The tide always comes back, but what about the people we lose to
it? Salt in our veins Chapter 1 The
last summer the boat moved like it had a will of its own, slow
and sure of the calm sea. The sails, Weather by Facebook,
strain gently against a soft breeze, their edges fluttering
like the wings of a resting sea bird.
Beneath the surface, the water was clear blue, deepening too
black where the shallows gave way, the endless depths.
The coastline of Eden curved like a secret, kept too long,
the headland watching over them silent and old.
The water lapped at the hole with a sound like breathe,
steady, timeless. Eden was the kind of town that
clung to the edge of the world, where the streets ran narrow
between buildings weathered by salt air, and fishing boats
outnumbered cars. The Wharf was the town's heart,
it's timber bones creaking under the weight of Nets, and stories
passed between generations. The air smelled of fish and wood
smoke, and at night Lenter swung in the sea breeze, throwing soft
light on faces lined by sun and sea.
It was a place where everyone knew everyone, where gossip
floated as easily as the tide. And we're leaving was talked
about more often than it was done.
Noah had always been the boy who would leave, and Kai the one who
would stay. Kai stood at the main sheet, his
hands confident on the worn line. 18 though the sea had made
him older in ways no number could mark.
His skin was sun dark, shoulders broad from hauling sails and
pulling Nets, hair a mess of salt, stiff curls that framed a
face more often serious than not.
His eyes, dark and steady, always watch the wind, the
water. There was nothing hurried about
him. Kai belong to this place, to the
boat, the tide. The sky stretched wide over the
sea. Across from him, Noah leaned
against the tiller, easy and loose limbed in the way of
someone who never had to try to be seen. 18-2 but different.
Sharper. Lighter, as if part of him was
always halfway out the door. His hair curled at his temple
where sweat and the sea spray dampened it, and his eyes, a
pale storm Gray, seemed fixed on the horizon more than the water
beneath them. His mouths quirked into a half
smile that made people forgive him anything.
The city already pulled at him even as the wind tugged at the
sail. His voice, when he spoke, had
that mix of excitement that made Kai ache to hear it.
They sailed for hours, saying little.
The day stretched out like a held breath.
When Kai did glance at Noah, it was always brief, afraid if he
looked too long he'd give himself away.
Afraid Noah would see the truth in his eyes, the thing he buried
under years of friendship and silence.
The wind shifted, lifting Kai's hair, bringing the scent of
seaweed and wood smoke from the shore.
He watched Noah in the fading light, a boy he knew better than
himself and the stranger he couldn't hold on to.
The ache settled in his chest like an anger dropped too deep.
No wind in the city, Noah said, voice low.
He didn't look at Kai. Kai kept his gaze on the sail.
Not like this sea. Noah's laugh was soft, almost
sad. Yeah, not like this sea.
A gull cried. Far off They sailed until the
stars began to prick the sky, the horizon blurring into dark
when at last they turned. For sure, neither wanted to be
the one to suggest it. They pulled the boat up beyond
the reach of the waves. The sand was cool now, the heat
of the day fading into night. They built a fire with
driftwood, the flames crackling low, throwing shadows long and
thin. Kai sat with his arms around his
knees, watching the sparks rise and die.
The firelight painted Noah in golden shadow, made him look
older. They talked in low voices of the
first time they sailed this boat alone, of nothing that mattered
and everything that did. Their voices wove through the
sound of the surf, the night wrapping around them.
Noah dropped beside him, close enough that their shoulders
brushed, close enough that Kai could feel the warmth of him,
the weight of what was unset. Big Sky here.
Noah murmured. Won't see that in Sydney.
Kai wanted to tell him not to go, wanted to say it so badly it
hurt, but he didn't. Instead, he nudged Noah's foot
with his own, forced to grin. Don't forget it.
Noah turned to him, eyes dark in the fire light.
Mouse parted like he might speak, might close the space
between them. The world held its breath.
The night seemed to still around them, as if waiting to.
Noah's hand lifted, almost without him knowing, and his
fingers brush Kai's, tentative at first, then lingering just
enough to make the moment feel like it was theirs, like it had
always been meant to be. Kai's eyes didn't move away,
locked on Noah's, dark and steady, as if looking too long
could somehow make the night hold still and keep them there
forever. And then the wind shifted, the
fire spat, and Noah looked away. The moment slipped through
Noah's fingers like water. Morning came, pale and quiet.
They pushed the boat out one last time.
Kai watched Noah at the helm, every line of him, every
movement. He tried to memorize it, knowing
it wouldn't be enough. The sea was soft beneath them, a
mirror to the empty sky as they came ashore.
Noah hesitated, then turned and pulled Kai into a hug.
Longer, fierce, as if he wanted to leave something of himself
behind. Kai held on just as tightly,
burying his face against Noah's shoulder, feeling the shape of
goodbye and the way they clung to each other.
I'll miss you. Noah said, his voice rough with
everything he couldn't say outright.
No grand promises, no looking back, only knowing the knowledge
that they had entered a wide uncertainty of adulthood. 10
years passed. Kai stayed in Eden, as steady as
the tides he knew by heart. He helped with the family
business, mending Nets, running the shop front of the Wharf,
fixing engines when they coughed to a shop.
But always, always, he found his way back to the sea.
The boat became his quiet refuge, the sail his steady
companion. There had been company now and
then, casual, brief, but nothing that settled into shape of love.
Kite didn't mind, or told himself he didn't.
He had the wind, the salt, the white sky, and most days that
was enough. The years moved quite around
him. Seasons turned, tides rose and
fell. He loved Eden, the way the sea
met the sky, the way the wind filled his lungs.
Love, he figured, was something for other people, or maybe for
another lifetime. What he had was the boat, the
ocean, and the memory of summer that refused to fade.
Noah had started strong. He excelled in his classes,
driven by that hunger for success everyone had always seen
in him. Internship came easy, and at
first it seemed like everything he had left Eden for was within
reach. He was the boy bound for
something bigger, and for a while he believed it too.
But life doesn't always give you what you think it will.
The shine dulled faster than he expected.
The city had taken Noah in and worn him down.
His days blurred between meetings and late nights,
staring at the glow of a screen that never gave back what the
sea once did. The Salt of Eden had long since
washed from his skin, but in the quiet moments alone in a small
apartment that overlooked nothing but glass and concrete,
he could still taste it after another relationship ended as
quickly as it began. A month's, that was all.
It had lasted, just like the one before it, and the one before
that. But the quiet at night left too
much space for the memories of a boy on a boat.
A summer that had felt like it would last forever.
And then the work dried up, the market turned, the company
downsized. And Noah, once the Golden Boy,
was handed his notice with a handshake and hollow words about
talent and timing, and walked out into a city that felt colder
than he remembered. Four months as he tried
applications, interviews, all leading nowhere.
The saving thinned. The apartment felt smaller.
The idea of going back to Eden shifted from impossible to
inevitable. As much as he wanted to see it,
to see the sea and sky and maybe Kai, he feared it too, about how
far he had fallen. But there was nothing left to
hold him where he was. The tide was pulling him home.
Noah dressed carefully the morning he left, his best shirt
pressed and clean, the one suit jacket that still felt like him.
The drive was long, hours of empty highways and scattered
towns. But as he crested the last rise,
Eden unfolded before him, the coast stretching wide, the sea
glittering beneath cliffs that held the town like a secret.
Noah parked the car by the Wharf, engine ticking as it
cooled in the night air. He sat for a moment, fingers
loose on the steering wheel, listening to the sound of the
sea. When he stepped out, the salt
hit him first. The street lights along the war
have cast long, broken reflections on the water.
A gull called once, somewhere unseen.
He turned slowly, taking it in further down, near the end of
the Wharf, two kids laughed as they chased each other along the
rail, shadows flickering at the lamplight.
As he got back in and started down toward the water, the
houses came into a view, low and weathered.
Eden breezed him in again, as if it had been watching, knowing
he'd come back eventually. Kai said at the bar that
evening, the low hum of conversations and clink of
glasses filling the space around him.
A few friends crowded nearby, laughing, swapping stories of
the day's catch and the usual town gossip.
The door creaked open and the men stepped inside, wiping the
sea air from his face, smirking like he held a secret.
Guess who I saw rolling back into town?
He said, loud enough for the table to hush.
Noah driving like he owned the place in some fancy car, all
polished up. I felt the words hit like a
shift in the tone. His glass paused halfway to his
lips. He didn't look up, didn't speak,
but inside, everything tilted like the world had changed into
a single breath. Noah stood at the water's edge,
the sea stretching dark and endless before him, the
moonlight caught in the ripple of the tide.
What now? He thought of the stories he'd
have to tell, how he frame it all so no one would see the
truth, that he hadn't come home because he wanted to, and
because he run out of anywhere else to go.
He rehearsed the lines in his head, polished and hollow, but
even as he tried to shape the words, they felt thin.
He stared at the horizon, at the line where dark water met darker
sky, and wondered if he could still become the man he once
tried so hard to be. The man people here remembered,
The man he promised himself he'd become.
The wind tugged at his jacket. The tide moved below, steady as
breath, indifferent to him and his figures.
