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Backdated to Samuel post Graduation

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Samuel Reinhard Sauber arrived to the land of United States with a deliberate lightness to his steps that were yet unfamiliar to his eyes.

He had finished school, in a formal manner and without much ceremony had announced his intentions to join a university, one that now waited for him back in the United Kingdom like a door towards his future left ajar. The break between the two institutions had been granted without much fuss; it was customary and expected. Some even deem those necessary. Samuel had, however, accepted it not as rest but a controlled suspension of his academic pursuits. A pause in his intense life to take stock, and an opportunity to move in freedom without timetables or syllabi pressing against his spine.

He arrived with a small duffle slung over a should, contents were curated more than they were sentimental. Clothes enough to function and present forward the demeanor he wished for. Toiletries, his wand; concealed with care. He did not pack heave, did not find a reason to. Anything he lacked was within monetary reach. Anything essential, he already had.

The air felt different here, freer, broader, Samuel could not put his hands on it. But the air was less compressed here than Britain. He noted the atmosphere without comment, eyes sharp beneath the sweep of pale hair as he navigated through the terminal with practiced efficiency of someone who did not enjoy lingering in transitional spots or the jet lag associated with those.

Anthonie had been easy enough to find. They had chosen their rendezvous point several days earlier, the kind of location that was simply so impossible to miss and even more impossible to romanticize. Fresh clothes and no unnecessary displays of emotions that would waste important time. Naturally, they fell into step with one another, familiarity that did not require reaffirmation despite months of distance.

McDonald's came next on their path, not out of nostalgia, but convenience. Samuel stood near the counter with a cheeseburger in hand, chewing slowly with their eyes scanning the parking lot through the glass as he kept cataloguing the exits and angles of recon out of habit. The greasy burger sat heavy on his tongue, but he did not mind. It was food, fast but satisfactory.

The plan they had in mind was quite simple: eat their grub, pick up Katherine–Kitty and then begin this amazing road trip.

He didn't say her name aloud at first. When he did, it lingered longer in his mind that he'd have preferred.

Samuel had agreed to this detour in his plans, this time, knowing full well what it would cost him. His future was already structured, aligned neatly with his expectations and ambitions with his potential. Potions, research, advancement. He had never wavered from that path. And yet, there were memories he clung to, those that refused to archive themselves properly. Katherine existed amongst those, unresolved and persistent, threaded through moments he had not yet dissected into something harmless.

He did not deny the lingering feelings he had towards her. He simply refused to give them authority.

His motorcycle waited where he'd left it, gleaming faintly in the sun, shining like his favoured starsweeper. He'd acquired the bike with means he'd rather not announce in polite society, and he felt no compulsion to justify choices that he'd made for or to himself. The machine was fun, efficient, responsive and his. The problem of where he'd park it had occupied his thoughts briefly, until Anthonie presented a very obvious solution to his troubles in the coming future he yet remained unaware of.

Samuel suggest, with deceptive calm, that this remained a time as good as any for Anthonie to learn to ride.

What followed was....monumental.

Samuel sat behind his friend, posture relaxed despite the tension in Anthonie's shoulders, continuing to eat his next cheeseburger with almost an offensive nonchalance. They lurched forward in uneven bursts of speed, stopping every few meters, reassessing and restarting the bike ever so often. Samuel did not rush the man, observation was far more instructive than instruction. Eventually, the rhythm emerged, slightly clumsy, but functional.

They moved, and they moved quite far.

Wind pressed against Samuel's shirt, tugging strands of pale hair loose as he slid on his sunglasses while sipping his soda from the other hand. The road stretched ahead of them, world narrowing into motion, sound and asphalt. A moment so unguarded where life seemed so fast yet so brief.

Then the animal appeared.

It darted onto the road right ahead of them without warning, all blur and panic seized the two men, and Anthonie swerved hard to avoid it. The bike, with all its momentum, protested violently. Metal screamed against asphalt. Momentum carried both forward in a graceless arc, ground rushing to meet them with unforgiving enthusiasm familiar of a curb stomping.

They skidded.

Samuel felt the data, scraped skin, shallow cuts and bruises he was well aware would darken later. He rolled, came to a stop, checked on Anthonie and then stood with precision as he began assessing damage. The motorcycle lay twisted nearby, ruined beyond practical repair.

His duffle had burst open on impact.

Samuel moved immediately, kneeling to gather all what had spilled across the asphalt. A folded map of United States, several of those. A lighter, snacks, a deck of brightly colored cards otherwise known as UNO and a single die. Mundane things, but chosen. He repacked them with care, hands steady as a surgeon.

The license that was tucked into his wallet remained intact as he gave it a look. He'd obtained it in the UK's muggle system with little difficulty, his father's contacts had ensured of it. Securing an International Driving Permit (IDP) for the U.S. had been a tad bit more tedious. However, it allowed him to drive anywhere within the states. He liked that, the freedom of it all.

With the bike rendered useless, they hitchhiked. A truck heading in Kitty's city stopped for them, its owner uncurious and surprisingly accommodating of them. Samuel left the motorcycle behind without ceremony, telling the man he could sell it for scraps if he wished. It no longer served Samuel any purpose.

Walking the rest of the way, was trivial. Samuel had memorized the address. Where they hesitated, he asked locals with polite efficiency. At one point, a flower shop caught his attention. He entered without much hesitation and emerged moments later with a bouquet wrapped in pink paper, tied with a ribbon that felt deliberately excessive.

He suspected the shopkeeper had overcharged him.

He paid anyway.

The card in his wallet smoothed the transaction, and the doubt did not warrant further thought.

Katherine was the kind of girl to like gestures, tangible ones. He hadn't forgotten that.

