Martin didn’t leave that night.
He said the winds weren’t good.
He said he was too tired.
He said the fuel gauge was acting funny.
But Glykós wasn’t stupid. She could read people better than she could read the tide, & Martin Vogel was a whole forecast of contradictions. Every word from his mouth felt like a gust in the wrong direction—true, but not the truth.
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They sat outside her house. He had his usual chai, she had her third bag of banana chips. The stars above blinked like cockpit lights, scattered across an ink-black sky. Martin leaned back with a sigh. "You know what’s weird?"
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"What?" Glykós asked, already biting into another chip. "I don’t feel like I’ve got anywhere to be." He hesitated. She blinked. "Is that… bad?"
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"No. It’s just… uncomfortable?" There was silence again. Not awkward, but weighted. Like, both of them were waiting for the tide to come in. Glykós didn’t press him, though part of her wanted to scream "STAY!".
Instead, she just nudged his leg with her foot. "So what now, Captain?" He smiled, lazy & unsure. "Now?" Then he looked at her—really looked.
At her chipped nails, her windburned cheeks, her blue-stained hair glowing silver in the moonlight.
At the way she's present, not just here. While he was always leaving, even though it might not be in a physical sense. "Now I’m thinking maybe I fly too much."
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His voice was quiet, almost like he was ashamed of saying it aloud. "Martin," she said, a little surprised, "you are a pilot."
"Yeah," he said, still staring at her, "but for once… I kinda want to land." He sighed, finally taking off his goggles & setting them next to him.
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