And then his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He froze. He didn't need to look at the
screen to know the weight of it settled before his eyes found
the words Welcome home. Salt in our veins.
Chapter 2 Not the same. Sea mornings come early in Eden.
The boats leave before the sun clears the hills.
The wind moves like it remembers everything.
And when someone returns, especially after 10 years, the
town notices, even if it doesn't say so out loud.
Noah's mother made a Full breakfast the morning after he
returned. Not just toast and eggs, the
whole spread. Bacon crisp just right, grilled
tomatoes glistening. Even hash Browns, which she
never bothered with unless it was someone birthday or holiday.
The kettle whistled twice. She pulled out the good plates,
poured juice into the glasses they use for guests.
She never said she missed him. She didn't need to.
They ate together with a kind of practice politeness.
Afterward, Noah offered to wash the dishes, but his mother waved
him off. Noah nodded, stepped out the
front door and into the wind. The town of Eden didn't sleep
in. By the time he reached the main
road, the boats were already gone.
Pushed out into the Bay was the kind of purpose only people born
to the sea understood. Somewhere out near the headland,
a gal cried once and disappeared into the wind.
The cruise ship hadn't arrived yet, but the town knew it would.
You could feel the shift the face eat and put on for the day.
A little more upright, a little more polished, still the same,
but trying just a bit. Noah walked past the bakery, the
scent of sugar and heat clinching to the open door. 2
old women stood near the window display, half watching him.
That Noah. One said, not quietly.
He's taller, the other replied. Didn't he go to Sydney?
No, it was Adelaide. Same thing.
Noah didn't turn, just kept walking, hands in his pocket,
but something curled in his chest.
Not quite embarrassment, not quite regret.
Something quieter, like being remembered and mistaken at the
same time. Down by the Wharf, a group of
kids clustered around an older man holding a knot of rope.
He was showing them how to tie something.
One of the boys shaded his eyes, looking farther down the dock,
and called out towards someone out of you.
Kai, you coming? No, I stopped, not because of
the name, but because of the way it still ended.
Deep, uninvited, unchanged. He didn't turn around, didn't
need to. The breeze shifted, and
somewhere behind him, footsteps moved along the dock.
Slow, measured, certain. Noah didn't move right away.
He let the voice behind him blur into the breeze, and only when
the footsteps slowed beside him did he finally glance over.
Kai stood there, 10 years later and still somehow unmistakable,
but older. Not just in the way his
shoulders had filled out, or the stronger line of his jaw, or the
quiet steadiness in the way he stood.
It was something else, Something in the eyes, in the set of his
mouth. The boy Noah remembered had
always carried silence like a shield, but this man carried it
like it was simply part of him. His curls were shorter now, his
skin was darker, like the sea had claimed him even more
deeply. His hands look the same, though.
Kai looked at him and nodded. It wasn't a smile, but it wasn't
cold either, just honest. Noah swallowed.
He planned to say something else, but what came out instead
was the truth. Sorry I didn't text back.
Kai didn't answer, didn't need to.
His eyes did enough. They stood in the morning light
like that, saying nothing. One of the kids from the group
called out. Kai, what's taking you?
And just like that, the moment crept open.
Noah stepped back, his hand brushing the edge of the dock
rail. I have to go, He said quietly.
He didn't wait for a reply, just turned and walked away, the sea
brushing at the piling beneath him like it was trying to call
him back. In the summer, Kai taught
sailing to local kids. Not the polished city style
kind, just the real stuff. How to read the gust before they
turned, how to move with the tide, not against it.
How to feel the wind through the ropes in your hand.
He liked teaching. There was a kind of piece in it.
When cruise ships docked, he helped unload their early supply
runs. In the offseason, when the
tourists thinned out and the air turned sharp, he worked with his
family's fishing boat. The town knew him, trusted him,
called him solid, and he liked it that way.
It kept people from asking questions, But sometimes, in the
brief space between supply drop off and the ship pulling out
again, there were looks. Quiet ones.
Sometimes a glance would catch the kind that held a question
just long enough to be answered. And if Kai saw it, if it felt
right, he gave a small nod and point casually toward the path
behind the fishing cottage. That place was always empty
during the day. No one there, no questions.
A few hours later, a ship would be gone.
No names, no contact. Just a fleeting answer to a
need. Not romance, not love, just
loneliness. Met quietly and let go.
No one in Eden knew. No one had to.
There was no reason to come out in a town where everything
whispered and nothing stayed private.
He wasn't ashamed, he was just careful.
Most days, the quiet was enough. But today, after 10 years, Noah
was back. Kai didn't know what he'd
expected. Maybe anger, maybe indifference.
What he got instead was one line.
Sorry I didn't text back. And the look that said
everything. He sometimes wondered what it
would be like to be one of them. Not waste money the way it was.
Not after the 2019 Bush fires. The damage hadn't touched the
house directly, but it had hit everything else.
The fishing routes, the markets, the flow of goods.
They made it through. Tourism had slowly come back.
The town had painted over what it could, but for people like
Kai, it had left a dent. Kai was heading toward the
repair shed, toolbox in hand, sweat drying on his back of his
neck. One of the oyster boats had a
jammed winch, and the crew couldn't afford to lose a
daylight. The air still smelled like salt
and steel. And that's when he saw him.
Noah, walking up the gravel paths from the lower boardwalk.
He looked out of place. If he hadn't known, he would
assume Noah was just another tourist.
The boy Kai remembered had walked like he carried the wind,
this version. His frame was sharper now,
movements more deliberate. He looked like someone who had
lost something and never said it out loud.
Their eyes met. Before either could pretend
otherwise. Noah slowed.
Hey, he said. Kai didn't answer right away,
just stopped, shifted his weight.
His breath left him quiet, not cold, just measured.
No one nodded, more grounded than before.
You still drink? Kai raised an eyebrow slightly.
If you're ever free, maybe we grab a beer sometime?
Noah added. Kai looked at him, really looked
at him, and for a second he thought about that summer, the
boy on the boat, the firelight, the almost, but all he said was
maybe, and they walked side by side down the dock.
Their steps didn't quite match, but neither pulled away.
Still fixing boats? Noah asked eventually, nodding
at Kai's toolbox. Sometimes.
Kai didn't return the question. Noah didn't seem to mind.
They were halfway to the shed when one of the oyster boat crew
appeared at the bend, wiping his hand on a rack, half smiling.
You said 10 minutes. Kai looked up, gave a short nod.
The bull light tonight at 8. A pause.
I'll wait for you. Noah said, and with that he gave
a faint, quiet smile. Not expectation, not pressure,
just the line tossed out into the tide and walked away.
Kai stayed a second longer, the sun brushing the back of his
neck, toolbox heavy in one hand. Then he turned toward the shed,
saying nothing. Kai stood outside his house,
tugging at his collar. He hadn't meant to change
clothes, but he had, twice. Nothing fancy, just jeans that
didn't have oil stains and a dark button up he hadn't worn
since his cousin's engagement dinner.
His mom had noticed as he passed through the kitchen.
You're going out like that? She asked, elbow raised, tea mug
in hand. Kai shook, grabbing his coat.
She smirked. Alphora Data.
He paused just enough for the moment to hang and said yeah.
Then he walked out before she could ask anything else.
Now outside the bar, he lit a smoke.
He wasn't a regular smoker, not really, but tonight it felt like
something to hold on to. He didn't want to show up early,
and he sure as hell didn't want to be late.
So he waited until his watch hit 8 exactly.
Then he dropped a cigarette, grounded into the gravel with
his boot, and stepped inside. Noah was already at the bull
line. He got in there just before
8:00, earlier than he meant to, but too late to turn back.
Noah ordered a beer then let it sit.
He just waited the way he used to wait for the wind to shift on
the water, not knowing if it would, just hoping it might.
The clock behind the bar tick to 8.
Noah saw him the second he stepped through the door.
Kai didn't rush, he just stood there for a beat.
Everyone else in the bar looked like they belonged there, but
Kai stood out. Not in a flashy way, just clean
collected. Noah said a little straighter.
He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until Kai
started walking toward him. Kai slid into the seat across
from him, his shoulder relaxed but not loose, his hands resting
easy on the table. Noah gave a small smile.
Good to see you, Kai. Kai didn't say anything, but he
stayed. They sat in silence for a
moment, the low hum of the bar curling around them.
Glasses clinked at the far end of the counter.
Noah leaned in slightly, a small frown pulling at his brow.
You smoke now? He asked.
Can't you? The faint trace of it in Kai's
breath. Yeah, but not much.
You. Noah gave a lopsided grin.
No, never got into it. I gave a small nod.
The silence stretched, but didn't strain.
It wasn't everything, but it was something.
They talked after that, about the weather, the beer, the town,
nothing either of them really wanted to ask, nothing that
mattered. After a while, Noah shifted in
his seat. You want to get a smoke?
Kai raised an eyebrow. Didn't you say you don't?
Noah gave a half smile. Yeah, but you look like you need
one. Kai nodded.
Outside, the air was cooler, quieter.
The sea breeze tugged at the overhang, carried bits of
laughter from farther down the block.