Her house appeared exactly as he'd been told; suburban, symmetrical and complete with a two-car garage. As they approached, voices carried words, heavy ones from inside, raised and sharp enough to catch his attention, among several of the neighbours. He tilted his head slightly, listening, shooting a sharp glance at the bystanders to go along their ways.

The voices from within, Arguments. He did not speculate beyond necessity.

Samuel paused on the front step longer than he should have.

The quiet of the street pressed in around them, broken only by distant traffic sound and murmur of the more stubborn of their neighbours. Samuel adjusted his grip on bouquet, aware of the way his shirt sat against his shoulders, slight tears in it now. Originally he chosen the outfit carefully, even if he would never admit it aloud.

Three measured taps against the door.

Then the bell.

He straightened, with his expression composed, When the door eventually opened, Samuel inclined his head just enough to seem polite.

"Good afternoon," he said evenly. "Is Katherine home?"

A beat.

"I'm Samuel Reinhard Sauber," he added, gazing straight in the eyes standing in front of him.

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They say even the moon in the United States is rounder; Anthonie would not know, he had set foot on American soil at noontime.

The sun, however, was blinding.

The winter skies of Cape Town had been overcast, yet the sudden splitting rays of South Carolina pressed his eyes together into a squint as his hand instinctively rose to shield them. The other gracefully unclipped the sunglasses hung on his polo’s collar, slipping the pair onto the bridge of his nose as the world descended into comfortable darkness. Shrugging off his jacket with a slant of the shoulders, he was forced to embrace the notion of summer.

He had never been a child fond of sunshine, and now bordering on adulthood, that had not changed. He was a stranger to summertime, stowed away isolated in his room come the heatwaves, speeding down the slopes of Verbier as December tension began to creep through the South African air. Yet exposure therapy seemed to have been in of late, and Anthonie, bless his heart, made the reluctant agreement to suffer in a metal box for a month.

He would have been a liar to pretend he had not been looking forward to the road trip, though. Maps had been drawn over inefficient letter communication, routes had been laid out with the high ambitions of covering the states from East Coast to West and back again. He had indulged himself in his packing, for each shirt folded and each film installed were a reminder of the trip of a lifetime. Indeed, his garments were creaseless, and his camera hung proudly in front of his chest. Sonnetjie, groggy after a ride in a carrier, was curled up in his arms, tongue dragging softly across bare skin.

Blue eyes shifting to his watch, he raised a brow. He was early, he realised. Awaiting at the rendezvous point it was not that the young man was impatient but keen. Leaned against the walls, one leg rested on the bricks while the other tapped on the ground, unsatisfied gaze occasionally flitting to his time piece in anticipation. He had no intentions of plunging himself into a rush, but he had every intention to see Samuel Reinhard Sauber again.

Well, speak of the devil.

It was none other than the man himself, Anthonie’s upperclassman and close confidant, who stepped out of the shadows, red eyes gleaming as they came into the light. Stark blond hair, perfect apparel, he did not look out of place from his usual self despite their casual endeavours, save for a slight lightness to his steps only Anthonie realised to be out of the ordinary. Their exchange did not require for ostentatious displays of emotions, no teary embraces or laments of their distance. Merely, the most they could do was fall into the pace of each other’s steps like old times. A smile and a few words of greeting were all Anthonie offered him before their departure.

Shouldering his hiking pack onto his back, they wasted no time getting on there way.

Anthonie could have barely stomached the thought of McDonald’s, much less the food itself. Watching with disdain as his friend took a bite of the burger he meagrely picked at the apple slices, now oxidised with the passage of time. Absentmindedly, he snacked on a protein bar, the packaging rustling between his fingers as he pushed the soda away from him, appetite lost. Unlike his counterpart, the Engelbrecht did not value efficiency enough to lower himself to such cuisine. Perhaps, however, it was high time to accept that if he wished to survive on this trip, he would have to allow the occasional grease.

Maps, games, utilities. And of course his guitar. They were almost ready. The only missing aspect was Katherine Henrietta Townsend. Anthonie was no fool — he had heard the way Samuel pronounced her name; barely a sliver of uncertainty and history, but noticeable. Not that he would allow such things to take authority of his mind, Anthonie entrusted. He glanced into the distance, out of the dusty McDonalds window, and thought he could almost see the house Kitty had described through the unpleasant haze of the Southern heat. Either Carolinas had never been favourable states to him.

He was thankful to be back on the road again, if not faced with evident surprise as Samuel made his suggestion. It was calm, contained, no different from any other throwaway remark. Of course, there was never anything throwaway about Samuel. He, now to his own surprise, agreed heartily. Recklessness had always pulsed through his veins, and while most of those endeavours were restrained to the family business of radicalism, being an adrenaline junkie was more or less a guilty pleasure for the pureblood heir.

He grinned, and swiftly, Anthonie accepted.

Despite Samuel’s own deceptive nonchalance there was a tension to Anthonie’s shoulders as he clasped tightly onto the handles. He glanced back, only once, then decided it was not good for his sanity to watch his friend chomp away at disgusting amalgamation of carbohydrates and protein while he risked both their lives. Breathing out in one long exhale he set his eyes onto the distant horizon line, and focused solely on the future four weeks that laid ahead. A little speed could do no harm.

It took him a few tries before his confidence grew enough, but truly the only barrier that had ever existed was mental. They wobbled a bit as he rode, though soon sharp Seeker instincts took over, and clumsiness soon turned into grace and a speed unrivalled. Gunning down on the accelerator Anthonie pushed forward with sheer willpower, and as their speed increased on a worrying pace, Anton decided he had never before felt more alive.

Heedlessly, he turned towards Sauber with eyes off the road, who was now sipping carelessly on a coke. The seventeen year old grinned, felt wind rushing through his lips, and was exhilarated. The curls of his hair were ruined, or perhaps perfectly the way they were meant to be. His eyes — if anyone were swift enough to catch them as they reflected the afternoon sun — looked to be wild, as untamed as the safaris of his childhood. They glinted, seeming to whisper, no, to scream, of something more than life. His years were not a mere existence, but fulfilled.

