etienne wasn't an idiot. He might seem spoiled, bratty, and impulsive—making decisions based on short-term logic, appearing clueless or too innocent to recognize danger. But Byron could see through him.
By the way he argued, by the way he spoke, it was clear—Etienne wasn't an idiot.
So posting a picture on social media out of the blue? He did it on purpose.
For what? To give Byron away to Gion?
If that were true, then why did he tell Byron to leave the hotel, only to stay behind in the restaurant while Gion's men stormed in, barraging the place with bullets? Clearly, Etienne wasn't trying to hand him over. Right?
So then… what was it?
Was he trying to reveal his own location to Gion? But why?
Did he want to talk to Gion about something? Was he planning—oh. Oh. That must be it.
He was tired of running.
He wanted to end this by facing Gion himself. That's why he told Byron to walk away without him.
Byron clenched his jaw, making a silent promise to himself—he would end Gion. There was nothing more important than Etienne's safety.
But wait. Should he make sure first? Should he contact the spirits to see what was really on Etienne's mind?
…No. Not worth it.
Connecting with spirits was exhausting, and if something was important enough, they would come to him. If the truth could be figured out through logic, there was no need to rely on them. Besides, spirits often wanted something in return—a payment, an offering.
Byron didn't have time for that. He would only work with spirits who worked with him unconditionally.
Holding off his hunger, Byron wouldn't leave his spot. He had to keep an eye on Etienne to make sure he didn't get washed away. But this was honestly too boring, so he fell asleep.
A soft touch on his hair woke him up, and he saw the beautiful face of Etienne smiling at him, caressing his hair.
"Sorry, did I wake you? I hope I didn't interfere with your dream," Etienne spoke gently.
Byron smiled. Nothing felt closer to paradise than seeing Etienne's smile, especially when it was directed at him; it was cloud number nine. Byron inhaled deeply, taking his time to exhale after waking some of his brain cells. "You didn't kill yourself?"
Etienne chuckled. "No, silly! Have you eaten?"
Byron shook his head. There was something more important than a meal, even though his stomach was growling like a singing bear. He touched Etienne's cheek and caressed it along the way to his lips. Etienne took the fingertips with his tongue, then sucked on them.
Byron laughed. "You're crazy."
"You're crazy too," Etienne replied. Both sat side by side as the sky grew lighter. Byron circled his arms around Etienne's shoulders and pulled him in. He kissed Etienne's temple, and when they locked eyes, Byron made a promise in his heart that he would do anything to make this world the safest place for Etienne to live in. He would take Gion down! But… after he knew where to keep Etienne safe. Because it would take him some time to do it.
It was a war cry! A silent war cry!
But in Etienne's mind, he was wondering how Byron could be too good to be true. It was impossible for a man to be this loving. It was impossible because he had never experienced it.
He had always dealt with men who would leave him after they got bored, men who only came when they wanted something from him without giving anything back, men who only wanted to possess him or turn him into a trophy.
In his experience, men only cared when it was about them. They only cared if it benefited them.
So, Byron?
As true as he seemed now, when he got bored or found someone better and younger, he would leave.
He would leave without even saying goodbye or anything.
That's what men do.