Kai lit a cigarette. Noah stood beside him in
silence. Neither said anything until the
filter burned low, and just before they turned back toward
the door, Noah reached out, quick, unthinking, and pulled
Kai into a hug. It was real, Arms tight, hands
fisted into fabric, a breast let out like he'd been holding it
for 10 years. I missed you.
Noah said, barely above a whisper.
Kai stood still. He didn't say it back, but he
didn't move away either. Then a voice.
Well, look at that, the lovers reunited.
Noah froze. Kai pulled back just slightly,
enough to look toward the street.
A guy leaned against the fence posts.
He laughed, loud and harsh. Your mom told mine you were out
on a date, mate. He looked between them.
So what, you 2 dating now? The silence came fast, thick.
No one didn't move. Kai's jaw tightened just
slightly, but he said nothing. The street light bust above
them. Inside the jukebox switched
songs and the hug hung there. Unfinished, the rumor started
the moment they let go. One hug have finished, seen by
the wrong person, and suddenly the whole town had something to
say. But the loudest voices weren't
from strangers. They were the ones echoing in
Kai's chest, and the ones no, I hadn't dared speak out loud.
This chapter begins the same night the hug was interrupted
and everything Kai had buried rose to the surface.
When anger slips through the cracks.
When silence turn into a shout. When being seen costs more than
anyone was ready to pay. And somewhere between a street
line, a slam door, and a quiet Cliff side, two boys who once
sailed side by side will finally speak the truth they never
could. This is salt in our veins,
Chapter 3 The things we tried to bury.
The wind had quieted, but the street hadn't.
Someone stepped out for smoke, letting the pup door swing half
open behind him. Laughter and clinking glasses
spilled into the night. Out here, tension pressed
tighter than the wind and the man who wouldn't shut up.
And here I thought this town had no surprises left.
Then louder, pitched perfectly to the doorway.
Hold them. Summer of silence, then.
This kite didn't move. Noah didn't flinch, but the man
wasn't done. He sniffed at the moment, then
delivered the real blow. Is that why you came back, Noah?
His grin Sprint. Couldn't resist your little love
boy. Here.
Something broke. Kai moved fast, no hesitation.
He lunged a step forward, arms already pulling back.
Four punch. The men flinched, half laughing,
stumbling slightly against the fence post.
Noah grabbed him from behind, both hands now tight around
Kai's arm and shoulder, holding him back.
And that's when Kai snapped. Not at the Heckler, but at Noah,
but a full body push that's in Noah step back, almost
stumbling. Kai's voice cracked out like
Thunder. You don't get to show up and
crack open my whole fucking life.
It hit the street like a slam door.
The laughter from inside faded. More eyes turned.
Kai's breathing was wrecked, his first Still shaking.
He raised his arm again. Not at Noah, not quite, but as
if he didn't know who the hell to hit.
And that's when he saw it. The guy by the pub door
recording. A few others had stepped outside
too. Heads turned.
He froze. The only sound was the tide
beyond the railings. Then Kai's hand dropped.
He turned fast, chest still tight, breast ranked, and walked
away. He didn't look in Noah.
He didn't look at the men with the beer.
He didn't look at anyone. The Heckler snorted.
Touchy. Kai turned the corner and
disappeared into the dark behind him.
The Heckler raised his voice one last time.
Hey, you forgot your little back door body.
Noah didn't flinch, didn't respond.
He just stood there under the flickering St. lamp and in the
silence that followed. The towel finally said nothing,
but they were still watching. Next morning, the kitchen was
already warm when Kai stepped in.
His father was rinsing A muck at the sink.
He dried his hands on the dish towel, then stepped past Kai
toward the doorway. As he passed, he gave Kite's
shoulder a light tap. Your breakfast stare, he said,
Then he left. Kite sat down.
The second plate was still steaming, but he wasn't hungry.
He stared at it, picked up the fork, set it down again.
His mother wasn't in the house. She'd left early.
Grocery run, probably. Or maybe she didn't want to be
there when the silence started, the hum off the fridge, the
ticking clock. His own pulse in his years.
He drank the coffee anyway. It was already cold.
Later that morning, Noah stepped out into the sun.
The air was cooler than he expected, clean, sharp.
Like the kind you only got near the sea.
Noah helped to lift the last of the crates off the supply truck
and onto the loading deck. He double checked the seafood in
Boise and script the signature on a clipboard that didn't
really need. 1A younger crew member notched the front and
murmured. That's him from the last night.
The elder nodded, whispering something back that Noah didn't
catch. He kept his head down, kept
working, but he felt it the same way you feel a sunburn before it
blisters. By noon, the air in Eden had
changed. It wasn't loud, but he was
everywhere. On the other side, Noah didn't
speak during breakfast. He didn't say much, didn't eat,
just mumble something about being tired.
The door shut softly behind him. It was still the same room, same
posters. He sat on the edge of the vent,
phone in hand, type something. Deleted it, tried again.
Nothing stayed. Eventually he set the phone
down, face 1st and stared at the ceiling outside.
The neighbors lawn mower started out inside the silent stretched,
then a gentle knock on the door. How long you in town for, love?
His mom asks through the wood, voice warm.
She didn't respond. Thought maybe we could head down
to the clubhouse. She added.
Sunday brunch like old times. Noah swallowed.
Yeah, sounds good. But he never answered her first
question. Later that afternoon, Noah stood
at the gate to Kai's house. He hadn't knocked, hadn't
texted, hadn't even moved in the last 10 minutes.
The sky above Eden had gone a little overcast, not enough to
rain, just enough to quiet everything.
He didn't know if Kai would want to see him, didn't know if
showing up made things worse. But he came anyway, because
guilt wasn't the only thing pulling him here.
It was something quieter and heavier.
A car passed on the street, slowed just a little.
The driver glanced over. Not a greeting, just that small
town look. Curious, suspicious.
Noah looked down at the gravel. Time to leave.
He turned back toward his car and already half in his pocket
when tires crunched behind him, Kai's mom pulled into the
driveway. He froze.
She stepped down, groceries in one arm.
Her eyes landed on him instantly, not surprised, not
unreadable. Just still.
You here for Kai? No one nodded once.
She didn't shift the groceries, didn't ask for details, just
move toward the front steps and held the door open, then come
inside. That was it.
No questions, no judgement, just the door that didn't close.
Noah followed. Inside the house, Noah stood by
the kitchen door, unsure where to place himself.
Kai's mom set the back down and unpacked in silence for a
moment, then was out turning. He's still at work, down by the
docks. She glanced over her shoulder.
He'll be back soon. You want tea?
Noah shook his head gently. Just water's fine, thank you.
She nodded. A long paw stretch between them.
Not awkward, just still. Then she spoke again, softer
now. Whatever's on your chest, don't
let it leave with you. A silence settled, just the kind
of quiet that didn't push but didn't walk away either.
Noah said was his water, both hands around the glass.
Then the faint scrape of Grievo, a car door shutting, footsteps
on the front path. Kai was home.
The door opened. Kai stepped in, the late
afternoon sun still on his shoulders, his shirt damp at the
collar from salt spray. Isolinos winted from the wind.
He kicked off his shoes out of habit, ruffled his hair once,
and stomped. Noah was sitting at the kitchen
table, and Kai froze, just for a second, like the room had
changed shape when he wasn't looking.
His mom looked out from the counter, calm as ever.
You're home early. Kai didn't answer.
Noah stood, not quite meeting his eyes.
Kai exhaled, heart press the hand to the back of his neck.
Like it her. He didn't say you shouldn't be
here, but it was written all over him.
His mom wiped her hands on a dish towel, set it down neatly.
If you boys need to talk, she said, take a drive.
She didn't ask what happened, didn't push, just turned and
stepped out of the kitchen, giving them the one thing they
hadn't had since last night. In this time, the silence
between them was theirs. The car ride started was nothing
but the hum of tires and the rhythm of passing wind.
Noah stared out the window. Kai kept both hands on the
wheel. They didn't play music, didn't
ask where they were going, but Kai turned off the main road,
past the old campground and follow the narrow third pass.
It was a place they used to come before they knew what to call
the thing between them. Now it was just a quiet and the
sea. Kai parked, didn't kill the
engine right away. For a few seconds, neither
moved. Then he cut the ignition.
The stillness pressed in outside, Gauls crying.
Somewhere in the distance, the horizon stretcher open and wide.
Noah got out first. Kai followed slower.
The Cliff dropped into the Gray blue water below, wind curling
at the edge like it remembered their names.
Why'd you come back? His voice wasn't angry, but it
wasn't soft either, just full of everything they hadn't said yet.
No one didn't look at him. I thought he'd be easier.
He said, coming back. Kai waited for him to finish,
but nothing followed. For a while, it was enough, then
Kai spoke. Sorry I yelled at you.
No, I didn't look over. No, my fault.
And then softly. I just missed you.
Kai's jaw tensed, his eyes didn't leave the horizon.
You don't get to do that, he said.
Just show up and shake everything up again.
He excelled long and slow. It's been 10 years.
Noah didn't answer right away, then, just one word.
Sorry, but it landed. Kai nodded almost to himself.
They stood a little longer, then, without really meaning to,
Kai sat down on the old bench, tucked into rocks near the edge.
Noah joined him. The wind softened.