When he should have been the most cautious, Anthonie dropped all his guards. Life became fast, fleeting, and moments like these became memorable. Everything was simple: asphalt under their wheels, a stretch of plain blue sky, a familiar hand on his back.

Until catastrophe hit. Or rather, they almost hit catastrophe.

The animal had jumped out of the woods too quickly for Anthonie to have caught sight of its species, and neither did he care much for his priorities varied far too different. Banking left hard Anthonie swerved drastically, much to the unenthusiastic response of their bike, toppling over to the side as metal left skid marks on the ground. It spilt the both of them onto the unforgiving ground, Anthonie landing on the side of his chest with a soft groan, pushing his eyes open as he attempted to register the accident.

Simultaneously, Anthonie and Samuel’s eyes turned towards each other, scanning the other for injuries greater than shallow cuts or purpling bruises. Relieved to find their counterparts battered yet not broken, they each turned towards their separate focuses: Samuel his opened bag, and Anthonie a lost Sonnetjie. Calling out her name with concern tinging his voice he would, gratefully, found her sprawled in a patch of low grasses, not a wound on her except a few marks from flopping around into the South Carolinian dirt. The both of them turned disappointed eyes towards the motorbike, a twisted, broken figure, casting a long shadow as the sun licked at the horizon.

Anthonie ought to have known that hitchhiking was beneath him, yet Samuel had insisted there was no point in pulling connections when something as functional as sticking up your thumb on a roadside existed. Anthonie had protested — surely they deserved anything with a quarter more of sophistication — but when an accommodating truck driver pulled over for their poor judgement and telltale recklessness, he could no longer argue.

The journey, no matter evidence for minutes past, felt like an eternity in comparison to the utter, undisputed speed of the motorbike journey. The thrill might as well have been drained out of life, leaving the two foreign travellers with nothing but an underwhelming taste of the States. What once felt like smooth flight through uncharted skies became trudging through sludge, a pair of tall, well-built young men squeezed into a compact space with a fairly portly driver. It was either that or take the back, and Anthonie could confirm he still had enough dignity to ride shotgun.

They were let off not too far from the suburb where Kitty lived, and walking the distance could have been easily covered. His eyes followed as Samuel spotted a flower shop, opting to wait outside with a gaze almost wistful, despite his understanding of their dynamic. He cocked his head at his friend when he emerged moments later with a bouquet featuring an elaborate pink ribbon. He raised an inquisitive brow, but turned the matter of conversation entirely away from Katherine and too much more trivial matters.

The duo reached Katherine’s house without incidents, save for a few times they stopped for directions: Samuel with functional cordiality, Anthonie with a taste of charisma — they worked together like a charm. They found her address with precision, and it lived up to the description: symmetrical archways, red brick walls, two-car garage…. It was the garage that he cared most about. After all, for a road trip, one quite positively needed a ride. And a ride Anthonie did not yet have.

What he had also expected, however, were the arguments. Raised voices carried words, each pricking his attention and leaving a spot of blood in their wake. The walls of the Townsend residence must have been thin, for as by standers craned their necks Anthonie too deemed the household as unmistakably Kitty’s.

They paused on the front lawn, awaiting, and for what they did not quite know. Anthonie’s gaze was set on the doorway, analysing, focused with a quiet precision. Both men seemed to have remained pensive until Sonnetjie barked, the sound loud and opinionated, a certainty cutting through uncertain thoughts. She growled low towards the door, and scrambled to jump out of Anthonie’s arms. Loosening his hold, he watched with passive understanding as the dog strode with the self-assurance of a predator on prowl. A sly smirk crept its way up Anthonie’s face, distorting the usual smiles into something devious, devilish. “Go ahead, Sonnetjie,” he called, crossing his arms, his turn now for offensive nonchalance, “It’s been a veryyyyy long ride, meisie.”

Sonnetjie lifted her leg, and left a masterpiece on the Townsend family’s front rug.

“Goeie meisie¹,” Anthonie cooed in Afrikaans, dropping to a kneel and clapping for her return. She yapped in response, pleased with herself, and jumped back into his awaiting grasp. Anthonie offered Samuel a twisted grin before they stepped up the stairs, footfalls in unison. The tears in his shirt, the light smear of blood on his cheek did not help that incline of his lips, in all the wrong directions, in all the irresistible ways. Three sharp, well-placed knocks followed by the ring of the doorbell: Anthonie took that as his cue to straighten is features, softly quietening the low barks of Sonnetjie as she sunk into the warmth of his arms.

The door opened, Samuel nodded. Anthonie barely followed suit.

He spoke. No charm would slip into his voice, no humour would bleed into his tone — there merely existed the evenness of stern seriousness. He would offer his name, posture stiff with rigid politeness, almost as if the irony was a deliberate challenge, “Anthonie Christiaan Engelbrecht.”

@Katherine Townsend, @Samuel Sauber | banner by Katherine Townsend | 1: good girl

“Because you don’t listen to me!” Kitty found herself shouting.

She stared at Henry Townsend, a man who was, by some accounts, her father. The resemblance was there, she had to admit: neither of their faces held an ounce of warmth for the other. The atmosphere in the room was wired, akin to what she imagined a minefield must be like. Every word seemed to be the wrong one — triggering another explosion, shouting, screaming. Kitty didn’t cry at these fights anymore, too inoculated to be sad, but she was supremely annoyed.

It was a pity. The day had started off so nicely: one of those mornings that had her smiling from the moment the summer sun hit Kitty’s face. It was the day of the roadtrip, after all. It had been marked on her calendar for weeks now, since she had somehow managed to bother Anton and Samuel into agreeing. How it happened, she didn’t know, but she was happy it did. She had been giddy since. The feeling of giddiness — or something close to it, soft and warm beneath her ribs — had slowly become a staple of whenever Sam was involved. A tangible sense of security.

She tried not to overthink it.

The planning had been left mostly to letters, inefficient as it was, but the promise was made: four whole weeks with Anton and Sam. Up the east coast, then across to and up the west, and all the way back. Cross-country, twice over.

At first, Kitty mostly thought she was excited to get a whole month away from the suffocating house she was usually stuck in for two months between school years. That was part of it. As plans mounted, though, it became clear that what she cared more about was spending a whole month with her two favorite people. Usually, their time together was limited to a few weeks at one of their respective schools. A few days over the various holidays and breaks, if time permitted. Usually, she was the one nagging to come visit: but Anton had his family, and Samuel was nothing if not dedicated to his studies. This summer would be different, though. It would be perfect.

When Kitty woke up, she was immediately on cloud nine. Her bags were already packed, picked out days ago with excitement she couldn’t overstate. A suitcase with her clothes and toiletries, and her usual carry-on — this one held her wand, camera, water bottle, and any other small trinkets she thought would be useful to have on hand. Her clothes had been picked out since yesterday, and she was stuck between wanting to take her time and wanting to put them on immediately. She went over all the letters and the maps she scribbled on another three “last times,” committing each line to memory.

The storm started when the arrival time the trio had agreed upon neared, and Kitty began to move her bags downstairs. She was met with her father, very confused, staring at her like she had grown a second head.

“Where are you going?” He was being terse, immediately. Looked at her in that way both he and Kitty’s mother had been for the past six years: like an alien stood before him, wearing his daughter’s skin. Something hostile behind it. Kitty was confused. Even with all the limited conversations she had had with her parents (a grand total of three in the last week), she was sure she would have mentioned the roadtrip. She said as much. Everything had been very, very loud ever since.

“This is the first I'm hearing of this! What are you— absolutely not! You cannot go, I'm not allowing this!” They had been going at it for… what, a half hour now? Her mother got involved at some point, so it was the three of them, shouting at each other, in the heat of the annoyingly prim living room. Even with all the perfume and air fresheners, it all smelled rotten; mildew and moth balls and anger.

“I’ve been planning this for weeks! I'm an adult now, you can't just—” she was trying to calm her tone, remain even. Samuel would have been better at this: better yet, Anton. They both had a far better handle on the whole anger thing than she did. One would have been able to shut this down with precision the moment it started, the other would have calmed the situation and turned it into an inside joke in five seconds flat. Kitty's foot tapped restlessly on the floor. Could they just get here and go already? Spending another second in this house felt like torture.

“You are seventeen, Katherine! You are under our roof, therefore you are under our rules!” Her father was turning red. He was white knuckling the TV remote he had been holding since the start of this conversation; Kitty was wondering if he even remembered it. It looked like he was going to break or throw it.

“How many times do I need to repeat— per the Magical Congress of—”

“How dare you bring that nonsense up right now?!”

The doorbell rang. Not that either Kitty or Henry heard it at that point, too wrapped up. No, moving to answer the doorbell was none other than Mrs Townsend — Mary Anne. She was unfortunate not to have been briefed by the shouting of her daughter and husband on the former's plans for the month, and was therefore not expecting any guests that day.

Anthonie and Samuel were met with a very confused older version of Katherine herself. Brown hair that had a tendency to wave a little towards its ends, though it was shorter than Kitty wore hers. The same sea glass eyes; though nowhere near the soft quality Kitty's usually held. She was just as expressive, too — her eyes narrowed in confusion, her lips pursed, and she glanced between them in a familiar way. She was met with the sight of two extremely dressed young men — though upon closer inspection, they both had tears in their clothes, marks on their faces, and one held a dog in his arms. The two-tailed Sonnetjie was what made Mary Anne connect the dots; Samuel's question only solidified what she had caught onto.

Kitty’s mother kept the door open, turning herself to face into the house. “Katherine, someone's here for you!” she announced. Her tone was bitter — accusatory, like they were the most inconvenient thing she had to witness that morning. Tone didn't change much, though. The moment the words reached Katherine herself, her mood was lifted.

They were finally here.

She rushed out of the living room, past her tomato-hued father, and through the foyer. Her feet skipped part of the way, she was sure; it didn't matter. She was walking on air. The moment she saw the two figures of her friends in the open doorway, the third of her mother didn't matter anymore. Kitty paused, just barely, hand reaching blindly for the bowl that held the car keys and the garage remote that lay next to it. Her eyes remained focused on Anton and Sam in all their glory. Her brow furrowed for a moment when she noticed the state they were in — the scuffs, the tears in their clothes — was that blood on Anton’s cheek? It didn’t last long. They were here, actually, finally here, and that’s what mattered. Everything else: noise.

Unfortunately, noise had a name and a bone to pick. Her father soon came after her. As Kitty was grabbing her bag to haul it over and out the door, fumbling for the right car key, the shouting started up again. “Just where do you think you’re going?” He questioned. The distaste in his voice was as clear as the mild disgust in his gaze when glancing at the two men now in the doorway of his house. Mild grew to severe once he noticed the present left behind by Sonnetjie, who now laid her head pretty against Anton’s forearm. Kitty could have laughed.

“Out,” she instead responded, tone flat. Her goal was to get through this conversation and get out the door. Had her father took any interest in what she was saying, he would have known of their plans already. “We’re taking the Tahoe.”