Kai leaned forward, forms on his knees.
He didn't look at Noah, but he didn't pull away either.
The silence stretched just enough, then Noah spoke.
It wasn't just a visit. Kite didn't respond.
Told people I was here for a break.
But the truth, this he excelled. Gaze fixed on the horizon.
I got laid off 3 months or so ago.
Kai finally turned toward him. Why didn't you say?
Noah offered the faintest smile. Tired, honest.
Because I didn't want to show up here like a wreck.
Didn't want you to think I came crawling back.
He looked down at his hands. I just kept thinking about here,
and about you. Kite didn't speak right away.
Debris shifted, a seagull scream somewhere far off, then finally.
That's a lot to carry along. He just reached over, slow,
unsure, and slid his hand over Noah's.
Noah didn't speak, didn't move either, but his fingers curled
gently around Kai's. The wind moved around them.
Neither spoke for a while, then Kai said, low but steady.
Two person regattas in six months.
Noah turned his head slightly, I searching his.
Kai didn't flinch, didn't let go.
We trained for you and me. Noah blinked.
His jaw tensed, then softened and nodded just once.
He just tightened his grip, not forceful, but sure.
And that was enough. Kyle looked down at their joint.
Hence, for the first time in a long time, the horizon didn't
feel so far. The drive back wasn't long, but
it felt like the kind that asked for silence.
Not the tense kind, not anymore, just full.
Kai capped one hand on the wheel.
Noah rested his arm up the window ledge, fingers have
curled against a breeze. They didn't speak, They didn't
need to. When they pulled into the
driveway, Noah's car was still there, parked awkwardly to the
site, like it didn't know if it should have stayed or left.
Kai shifted into Park, left, the engine running a moment longer
than needed. Neither of them moved, the hum
fill the space between them. Not awkward, just unfinished,
like there was something left to say, but neither of them had
found the words yet. Then the front door opened.
Kai's father stepped onto the porch, drawing his hand on a
dish towel. He looked at Noah, then at Kai.
Noah, you staying for dinner? Noah glanced at Kai.
Kai didn't speak, didn't look away.
Noah nodded. Yeah, he said thank you.
Kai's father gave a slow knot, a gesture, a welcome, then a small
motion inside the car. Kai nudged his knee gently
against Noah's. Not hard, not playful, just
enough to say ready, let's do this.
No one met his eyes, gave the slightest nod.
They stepped out of the truck together, left whatever had been
sent, still humming in the quiet between them.
Kai's mom turned from the stove. She didn't speak right away,
just looked at them both, really looked.
Then she walked forward. She wrapped Noah in a hawk
first, full and steady, then kissed Kai on the cheek, fingers
brushing a straight curl off his forehand.
Noah, you just sit. Then to Kai, a touch of normal
in her tone, almost teasing. Set one more plate, will you?
On the far wall, in a wooden frame on the photo he hadn't
seen in years, Kai, 18, sunburned and smiling, one hand
on the helm of weathered boat and next to him, Noah, his arms
lung over Kai's shoulders, both of them mid love caught in the
sunlight. But this time it was Kai's arm
gently holding Noah close, steady.
Sure. Noah stood still.
A quiet smile tugged at his mouth.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was keeping.
Not everything needed to be said to be remembered.
Not everything lost, state gone. The tide had insert.
The wind remembers. Not just the routes the boats
take now, but the ones they used to.
This was before the years got in the way, before the quiet turned
sharp, when the tide still carried their laughter out past
the headland and brought it back again at dusk. 18 The last year
they sailed without knowing it was the last.
The formal was still weeks away, some date written on the school
calendar in ink far enough to feel unreal, but the talk of it
had started before the suits and the music and the photographs.
They were here, on the water, where the only thing that
mattered was the wind, the sun. This is salt in our veins.
Chapter 4. The night we left early.
The day had started with the sky so clear.
The breeze was steady enough to keep the mainsail full without
the hard work. Kai was at the tiller, bare feet
hooked against the bench, hands loose but certain on the lines.
The salt had already dried into his curls, stiffening them into
shapes the wind kept trying to undo.
His skin was warm, was the kind of sun that stayed on you long
after you'd gone back to shore. Noah had stretched out on the
cabin roof, one knee bent, the other leg hanging over the side
so his shoes skimmed the water when the boat leaned, and his
chest was rising, slow and even, like he could have stayed there
forever. They talked a little earlier
about nothing that mattered, a kid from school who crashed his
motorbike into a fence, the swell forecast for next week,
and then they let the quiet take over.
Out here, silence didn't need filling.
The first splash hit Kai's calf. He looked over in time to see
Noah smirk and the arc of water falling back into the sea.
You're going to regret that. Kai warned, doubted.
Noah answered. Kai let the mainsail run slack,
locked the tiller and moved fast.
In two strides he was across the deck and then they were both
over the side, the water closing over them in a rush of cold.
It started with laughing, loud, messy, catching in their throats
when the salt got in the way. Noah tried to shove him under
Kai, hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him sideways,
both of them breaking the surface, whose hair plastered to
their face. They grappled, splashing hard
enough to rock the boat, their hands finding ribs, shoulders,
anything they could grip. The laughter didn't stop, but it
changed, got shorter. Breath, ear.
Each time they came up, the space between them felt smaller.
Kai went for Noah's shoulder again.
Noah twisted their chest, colliding for a beat longer than
needed before they sank under together.
When they came up this time, their faces were close, too
close, Stillwater running from Noah's hair into Kai's eyes.
Neither moved right away. Noah was the one to push away
first, half laughing, half breathless.
You fight dirty, you started it, Kai said, but his voice had lost
the edge of play. They hauled themselves back on
deck, dripping and flushed. The sun pressed heat into their
backs and hot under their skin. Neither reached for a towel.
They lay there, side by side, letting the water dry where it
wanted. Kai turned his head.
You're going to ask Hana to the formal?
Noah's eye stayed on the sky. Yeah, maybe.
He glanced over. What about you?
Maddie seems to be expecting it. Kai gave 1/2 shrug.
Maybe 4 on 4 date. We should plan it.
Noah grinned. Yeah, Mehdi and Hannah, and you
and me. The last three words came
lighter, but they didn't quite lend like a joke.
I met his eyes for a second, longer than was normal.
You could ask me. The air between them changed
again. Not the wind.
Something closer, heavier. Kai felt the heat on his face
before he realized he was blushing.
He looked away. Noah shifted, the deck creaking
under his weight. He rolled onto his side, closing
the space between them until Kai could feel the warmths of him,
the faint drip of water falling from his hair onto Kai's
shoulder. A hand closed gently around
Kai's arm, not pulling, just holding.
Kai glanced back. Noah's eyes were steady,
searching, and for a moment neither of them moved.
The boat rocked beneath them, the tide knocking softly at the
hull. Then Noah leaned in.
The kiss was unpracticed and salt sweet.
Their mouths is meeting just long enough to be sure if it was
real. When they parted, the sun was
still warm on Kite skin, but the air felt entirely different.
Would you go to the formal with me?
Noah's voice was quieter than the tide, the words almost
carried off by the breeze. Kite didn't answer right away.
He let the taste of salt linger, the boat drifting forward on the
same wind that had brought them here, even if neither of them
knew where it would take them next.
By Monday, the water had already changed.
Not the tide. In Eden, Noose moved like that,
small at first, then rippled just off the shore, then wider,
catching on pilings and passing boats until everyone had heard
it without anyone admitting they said it.
I saw it in the way people looked at Noah that morning.
By lunch, he knew why. Hannah was standing by the
lockers, one hand covering her face, the other clenched around
the balled up tissue. Her friend circled close,
murmuring low. Noah didn't break stride.
His expression didn't change, but Kai, watching from the other
end of the hall, caught the way his jaw tightened before he
turned a corner. Later, outside by the canteen,
Maddie found him. She didn't start with hello.
So are you asking me or not? Kai shifted his weight.
The sun pressed heat into his back.
She crossed her arms, feet planted like she had all the
time in the world. Don't keep me waiting.
I'm not. You are.
She cut in. And I'm not moving until you
give me an answer. There was no teasing in her
voice, just a stubborn certainty of someone used to getting what
she wanted. Kai let the silence stretch, but
she didn't budget. Eventually, he let out a breath.
Would you go out with me? Her expression softened.
Not much, but enough thought so. She stepped back, already
turning away. Don't make me regret it.
Kai found Noah after last bell. I asked Mehdi.
Kai said. I'm going with her.
Noah's mouse curved, half smirk, half challenge.
Aren't we? Kai met his eyes.
We are. That was enough to bring the
grin out fully, then lowering his voice.
So after the formals over, we fake food poisoning.
Kai blinked. Food poisoning?
Yeah, Clutch your stomach. Look green, I'll back you up
then I'll get sick too. Kai snorted.
That's your genius plan. Better than staying for the last
slow dance. Noah said.
So you tell your mom you're staying at mine?
I'll tell mine I'm staying at yours after the formal.
Easy. Noah said, already picturing it.
And we stashed the bikes at the docks earlier in the day.
Kai added. Soon as we're sick, he made air
coats. We head straight there, grab our
gear, and head to the clips. Kai laughed again, shaking his
head. We should probably rehearse the
throwing up part. Noah smirked.
You can do that at home. Then, After a beat, he leaned
just a little closer, voice lower.
No solo time for a week. Kai raised a brow.
You and me at the Cliff, right? Noah's eyes caught the light and
the grin soften into something else.
Yeah, you and me. Then, without another word, he
pushed off the railing and started toward the quad, where
Hannah was standing with her friends.
Kai watched him weave through the knots of students, stopping
just short of her group. Noah dropped to 1 knee, dramatic
enough to turn heads, and said something Kai couldn't hear.
Hannah's hand flew to her mouth. Noah glanced back across the
yard. The wink was quick, but his hand
lingered low as he stood, fingers brushing across the
front of his jeans in a casual adjustment that wasn't casual at
all. His mouth curved just enough for
Kai to know it was meant for him before he turned back to Hannah,
leaving the heat of it hanging between them like a secret only
they knew. The hall at the Community Center
felt too bright, too crowded. Maddie had a firm hold on his
arm as they moved through the clusters of laughing voices and
clicking cameras. She kept him in place for
photos, made sure his tie set straight, leaned close when she
wanted to be heard. Across the room, Hannah was
smiling at something Noah had said.
The glance Noah gave him over her shoulder was brief, but
enough to send a quiet charge. During the second slow song,
Maddie's heel caught the side of his shoe.
Where are you looking? She muttered.
Kai blinked. What, at me.
She pulled him closer, one hand tightening at the back of his
neck. The song ended.
Another slow one started. Noah was already near the
refreshment table when Kai drifted over, pretending to be
looking for water. Their eyes met just long enough
to exchange the unspoken It was time.
Kai hesitated. The plan sounded easy when they
whispered it on the Reeling days ago, but now, under the warm
glare of the overhead lights with 100 faces around them, he
couldn't quite bring himself to double over and fake it.
Noah read it instantly. His hand went to his stomach, a
small sway, then a low, convincing groan.
You OK? Someone asked.
Bad prawns? Noah mumbled, wincing.
He bent forward just enough to sell it, one hand braced on the
table. Han, a step back.
I'll take the sick boy home. Kai said, sliding an arm around
Noah's waist. They moved toward the exit.
Noah straightened as they reached the street, the corner
of his mouth twitching like he couldn't help it.
Kai didn't laugh, not yet. The real night, the one they've
been planning, hadn't started, but it was close enough to
taste. Noah was already unlocking his
bike, the metal chain rattling against the frame.
The bikes clinked as they wheeled them out toward the
road. The road out of Eden narrowed
until it was only two bikes and a thread of moonlight.
The hum of their tires was the only sound between them.
A couple of cars passed, slowing just enough for the drivers to
stare. 2 boys in full formal wear, jackets flapping, bow tie
slightly crooked, pedaling hard like they had somewhere better
to be. I dropped his bike against the
grass and walked to the edge. The sea stretched out like it
had been waiting for them. Noah stopped a few steps from
the edge of the clearing. Close your eyes.
Kai gave him a look. What?
close them? Noah insisted.
And don't open till I say. Kai rolled his eyes but obeyed,
the night air cool against his skin.
He heard the sip of the small bag, the shuffle of shoes over
the grass after few minutes. OK, open.
Kai opened his eyes to see the clearing transformed, soft
golden light spilling over the grass, a small speaker perched
besides Noah's back. Noah pulled out his phone.
Stand here, I want one picture before we ruin our ties.
Kai grinned. I only brought the condoms I
found in my brother's drawer. Noah's eyebrow went up, the
quarter of his mouth twitching. OK.
Before that one last thing to do.
He tapped his phone a few times, and music spilled into the
night. Then he kneeled.
Would you dance with me? Kite didn't answer with words.
He just stepped forward. The first few moments were slow,
tentative, shoes shifting in the grass.
Then Noah's hand found the small of Kite's back, and Kite's palm
pressed over his shoulder, pulling them closer.
He built between them, the kind that made bow tie suddenly feel
too tight, jackets too heavy. They moved in tighter circles,
the space between them barely a breath wide.
A passing car on the distant Rd. slowed for a second, maybe
staring at two boys in formula wear, holding each other under
the stars. Kai didn't care.
The music swelled and Noah's thumbs trace the edge of Kai's
spine. Kai's heart kicked hard in the
chest. Their lips met slow, drawn out,
and then again, deeper. Jacket slipped from shoulders.
Fingers brushed that buttons the night pressed in close, holding
them there until the stars were the only ones watching.
By the next morning, the story had already changed.
That was how it worked in Eden. Something small spotted and
retold until no one remembers where it began.
Someone had seen them at dawn. By lunch it had turned into Noah
got sick, Kai took him home. They didn't come back until
morning. Kai brush did off when he heard,
but Noah seemed to hear it differently.
His eyes caught on the way. A few kids looked up when they
passed in the hall. Too quick to be casual, too
quiet to be nothing. After lunch, they slipped behind
the gym. The shade felt cooler there, but
the air between them was not. Noah's gaze fixed somewhere far
past the chain. Kai kept close, but didn't push.
They sat on the low steps, shoulders nearly touching,
watching Gulz wheel over the field.
Somewhere in that stillness, Kai decided on summer.
A long ride, a tent pitched where the waves could be heard
all night before anything else could get in the way.
You want to go camping this summer?
Kai asked, finally trying for casual Before you had to uni.
Noah shook his head. Family trip?
A few weeks. He glanced sideways, a half
smile pulling at his mouth. But maybe we could take the boat
out, go sailing instead. Kai looked at him for a long
moment, the weed between them still there, but softer now.
Yeah, he said. Sailing sounds good.
Kai waited for Noah that summer, for the call, the text, the day
they'd take the boat out like they said.
But each time the plan slid back a little farther.
Weather, family, something else. The waiting became its own ache,
stretching out the weeks until it felt like the season might
end without them setting sail at all.
Then, just a few days before Kai was due to leave for Sydney, it
finally happened. The tide was right, the sky was
clear. And for once, they both had the
same day free. That last sail was quiet, almost
too much, the kind of quiet that pressed in around the sound of
the wind. Neither of them said it then,
but they both. Knew this was the day the 10
years apart began the memory loosen its grip.
Only when the porch light of his parents house came into a view,
they found themselves standing outside in almost the same air,
but heavier now. I still have that little bow
room light. You're kidding.
I shook his head. Hard to forget the wait after.
For a moment. The wait between them wasn't
about the 10 years or the things they left unsaid, just the
memory of that night when they've been young enough to
think the world could wait. The corner of Noah's mouse moved
again, softer this time. I didn't mean for it to be like
that. I know.
Kai said quietly. They stood there, letting the
space between them hold. What they weren't saying.
The ache of that summer, the way the rumors had followed them,
The shame neither had wanted to admit.
Kai's gaze drifted toward the dark St.
We were just kids, yeah? Noah said.
And now we're not. Noah's case flicked toward his
car, then back to Kai. He stepped closer and pressed
his lips to Kai's just enough to remind them both it hadn't gone
away. The formal night, the clips, the
ballroom light and the photo they took before the music
started still saved after old easy years. 10 years ago, they
thought they had time. Now, with the street lights
cutting soft Hallows in the dark, they knew better.
And for a moment, the years folded in.
Until it was just two boys at the end of a night.
After years apart, Noah and Kai began to let their walls fall.
On the shore of Eden. Truths were spoken that had been
buried since prom night. Two of them had found each other
again, not just in memory, but in present, where laughter and
longing finally met. But Eden is a place where tides
shift quickly and love is never free from its weight.
In this chapter, Noah brings Kai into the heart of his family to
the Sunday brunch at the clubhouse.
What waits there is silence, but also a warmth they never
expected. And as whispers spread through
town, they'll find old faces from their past and a question
that may decide the course of their future.
This is Salt in Our Veins. Chapter 5 The fall We couldn't
stop. The mirror above the porcelain
sink caught them both side by side, as though the years had
folded, and left them standing there the way they always should
have been. The hum of the clubhouse drifted
through the tiled walls, clinking glasses, muffled
laughter. But here, in the bathroom, it
was only the two of them, Breeze fogging faintly in the cool air.
Kai gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles pale.
His shirt felt too stiff, his collar pulling at his neck,
every part of him screaming that he didn't belong here.
He tried not to meet his own reflection, but Noah's was
impossible to ignore. Calm, steady, his presence
filling the space like a tide rising beneath him.
Breeze. Noah murmured, leaning just
close enough that his shoulder brush.
His hand reached up, smoothing the collar that Kai had tucked
half loose. With a small grin, he
straightened it. Kai's chest tightened, but not
from nerves this time. Their eyes met in the glass,
hesitation giving way to something braver.
Noah leaned in, slow enough for Kai to stop him, but Kai didn't.
Their lips touched, soft and certain, the kind of kiss that
said more than words could carry.
Not desperate, not stolen, just right.
When Noah pulled back, his hand lingered, fingers sliding into
Kite's hair. He smoothed it back gently.
Better. He said softly, as if the small
touch had fixed more than just Kai's hair.
Kai let out a breast he hadn't realized he was holding.