“You are not,” her father protested. Her carry-on hanging off her shoulder, Kitty’s hand wrapped around the handle of her suit case. “Katherine Henrietta Townsend, you step one foot out that door, and you can forget about coming back—”

Kitty shut the door behind her with a resounding bang. She waited to see if it would open; if the noise would continue. Blissfully, it didn’t. It seemed after a moment of shuffling behind the door, her parents gave up. Good. The only sounds now were those of suburbia in summer: a car on some side street, kids further down the road, wind in the trees. Quiet bird song. Finally, Kitty’s shoulders were allowed to relax. She inhaled, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She was still wired by the time she opened them, something tense sitting at the back of her neck, but she was able to smile again. And, faced with Anton and Sam standing there, she did.

She didn’t comment. She just chuckled; or tried to, anyway. Her tone and expression were soft, filled with unmistakable relief. She pushed herself away from the door — making an effort to step around the dirtied welcome mat and roll out her shoulder, as if that would fix the last of the knots there.

Stepping up onto her tip toes, Kitty moved to wrap both her arms around Samuel’s neck in a hug, gently bumping her temple against the side of his head. It didn’t last too long, but it was nice. Dandelion fluff kind of soft and bonfire kind of warm; something calming about the casual closeness of it all. “You really shouldn’t have,” she said gently, glancing down at the pink parchment paper and elaborate ribbon. Regardless of Samuel’s response, or how necessary the flowers actually were, she could feel a grin push its way onto her lips.

Kitty moved to hug Anton next; briefer, one arm, not to disturb Sonnetjie. “I missed you guys,” she sighed, the words directed at both him and Samuel — “and I missed you, too, pretty girl,” she crooned gently at the crup Anton held, reaching to gently scratch under Sonnetjie’s chin.

She glanced behind herself; could swear she saw her father’s face in the small window of the door. Not that it mattered — Kitty turned around again, readjusting her grip on her bag and the garage door remote. Everything was fine now. Things would be good. She would have the perfect summer she had been planning. The shouting would be replaced by radio music, and silences would no longer poison the air. Kitty was sure: it was something about Anton and Samuel that just made everything a little lighter. They seemed to make any situation she found herself in more comfortable; make the migraines fade away.

Greetings couldn’t last forever, though, and neither could Kitty’s marvelling at the bouquet in Samuel’s hands. They had a roadtrip to start. Pulling the handle of her suitcase up, she pulled it along, assuming Anton and Sam would follow. With a slight click and some metallic shuffling, the garage door soon began to lift itself up, revealing the car they would be taking, one of two her parents owned: a silver Chevrolet Tahoe. This one belonged, officially, to her mother, and was therefore taken out far less often. Kitty used it last summer for bumming around town with friends from the band. This summer, it would be the vehicle for the roadtrip of the century.

As they came to a stop and waited for the garage door to finish opening, Kitty leaned herself against Samuel, resting the side of her head against his shoulder. Glancing up at him, she blinked, mild concern entering her expression. “What’s with the… cuts, and all?” Her head tilted to the side. “Should I be worried?”

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Backdated to Samuel post Graduation

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Samuel's future had ceased to feel speculative to him long before he had finished his schooling; it was not something he imagined anymore, much more like something he anticipated. Like a train whose arrival time had already been etched into his bones, severely. There was no romance to the notion, no youthful daydreaming about the future he would make. He knew already. University awaited him in United Kingdom, already selected with the clinical precision he applied to everything else he had in his life.

He had mapped it out, not in terms of hope but in terms of output; expectations, performance metrics and the quiet inevitability that he would dominate the academics there was well. He knew, without arrogance and without fake confidence, his ability to excel there as he did not know how to exist in any other manner.

The Certainty had never frightened him. It was stabilizing to him, comforting to most. A fixed point in an otherwise variable world brought comfort to most. What unsettled him however, persistently was the space between the two routines. Hogwarts that he had left, and University that he was about to attend.

Between them remained a void, a break.

This break, granted as much as by tradition as by necessity, existed in this strange liminal state between what he was and what he would become. A sanctioned drift that he had not required but remained acutely aware of how and why he needed it. Hogwarts had not been home in any sense that mattered; not in ways he could quantify. It had been an environment, a proving ground for his competency. A system to be mastered and eventually outgrown.

The house he had been raised in had long since stopped qualifying as such, its walls too sterile, its atmosphere too thick with the expectant gaze of his parents to ever possibly invite rest. Even Samuel, who distrusted nostalgia on principle and viewed sentimentality as a cognitive weakness, understood how momentum without pause was bound to turn inward and erode its own foundations.

A machine that could never shut down was sure to eventually destroy itself.

He hadn't asked his parents' permission to leave the country. He had merely informed them.

The distinction mattered, even if the outcome did not. Their response was minimal, almost surgical in their restraint. A nod, and a brief acknowledgment with no offered objections. Exactly what he expected from them. There was a distinct lacked of voiced concern of attempted affection.

The absence spoke louder than any words or arguments the man could've been presented to.

That, in itself, spoke more than needed.

Once his parents had looked at him the way inventors regarded their most successful creation. With Pride and fascination. The proprietary pride of inventors who believed they had perfect a formula few others could even come close to conceptualizing.

Samuel remembered those early years with vivid recollection. Not as warmth, never as warmth, but as scrutiny sharpened by expectation. Every success had been catalogued and every failure dissected with ruthless precision. Each deviation analyzed for cause and correction. Love, specially parental kind, if it had ever existed in Samuel's life had been conditional and deeply academic in nature, tied not to who he was but what he proved himself capable of becoming.

Over the years, that gaze had changed.

The admiration for their creation had turned into something more cautious, curiosity now edged with unease and eventually it became a restrained distance neither of them acknowledged aloud. The last few times he had seen them, Samuel had felt it keenly within their behaviour, the way their eyes lingered moments too long, the way conversations ended just slightly too abruptly upon his arrival.