The reflection staring back at him still looked like the same
man, warm by sea and silence, but under Noah's touch he felt
different, lighter, anchored. They stepped out together into
the corridor, the murmur of Sunday voices growing louder
with each stride. The double doors opened on to
the dining hall and the tide of the town's gaze lifted toward
them and at the far end of the room.
Noah's mother was already rising from her seat.
The clink of silverware softened as the two of them Crest the
dining hall. Some heads turned, whispering,
curling like smoke at the edge of tables, but the sound of it
dulled under the swell of piano notes drifting from the far
corner. For Kai, every step fell
heavier, as if the floor itself demanded proof of his place
here. And then Noah's mother was
there, Hermes outstretched, her smile, pulling the air into
something lighter. She kissed Noah's cheek, then
turned to Kai as though he'd always been part of her family.
Kai. She said, voice warm,
deliberate. It's about time you came with
him. Sit, come on, sit.
Her hand lingered on his arm just long enough to steady him
before she guided them toward the table, set neatly with linen
and China. Noah's father sat at the head,
his posture firm, shoulders squared as if the seat itself
was an anchor. His knife rested perfectly
aligned with his fork, untouched since their arrival.
Kai lowered himself into the chair opposite Noah's father,
every muscle braced for the weight of silence.
Noah sat close enough that their knees brushed beneath the table,
the small touch grounding him, reminding him he wasn't alone.
The food arrived in courses, plates of eggs and ham, basket
of rolls, bows of fruit. Noah's mother kept the current
of conversation moving. Her voice liked water, smoozing
stone. She asked about Kai's work on
the boats, about the long hours on deck, the stubborn ropes, the
roughness of the Nets. Kai answered in short burst at
first, but her listening was patient, and Noah's quiet grin
encouraged him forward. Soon his voice found its rhythm,
rough but certain, filling spaces he never thought he was
allowed to occupy. Noah's father didn't speak.
He carved through his bacon with slow precision, eyes drifting
off into the tall window where the tide shimmered in the
distance. His silence pressed like a tide
against Kai's chest, but it wasn't the sharpness of
judgement. It was something harder to name,
awaiting, unmeasuring. Kai shifted, fingers curling
beneath the table, but Noah's hand brushed his, steady and
warm, as if to say You belong here.
The piano swelled softly in the background.
The voices of the dining hall rose and fell, and at their
table, for the first time, Kai let himself breathe.
When the last plates had been cleared and the hall had begun
to thin, Noah leaned close, his breast warm against Kai's ear.
Come on, he murmured, nodding toward the wide glass door that
opened onto the veranda. Kai hesitated, the murmur of
voices still pressing at his back, but Noah's hand found his
and pulled gently. Together they stepped outside
into the light. The veranda stretched wide above
the sea, the wooden board sun warmed beneath their feet.
Seagulls circled the harbor. The air smelled of salt and
citrus carried from the kitchen, and for the first time that
morning, the wait inside Kai's chest loosened.
He gripped the railing, looking out at the tide.
Didn't think it could feel like this.
He admitted, his voice raw. Noah leaned beside him, shoulder
brushing his. It was never Eden holding you
out. He said softly.
It was us. The truth of it settled between
them, undeniable as the horizon. Kai turned.
The sun lay, catching the sharp line of Noah's jaw, and before
doubt could rise, he closed the distance.
Their lips met, gently at first, then certain.
Steady, Not stolen, not hidden. A kiss that belonged to
daylight, and when they parted, a figure stood at the doorway.
Noah's father. Kai froze, blood draining from
his face. The old man's eyes were fixed on
them, unreadable, his hand resting lightly against the door
frame. The silence stretched like a
wire about to snap. Then he stepped forward, slow,
deliberate. His gaze moved between them,
then settled on Kai for heartbeat.
The weight of ears seems to press down the space between
them. About time, he said at last, his
voice low but steady. He placed a hand on Kai's
shoulder. Don't waste another.
And with that, he turned back inside, leaving them on the
veranda. Kai's eyes burned as he watched
the door swing shut behind Noah's father, the weight of
those few words simple, steady, almost impossibly kind, still
pressed against his chest. For years, he had braced for
anger, for rejection, and instead he was left with this, a
blessing that felt too fragile to touch.
Noah leaned against the railing, a small smile tugging at his
mouse, but Kai's mind was still racing.
He turned toward him, voice low, uncertain.
Have you told them? Kai asked.
Why you really came back? Noah's smile faltered, he looked
out at the tide, waves breaking soft against rocks below.
Not yet, what will you say? Noah shook his head, the breeze
lifting a strand of his hair across his brow.
His voice was quiet, almost lost in the seas murmur.
I don't know. The silence that followed wasn't
heavy. It was honest, the kind of
silence that admitted how much still lingered between them.
Kai reached for the railing, his hand brushing Noah's until their
fingers caught. The tide whispered on, steady as
ever, as though reminding them that not every truce had to be
spoken at once. They step back into the dining
hall. Most of the room had thinned
now, servers clearing plates, the piano softing into something
almost lullaby. Noah's mother gestured for them
to sit again, her smile unchanged.
Stay a little longer, She urged. There's no rush.
But Kai shook his head, his chair still tucked neatly
beneath the table. Thank you, truly.
But I think. His eyes flicked to Noah, then
back to his parents. I think Noah has something to
share, and it should be family time.
Noah's brow farrowed, caught off guard, but Kai only offered a
small, steady smile. He placed a hand briefly on
Noah's shoulder, then stepped back.
I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. Kai turned toward the door, the
murmur of voices soft behind him.
Before he stepped down, he glanced back once at the table.
Noah sat forward, his hands fidgeting against the linen.
His mother reached across, folding her fingers over his,
steadying him. His father leaned back, silent
but present. Eyes fixed on his son was the
weight that was no longer unreadable from the doorway.
It was only a picture, 3 figures framed by tall windows, the sea
bright behind them. The words were lost to the hum
of the hall, but the shape of them carried enough.
Kai stepped into the corridor, letting the door ease shut
behind him. For the first time, he felt the
story no longer rested on his shoulders alone.
By Monday, the tide of whispers had reached each corner of Eden,
and news travelled quicker than the seagulls at the docks.
Old men coiling their ropes spoke low, their eyes flicking
toward Kai as he passed. By the time Noah stepped into
the street beside him, the murmurs had braided into
something larger. Kai felt the looks on his back
like the weight of a net, but he didn't shrink from them, not
this time. Noah's shoulder brushed his as
they walked, steady and unflinching, and the simple act
of being seen together became its own kind of defiance.
Kayak Zelt shaking his head. Well, guess that answers the
question. If people notice, they always
noticed. Noah said, half smiling.
Then his expression sobered as Kai looked at him.
And yesterday? Kai asked quietly.
With your family after I left, did they take it well?
For a moment Noah didn't answer, his gaze tracing the
cobblestones ahead. Then he nodded, the memory
flicking across his face. better than I thought.
Mom held my hand the whole time. Dad just listened.
Kai's chest eased at that, the nod of worry loosening.
Good. He said softly.
That's good. The words linger between them,
carrying more weight than either admitted.
And just as the silence began to stretch, a voice cut through the
afternoon air. Noah.
Someone called, bright and familiar.
They turned and saw Hannah. Hannah.
God, it's been forever. She came toward them with a
stroller and the toddler clinging to her side, her smile
unchanged from the girl they remembered.
No, I returned, eyes dropping to the children.
These are boys. Hannah laughed, brushing a
strand of her hair from her face.
Yeah, keep me running every hour of the day.
Adjusting the toddler's grip on her hand before looking back up
to them both. For a moment, they all stood
there, the children restless but grounding the scene.
Kai found his eyes drawn to them, something about their
innocence softening the edge of the day.
But Noah only let out a thing groan of disbelief.
God, everyone knows already, don't they?
Hannah's grin turned knowing. Of course they do, and you'll be
glad to hear. It's good thing people saying
you 2 belong together, that it looks right.
The words hung in the air. Kai blinked on.
Prepare for the kindness beneath them.
Hannah's voice often. And between us, Maddie and I
always knew. Back then we told each other.
Just wonder when you'd stop pretending.
Noah let out 1/2 fluff, shaking his hand.
That sounds like Mehdi. Still abroad.
Hannah said, answering the unspoken question.
We don't speak much, but do you know her?
She's probably stirring things up somewhere.
She was never meant to stay put. Her children tugged again, one
whining. Anyway, it's good, really good
to see you both like this. Noah stood frozen a moment,
caught between disbelief and relief, while Kai let out her
long breath. I still lingering where the
children had been. The whispers of Eden didn't feel
sharp, they felt like a tight turning carrying them forward.
The sky carried that slow burn gold of evening.
Kai and Noah walked side by side, their stepson hurried, the
weed of Hannah's words still lingering.
Kai's mind replayed the sight of her children as though they have
rebuilt the future he wasn't sure he was brave enough to
picture. Beside him, Noah carried himself
differently, shoulders lifted, gaze restless.
It was the look of someone seen too clearly and still trying to
decide what to do with it. A few younger deckhands were
already on the docks hauling ropes, their laughter rising
over the water, Kai sloat watching them.