Their eyes assessed him as though reevaluating a variable that had grown too unpredictable to control. There had been no anger in it, no disappointment. Only calculation and the withdrawal that followed.

They looked at him how one might look upon a machine exceeding its intended purpose. The same way God might look upon the worst of humanity. Not because he had failed them, no, but because he had exceeded them.

They knew what they had built, and they knew they no longer controlled it and the thought frightened them.

Samuel however, did not resent them for this realization. Resentment would require emotional investment, something he had long withdrawn from their account. If anything, he found grim satisfaction at this prospect and the symmetry of it all: Brilliant minds capable of extraordinary innovation, undone not be their failure but their success instead.

They had shaped him with the same brilliance and perfection they applied to their research and now fate had decided to contend them with their own outcome. Nonetheless, brilliant as they were, as scientists, innovator and minds worthy of respect as peers. Neither of the two had truly been a parent in the right essence. And Perhaps this was the cost of creation without restraint: eventually, the thing you make stops belonging to you.

Creation after all, did not guarantee obedience.

He'd left without much ceremony, nor was there any farewells heavy enough to linger, he was going to come back sooner or later. The United States had greeted him with a particular kind of Chaos Samuel soon found to be quietly fascinating. Not frantic disorder of incompetence but the loud sprawling excess of a society, who, in his opinion was yet to learn the value of restraint.

Everything was bigger, noisier and more unapologetic in their consumption of space and attention. Samuel absorbed it all with detached interest. He'd arrived with a single duffle and did not pack heavy, there was no point to do so.

The rendezvous had been a compromise between convenience and anonymity when Samuel spotted Anthonie across from him and the man genuinely felt a rare and unexpected loosening in his chest. One that which couldn't be mistaken for warmth, but rather recognition. Familiarity even. An anchor point in a new world that had been demanding constant recalibration from Samuel.

Anthonie looked as effortlessly polished as he always did, somehow both the same and slightly altered by time, his posture carried the weight of his being, bright eyes with the restless intelligence that was bound to always set him apart in a crown. Where Samuel moved through the world like a blade wrapped in velvet, hidden edges yet an ever present constant. Anthonie was fire given form itself, boisterous, sharp-edged, and unapologetically alive. His idealism was worn openly rather than tucked away for occasional strategic importance.

Soon came food and as it inevitably did, the choice of McDonald's did not escape Anthonie. Samuel had accepted his cheeseburger without much comment, even though he was keenly aware of Anthonie's disapproval, he'd felt in the faint expression on his friends' face when Samuel took bites of casual indifference from the amalgamated slop these muggles had grown accustomed to.

This wasn't food, it was merely sustenance and though the distinction was hard to make, one could argue it was largely philosophical....and slightly poisonous. But then again, most pleasures of flesh were. Kitty seemed rather affectionate of these muggle foods and thus it mattered enough for Samuel to not be dismissive without extending an olive branch.

Teaching Anthonie to ride had not been part of Samuel's original plans, however, somehow it had slithered its way into becoming one anyway. Eventually, rhythm had emerged and for a brief, startling moment, Samuel felt dangerously close to what a normal human feels for freedom. Not joy, but the release, the absence of immediate consequences and the suspension of vigilance.

Hitchhiking marked the next leg of their journey, not by preference but by necessity. Samuel endured the ride with the detached pragmatism he applied to his indignities. Some things were tools, other were not.

Walking towards her parents' house felt surreal in a way Samuel could not quite articulate, a sensation within that hovered just behind language no matter how carefully the blonde man examined it.

He knew her address by heart already, he had even memorized most of the route and everything on it that might one day matter to them. He now knew the layout of the streets, the gentle curves of the roads and the way houses stood close to each others, as if leaning in to overhear one another's misfortune was the primary reason for their development. He knew, intellectually and without much emotion about lingered behind that door.

Katherine's reality.

What he hadn't prepared for however, were the sounds.

The arguments from inside reached their ears before the house's doorpost did. Voices raised and fraying at the edges, spilling into the air with sharpness that made Samuel's jaw tighten by a fraction. It wasn't the volume that struck him but rather the lack of restraint. Careless abandon with which irritation escalated into something uglier within his mind. He did not need to make out the words completely to understand the pattern.

He knew in instinctively, the way one recognizes a familiar disease by its symptoms alone. He had lived it secondhand through Kitty. Her letters, the few he had cared to read, through her conversations, her anecdotes delivered with enough humor to be brittle enough to crack if presented with the right pressor and through silent deflections witch which Kitty failed to truly hide her feelings.

Beside him, Anthonie shifted with expression darkness in a poorly concealed distaste for her parents as he muttered to Sonnetjje before she relieved herself on the Townsend establishment. Anthonie's words had been delivered with theatrical seriousness and Samuel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing outright. The sound which escaped him instead was controlled, a little more than a breath through nose.

They'd had enough of it as he stepped forward before the noise could worsen.

The pause stretched long enough for shouting inside to falter, rearrange itself and get worse. When the door finally opened, the woman who stood inside, on the other side wore Katherine's features like her distorted echo.

Their resemblance was unmistakable and unsettling, as if someone had taken all of Katherine's beauty as the base materials and let them go sour, abandoned them to rot. Beauty remained technically intact but dulled by sharpness and resentment, by something perpetually dissastisfied that had etched itself into the very lines of her face.

Samuel recognized the face instantly, not because they had ever met, but because he understood lineage, even muggle ones. He saw how traits curdled when left unattended, how warmth, when denied an outlet, rot, and turned into hostility for those closest to you. He did not hesitate long enough to be polite.

"My Apologies, sincerely" he said smoothly, voice warm and practiced, carrying an easy charm he'd learned to deploy within conversations. "I was not aware Katherine had an ever prettier twin sister."