Training starts soon. He said no as I follow the boys
on the pier. He gave a small, crooked grin.
Guess that means me too, huh? Kai smirked faintly, though his
voice carried a weight beneath it.
You'll need to get back into shape.
The sea doesn't care about excuses.
The banter hung between them, warm and familiar, but there was
something else in Noah's smile, something restless, something
unspoken. Before Kai could read it, the
sharp buzz of a phone shattered. A quiet Noah pulled it from his
pocket, the glow of screen catching in his eyes.
He froze, then stepped the pace away.
I should take this. Kai stayed where he was,
suddenly alone. His eyes drifted back to the
harbor, the sails, the ropes, the boys running drills into
fading light. This was the rhythm of Eden, the
one he'd live and breathe for years.
It bound him, it broke him, it kept him alive.
And now, with snow, while few paces away, it felt as though
the whole town was holding its breath, waiting to see if he
would stay bound to it or let it go.
When Noah finally ended the call, he didn't come straight
back. He stood a moment longer, the
phone heavy in his hand, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the
water. Kai shifted, unwilling to just
stand in the quiet. He glanced toward the water,
then cold out lightly. I was thinking we start early
tomorrow, get the drills in before the boys have time to
complain. Noah moved slowly, deliberately.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and crossed the space
between them. His steps were heavy, as if the
call itself weeded him down. Kai smart faded as Noah stopped
in front of him, the silence press close, thicker now, until
Noah's voice finally broke it. Kai, I got an offer.
Kai looked away, ice fixing the sail, tugging wristlets against
their ropes. Noah continued.
It's Sydney. Noah searched Kai's face, then
stepped closer, voice low and roll.
If I asked. He swallowed, the sound
thickness roped. Would you go with me?
The sail snapped overhead, seagulls Wheeling against
evading Sky. Kai stood frozen, And that was
how the day closed. Suspended, the answer unspoken,
waiting like a sail in windless air.
What began as a summer between two boys on the water has
carried across a decade of silence, whispers and the ache
of what was never said. They have come back together not
only in memory but in the open, where family and friends have
begun to see what had always been true.
From the clips of their youths to the Sunday tables of Eden,
they stood side by side at last. But now the tide has shifted
again and offer waits in Sydney, a future not yet built.
A question still hanging in the salt heavy air.
Will Kai choose to stay where he has always belonged or stepped
into a life beyond Eden? With Noah, the question didn't
vanish when the harbor quieted. It stayed caught in the Gauls,
cries pressed against Kai's chest with every breath.
If I ask, would you go with me? It was the kind of question that
couldn't be shrugged off. A question that demanded an
answer, even if Kai wasn't ready to give one.
And before the night ended, he did.
This is salt in our veins. Chapter 6, The Tide.
We choose the final chapter, where the ache of waiting meets
the promise of tomorrow. Noah's words hung there.
If I asked, would you go with me?
Kaistjal tightened. He looked at the harbor instead
of Noah. I can't, he said finally, the
words rougher than he meant. My whole life's here.
But what didn't flinch, didn't push.
He only gave the smallest nod, as though he already expected
the answer. I shifted, searching for
something else to say, but the words wouldn't come, and Noah,
after a long moment, turned away.
I'll see you tomorrow. He murmured.
I watched him go until the sound of his footstep faded into the
night. The next morning, the harbor was
already alive. A blast of horns cut across the
Wharf. I looked up just as a cruise
ship pulled into harbor, a white giant looming over the smaller
boats. Tourists lined the rails,
cameras raised. He watched them spill onto the
docks, strangers in white hats, hits pointing at the CS, though
they never seen it before. Their laughter echoed off the
water, foreign and loud, so different from the quiet rhythm
he always know. High script, Titan of the ropes.
His life was here. But sometimes, sometimes he
wondered what it would feel like to step onto a ship and not look
back. To chase Horizon instead of
hauling mats, to belong to the world instead of 1 town.
The thought lodged in his chest, a guilty flicker he tried to
smoother with work by Doom. The sun was high, sweat
streaking Kai's back. He was tying off a line when a
familiar voice called behind him.
Brought new lunch. Noah stood.
There was 2 sandwiches wrapped in butcher paper, his shirt
sleeves rolled, hair catching the light.
He didn't push. Didn't mention last night.
Thanks. Their eyes met for a moment,
steady, lingering, before Kyle looked back down at the bread in
his hands. They eat quietly.
Every so often I felt Noah's gaze on him, patient in
searching, and each time he forced himself to focus on the
ropes coiled at his feet. When the food was gone, Noah
brushed his palm clean, still watching him.
You'll wear yourself out. Noah said lightly.
Work doesn't wait. I need to finish this.
Noah didn't argue, he just nodded his case, holding Kai a
moment longer. Kai hesitated, then added,
almost offhand. Here, tonight.
That broke the heaviness between them.
Noah's mouse curved, quick but real.
Yeah, tonight. Kai watched him walk down the
pier, then look past him to the cruise ship easing back from the
dock. It's that crowded was waving
passengers. The ship moved slowly out to the
sea. Growing smaller against the
horizon, I turned back to the net in his hands, but his
fingers hesitated, the rhythm gone.
The rope felt heavier than it should have.
The bowl line was dim, warm with the smell of beer and sea air,
the sound of the jukebox threading through the low voices
of the few fishermen who lingered past supper.
I slid 2 pins onto the table and sat across from Noah, the foam
trace slow rivers down the glass.
Neither of them said the word Sydney.
They filled the first stretch with safer talk.
Noah asked a question here and there, nodding, smiling at the
edges, though his eyes held something heavier than his
voice. At some point Noah leaned
forward, his elbow against the table.
His eyes caught ties, a spark of mischief breaking the careful
distance. You smell good.
Kai blinked, almost choking on his beer.
I smell like rope sweat in a day under the sun.
That's not good. That's what makes it good.
Noah said, grin tugging wider. His voice dipped lower, almost
playful, almost serious. Kai looked away too quickly,
heat climbing his neck. He muttered something about the
jukebox being off key, but Noah didn't push it further.
The conversation circled on. They talked more with pauses
than with words, silences that stretched long enough to feel
like confessions. More than once, Kai felt Noah's
eyes on him, lingering each time he took a longer drink than
necessary, the bitterness of the beer doing nothing to steady
him. The bartender flashed the lights
once, the bow lines gentle way of saying last orders, Then
home. Noah tipped his chin toward the
door. Kai nodded.
They drained what was left and stood for a second.
As they reached the doorway, their shoulders touched.
Neither moved. Outside, the night took a deep
breaths around them. The street was mostly dark, just
a string of low lamps. Kai glanced at Noah, at his open
shirt collar, at the way the lamplight caught on the edge of
his jaw. He heard himself say Race you.
Noah blinked, surprised into a laugh.
You'll lose. Big talk for a city boy.
Kai said, and then he took off. Their feet slapped the quiet
Rd., both of them stumbling on their first Sprint, then finding
a rhythm that had more to do with being 17 than anything
they'd trained since. Noah tried to cut a corner.
Kai's shoulder checked him with a grin and kept going.
Cheater. Noah panted.
They barreled down the end of the block where the road met the
low wall by the Wharf. Kai slapped the stone 1st and
doubled over, hands on knees. Noah stopped a step later and
leaned on the wall, laughing, head tipped back to the stars.
Kai wiped A forearm over his face, heat in his cheeks.
That wasn't only from running. They stood there, catching
breath, trading small insults that landed like touches.
Their laughter thinned. The quiet came back, not heavy
at first, just present. They walked a long way.
Their shoulders brushed once, then again, until it became a
pattern. Kite didn't step away, neither
did Noah. Noah's voice came as if it had
been building since the first spear.
Do you really want another 10 years of this?
He didn't look over when he said it.
He kept walking, hands in pockets.
Kai's John worked. You only think about yourself.
This is my life. You get to leave and come back
when you want. I'm the one who stays.
I've got nothing out there. The sentence left him was more
in it than he intended. The fear, the pride, the
smallness, and the safety all nodded together.
It felt like handing over something he wasn't sure he
could take back. Noah didn't rush his answer.
He stepped closer by half a pace.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet.
You'd have me. The night went very still.
The reasons he lined up like fence post fell over in a row.
He forced out. It's not that simple.
But even to his own ears, it sounded smaller than these
things Noah had placed between them.
They started walking again. The road widened.
The porch light at Kai's place drew a weak circle on the ground
like it always did. They stopped at the gate.
For a second, neither moved. Noah's eye held his, steady and
searching, not demanding. Kai felt the run still in his
legs and the beer still in his blood and the ache of 10 years
like a muscle he never let heal. Noah stepped in, no warning, no
ask, just a kind of sure pool that said he knew it could be
refused and did it anyway. His arms came around Kai, firm,
careful. Kai froze for a heartbeat, then
he let himself lean just a little, and his hands found
Noah's back. They stood like that, longer
than either of them would admit. Later.
Noah's cheek brushed Kai's temple.
I care about you, about us. Just think about it.
We can build something if you let me.
Kai held on. He wanted to say a dozen things,
and none of them were sentences. Noah eased back.