The lie's effect, despite how outright of a farcry from truth it was, had effects on the lady. The tension shifted, recalibrated, the sharpest of edges blunted not by apology but by audacity of the man who stood before her.

Before she could respond, movement caught Samuel's eye as Kitty appeared in the doorway, closing it behind her with a decisive finality to her action. The sound of wood meeting frame was loud enough to feel symbolic. Whatever argument raged inside was severed cleanly, left to suffocate alone without her. She crossed the distance between them in quick steps and wrapped her arms around Samuel's neck with an instinctive familiarity.

He did not need to think to return her embrace, had settling at her waist as naturally as if they had always belonged there. The bouquet crinkled softly behind her back, petals brushing his sleeve as he held her close a heartbeat longer than necessity dictated, grounding himself in the solidity of her presence.

"You really shouldn't have," she said, her smile bright and unguarded, with eyes that reflected more than gratitude.

"I wanted to, it's not a problem if I like doing it for you," Samuel replied, whether truth or lie, the truth was his to know.

They left shortly after, the door closing behind Kitty and the road stretched out before him once more as Samuel slid into the driver's seat with the enginer's steady hum vibrating beneath his hands as he guided the car forward. Anthonie had settled beside him, riding shotgun and already flipping through directions with casual competence while Kitty climbed in the back with Sonnetjje, her laughter, Kitty's, threading easily through the space and filling it with warmth that almost illicit in its normalcy.

For a time, conversation drifted aimlessly, touching on trivialities, on shared memories of various balls together, their respective schools, until Kitty's gaze once again landed on their hands, the cuts and torn fabric Samuel had not bothered to conceal yet. He was sure her concern would surface instantly. Samuel intervened, before something so small could swell into panic. Recounting the incident with a level headed calm as he drove ahead, describing the events with precision and restraint signature of him.

He offered her facts of the event with only slight embellishments, omitting the least important bits, like Anthonie's successful attempts at riding a bike, or his suggestion of having him drive.

A while later, he produced his international driving permit, similar to a card and presented it to Katherine and Anthonie, in a matter-of-factly way, explaining how he'd thought it prudent to acquire one.

"Preparedness is rarely wasted." he said simple, delivering the phrase with quiet conviction much akin to yoda saying "there is do or do not."

Soon, the conversation flowed more freely, filling the air with stories and gossips from each of the continents, while Samuel listened more than he spoke, when he did interject, it was with question that seemed idle on surface but were anything but those. They were small probes designed to gather information without disrupting the ease of moment. Information was information, whether it arrived wrapped in laughter or guarded whispers.

Hours slipped by unnoticed. Hunger eventually forced itself into awareness, an interruption neither resented or resisted by Samuel or Kitty. The hunger suggested it would only grow louder if ignored. He had already noted the gas station ahead a few miles back. The car slowed without comment, signaled and off the road with smooth deliberation. The engine turned to silence as the harsh lights washed the place in that tired, antiseptic glow.

Gravel crunching under the tires as he parked, with air thick of fuel, hear and the faintly unpleasant and nasally invasive sweetness of processed food.

"We'll be quick," he said at last, unbuckling his seatbealt as he reached for his wallet, tone even adn body already moving into execution. He glanced back briefly, assessing Anthonie with a look that conveyed trust and tossing him the keys. "We'll go look for something edible, and some bandages."

Anthonie scoffed something, a mutter, but Samuel was already stepping out of the car, heat hitting him immediately, and clinging to his skin, the faint sting of his scraped reminding him belatedly about his body's opinion on the day's events.

Kitty accompanied him out with no hesitation. Falling into step beside him with a familiarity and though time had folded on itself and they'd known each other for far longer. Samuel noted it distantly, the way her presence felt like the air around him was altered, his attention was sharpened even more as her presence became clear, though he would deny all of this if asked.

Inside, the gas station was exactly what Samuel could've expected; too bright, too loud and shelves stacked with preservatives masquerading as food. Samuel lost sight of Kitty for a moment as she wandered off on her own while he headed for the medical aisle. Fingers reaching for gauze, antiseptic wipes, adhesive bandages. He examined labels with the same care he would one day apply to potion ingredients. Discarding half of them without hesitation for not meeting his standards while selecting only what his standards for quality and cleanliness.

When they reached the counter, Samuel paid before she could, ignoring the cashier's lingering glance and stepping back outside behind Kitty in the cold evening. The cool air against his skin now, carrying with it the sounds of traffic and something like relief from his usual hectic schedule.

When they returned to the car, Samuel relinquished the driver's seat without much comment, sliding into the back seat as Katherine took the wheel. He did however, catch the faint pout on his friend's face and regarded it with mild amusement, one brow lifting ever so slightly.

"Didn't find anything you like?"

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It was almost uncanny, the way Anthonie became a figure of perfection amongst his many oxymorons.

Perfect boyish, perfectly mature; perfectly compassionate, perfectly mischievous; perfectly collected, perfectly radical. They were not stood on opposing sides but coexisting — existing was a lowly word, thriving was a better definition. Either was a burden without each other, teetering without balance. Both lived in a spirit that was one, coursing together and bonding into the tight knot that was his heart.

And there was something special about Anthonie. He found beauty in every crevice of the world, not because he thought it could redeem itself, but because he could bring it to light.

They were ideals rooted on the lessons that ran in his bloodline, the leaders, the rebels, and the dreamers. Each trait was useless without the other, merely a label without any standing. Those who dared to explore, dared to be a complication because they hid galaxies and starbursts inside of their hearts. Those who dared to imagine, to be a visionary because they saw the wretched world not for what it was but for what it could be. Those who dared to have faith, those who dared to be a believer in an existence that did not deserve such fervent trust. It was only for those whose gazes lingered to know that the only trust they ever harboured was for themselves, and the genuine belief that they were revolutionaries.