First. He didn't drop his hands right
away. He searched Kai's face.
Then he nodded, small, as if to himself, and stepped away.
I'll see you tomorrow, he said. Kai watched him go until the
dark took him. He stood a long time at the gate
with his palm still warm from where it had pressed into Noah's
back. The tide sounded louder than it
had an hour ago. The house behind him was the
same house. The road in front of him was the
same Rd. Kai barely slept.
Every time his body gave into the drowsiness, Noah's words
stirred him back awake. You'd have me, The line
repeated. When Don edged over Eden.
He gave up. He pushed himself upright, sat
on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands, and exhaled
into the stillness of his room. The routine carried him like it
always did. Bread was a thin scrape of jam,
coffee strong enough to keep his hand steady.
His mother's shoes were already gone from the mat.
She left early, as she often did.
Kai pulled on his work shirt and step out into the chill that
clung before the sun took hold. He walked toward the docks.
He slipped into the familiar rhythm, checking ropes, testing
knots, mind half on the work and half far away.
Is this it? He wondered, watching the water
slap the pilings. Is this how it always be?
Nets, sales, lessons, bread, coffee, harbor.
The same sunrise, the same silence.
For years, that question hadn't mattered.
This morning, it pressed harder than the tide.
Noah woke on the sound of knuckles on his door.
His mother's voice followed. You still asleep?
It's nearly noon. He groaned into the pillow, his
body aching in ways it had him for years.
Not the beer that had burned off long ago.
It was the run, the Sprint through Eden streets, the
laughter that had carried him harder than his legs were ready
for. He felt it in every stride of
muscle, like he borrowed his 17 year old self and had to pay it
back. By the time he dragged himself
down the stairs, his mother was already dressed to go out,
earrings catching the light as she adjusted her scarf.
She smiled at him, shaking her head.
Lunch is on the table. I made enough for you and your
father. Don't let it sit.
She kissed his hair, slipped on her shoes and was gone, leaving
the door to Click Shop behind her.
The kitchen smelled of bread, still warm from the oven, pan
fried fish, the sharp cut of pickled onions.
His father was already seated, shoulder squared, his own plate
half full. Noah chewed slowly, not sure
whether his father would say anything.
He had grown up with silence from him, the kind that said
more than words but left everything unsaid.
Halfway through the meal, his father set down his fork.
His eyes were steady when they met Noah's.
If something matters, he said, voice low.
You don't wait on it. You already lost enough years.
Noah froze, a slice of bread halfway to his mouth.
Roots keep you steady, his father went on.
Don't let fear trick you into wasting what you believe in.
Not again. The words landed heavier than no
one expected. Not just advice, but something
closer to an unburdening. His father had never spoken this
way to him before, Not about life, not about love.
Then his father leaned back, folding his arms.
Since you're leaving in three days, we've spoken with Kai's
family. They'll have us for dinner
tomorrow, Saturday. He pause, letting it sink in.
And before you go, we'll have our Sunday brunch here, just the
three of us. Noah stared at him, stunned.
He swallowed hard, setting his fork down.
His father had already returned to his meal as if nothing
monumental had been said, but Noah sat straighter.
It was no longer just a question of what he wanted.
The time for waiting had ended. Noah stood under the shower
longer than he meant to, water sliding hot over his shoulders,
pooling at his feet. It wasn't the running ache in
his legs anymore, or the soreness in his chest from
laughing too hard two nights ago.
What pressed at him now was heavier, sharper.
The knowledge that by the end of tonight, things could be
different. How do you ask someone to change
everything when you can barely name the fear yourself?
He dressed with a care shirt pressed, collar neat.
He combed his hair twice in the mirror.
His reflection stared back, unsettled, restless but
resolved. He straightened, exhaled.
Tonight, there could be no retreat.
Kai's family home glowed warm against the dusk.
The smell of roasted fish, garlic, and herb spilled through
the open window. The table was already crowded.
Kai's father sat at the end, steady, quiet, surveying
everything was his expression that could be mistaken for
sternness. The conversation was lively,
ordinary. Who had caught what that week?
Whose boat engine had failed? Which neighbor had painted their
shutters an awful color? Kai laughed easily, shoulder
shaking at his brother's mimicry of a fisherman's tall tale.
Noah watched, and in that watching, understood this house,
this table, this atmosphere. It was why Kai found it so hard
to imagine leaving here. Belonging wasn't a word.
It was a rhythm, an inheritance, a net cast wide and strong.
And in the same breath, Noah felt a tug of doubt in himself.
If Kai followed him to Sydney, could he give Kai something that
felt less rooted? The fear burned, sharper than
the roasted spices, but beneath it, and ache rose higher.
He didn't want to take Kai away from this.
He wanted to build something together that could stand beside
it. The realization lodged in his
chest, alive, unshakeable. Outside, dusk had settled into
true night. Kai walked with Noah into the
front yard. Kai didn't speak, he only looked
at him. I know what this house means to
you, what this family means, and I know if you followed me, you
wonder if I could ever give you the same.
He excelled, chest shaking. I don't know if I can, not yet.
Kai's gaze flickered, but he didn't look away.
Noah stepped closer, his voice firmer now.
But I want to try, I want to build something with you, not
just pull you away into a life that feels smaller, but make a
new one with you, one that holds us both.
Noah's hand trembled as he lowered himself to one knee, the
gesture pulling memory with it. Prom night, years ago.
The first time he had ever let himself ask.
Back then, it had been a dare, a joke wrapped in nerves.
Tonight, it was everything. The porch light caught Kai's
face, stunned, trembling. Noah looked up at him.
Come with me. Let's build our life in Sydney.
Eden will always be our route. We'll marry here, we'll come
back every winter. But it's time to start now.
Kai's breast caught, his lips parting as though words might
come, but nothing did. Kai, will you marry me?
Finally, Noah said it. Kai nodded.
The front door creaked. Kai's mother appeared, watching
long enough to know exactly what had been said.
Look at these two, She announced, her voice carrying
warmth into every corner of the house.
The family spilled out. Kai's laugh broke free, rough at
the edges, almost disbelieving. He looked down at Noah, still
kneeling. Tears slipped free, not from
weakness, but from release. Yes, he whispered, then louder,
steadier, yes. The house erupted with warmth,
was clapping on shoulders and smiles wide enough to hold the
moment. It wasn't hidden, it wasn't
whispered. It was claimed by Noah, by Kai.
Few weeks later in Sydney, the apartment was learning.
Kai and Noah slowly. Boxes still crowded the corners,
a shirt hung over the back of a chair, and the coffee machine
blinked like it knew they hadn't yet tamed it.
Evening pressed against the windows, city lights rising in a
scatter that never quite stopped moving.
The door clicked. Noah stepped in, hair must from
the day. His eyes softened the moment
they found Kai. Noah leaned in, kissed him once,
quick and tired, but sure, before tugging off his jacket.
I need to shower. Don't start dinner without me.
The bathroom door shut. I poured himself a mug and
stepped out to the balcony. The city spread wide.
The sound was a hum instead of a tide, but the wind still touched
his face the way wind always did.
Asking nothing, promising nothing.
Just here. He wrapped both hands around the
mug, and the fox slipped out of him before he could stop it.
I thought I'd miss Eden every day, but right now I don't.
The ache was still there, low in his chest, but it didn't hollow
him out the way he feared. It's often when he remembered
Noah's grin. Kai picked up his phone.
The hour in Eden was early enough.
His mother answered almost at once.
They chatted for a while, and then Kai said, I'll be there
before Christmas, smiling into the receiver.
You need anything from Sydney? His mom's laugh came, warm,
certain. Just you, son.
And Noah. When the call ended, the room
felt steadier, like the waltz had settled closer round him,
less like borrowed space and more like home.
Kai slipped back inside and walked toward the bedroom.
Noah was already there, sprawled across the bed, bare skin
against white sheets, towel abandoned at the foot board.
He didn't speak. He just crooked a finger, the
grin tugging at his mouse playful, unguarded.
Kai's laugh caught in his throat, half nerves, half
release. He closed the door softly behind
him. The skyline glowed beyond the
curtains, the city humming on inside.
The rest of their life was waiting, unboxed, unpracticed,
entirely theirs. Eden had shaped Kaya Noah.
It's tide had taught them patience.
It's storms had taught them re silence, and it's silence had
taught them how heavy longing could be.
They had carried that weight for years.
Sydney didn't erase what came before.
It didn't ask them to forget the harbor that raised them or the
house that kept its door open. It only asked that they step
forward into noise, into light, into a horizon wide enough to
hold more than one life. I and Noah brought Eden with
them, not as an anchor to drag, but as a compass to guide each
rap across the dinner table, each glance under lamplight,
each touch that lingered in the dark.
All of it lived here, too, in a city that didn't know their
history but was already part of their future.
This was how love returned. Not to the place it began, but
to the people who chose to keep it alive.
To the ones who said yes after years of waiting.
To the men who would go back every winter, not as boys aching
to belong, but as partners who had found a new belonging in
each other. Thank you for listening to Salt
in Our Veins. Subscribe, like and follow for
more stories. A new season is beginning, with
new voices and new journeys waiting to be told.
Once again, thank you for being here with us.