Yet in such irony lived the paradox that Anthonie Engelbrecht: shaped since birth by his family to carry their values, only for the same values to lead him onto a route he had carved for himself. Perfectly following his family’s expectations, perfectly following his own path. That, was yet another source of pride.

He was an heir to his family in the sense that dandelion fluff was to stalk. The further the wind carried him, the more he bloomed golden. Each mannerisms was something they had chiselled out of marble, until he became unapologetically alive enough to grow into his own take of their handiwork. He was idealism incarnation, radicalism incarnation, and something along the lines of unbelievable possibility. And that was no different in the way he grinned, that classy, roguish Anthonie grin, the one you could never distinguish between a dinner party and the onset of disaster. Brilliant, always; confident, always. The kind of brilliance that fuelled stars, the kind of confidence that led to their supernovas.

It was the same grin Anthonie would offer Samuel after a line so badly delivered it almost sent him into a painful grimace. If only he had not known better than wearing his emotions on his sleeve. Perhaps it would have made for quite the amusement.

I was not aware Katherine had an even prettier twin sister, he had lied outright. Anthonie had hid a snicker and thought Samuel had always tried too hard. The same way he had tried too hard getting Kitty flowers.

But such matters were trivial. They were of no importance, not when before them was hope for the grandest summer. The were on the road soon enough, and Anthonie found both gratitude and solace in that fact. He had slid into shotgun as if it had always been his place, right to Samuel as he kept his eyes trained on the road. The ignition was flipped on, the car hummed to life. Anthonie felt the soft rattle as he lowered the shades against the blinding afternoon sun, its radiance reflecting in the rearview mirror. Without further ado, and with a few keen barks from Sonnetjie accompanied by the crackle of radio music, the wheels turned, and the driveway was now a memory behind them.

They drifted in a river of conversation, bouncing off subjects wherever the current took them. Eventually, following the frivolities of international gossip and reminiscence of past occasions, they landed on the island of the incident. Anthonie merely nodded as Samuel offered an explanation, eyes seemingly caught in the never-ending stretch of road. On wistful possibility. He was like that, sometimes, eyes brimming with wilful intelligence, yet distant, as if he was in another plane of reality entirely, a plane where anything could have been possible. On this trip, anything was possible. He still threw around the casual triviality, laughed when he ought to, smiled at the inside jokes. Yet he was passive as Kitty conversed eagerly, with Sam interjecting occasionally with a probe for information. Contemplative.

Until they halted at the side of the road, and no matter how much adrenaline could be piled into a day, Anthonie could no longer deny his hunger. The gas station was exactly as he expected as they pulled in, too bright, the scents too overwhelming. Too distant from anything he had ever known, a concept he did not quite yet grasp. Therefore, catching the pair of keys one-handed in the air, he was thankful Kitty and Samuel left him in the car. Eyes trailing their departure with distaste, he managed a comment under his breath, only half heard by a retreating Samuel. Instead, only the lukewarm late afternoon breeze accompanied him as the door shut with a soft click. 

His gaze followed his two friends as they disappeared into the building, and made out their shadows as they meandered through the aisles. They were lit against the glass, and Anthonie pressed his hand against his own window in thought. He was rarely a quiet person, pensive nature never displayed outright — yet there was a sort of uncertain freedom he could not quite put into words, a sort of uncertain freedom that demanded to be acknowledged.

This was an odd feeling, Anthonie decided. This quiet yearning, this emptiness in his stomach. It only crept up on him when he ought to be feeling the utmost joy, yet when the laughter died and the world was plunged into silence, somehow it attacked him from the behind and pulled him into another reality entirely. He sank into a deep state of introspection, a wistful hoping words did no justice to. How he could feel as fulfilled yet as hollow in the same instant he did not know, just that as the air turned crisp with the onset of night, he was content.

“Didn’t find anything you like?”

That was enough to snap him out of his thoughts; he was unaware of the passage of time. Anthonie slid down his seat with overplayed dejectedness, stretching his legs out before him as his eyes drifting towards the window. “What do you think?” He grumbled good-naturedly, resting his head against the pane. He had caught Samuel’s mild amusement, that obnoxiously raised brow, the unmistakable taunting to his words. Anthonie had not needed to scan Samuel’s array of grease, fats, and carbohydrates to form a reply, and rolled his eyes in a manner that was very obvious in the rearview mirror. As Sonnetjie yapped, he retrieved a treat from his pocket and slipped it between her anticipating teeth half-heartedly. Eventually, he too would manage a humble sandwich to satisfy his hunger. Although not a culinary feat, it was food he was accustomed to, and he was oddly satisfied with the simplicity.

In the fleeting moments Samuel and Katherine had spent inside the gas station the sun had set over the distant shadows of South Carolina sassafras that lined the highway. Painting the vast skies a canvas of pigments ranging from pastel pinks to fiery oranges Anthonie’s eyes drifted across the horizon line, where only the bare smudge of the sun remained, still stubbornly spreading its light despite the shroud of nighttime soon incoming. Blessed with opportunities to travel in his childhood, Anthonie had seen enough of post card beauty for nature’s sublimity to no longer hit him across the chest. Yet there was something in the way Kitty held a casual hand at the wheel, something in the way Sam placed intentional fingers in Sonnetjie’s fur — such a rustic carefreeness no amount of grace could replace.

The stars had rolled over, a different portrait of the sky to the southern hemisphere of his home country. He could make out the Great Dipper, the shining Polaris, eyes trailing each glimmer of light as they flickered. Shifting his position he rolled down the windows, the evening air cool and crisp as he stuck out an arm into the blurring night. Within the winds’ soft caresses he found a sort of freedom undeniably different from the uncontrolled speed of the motorcycle. The way it tousled his hair with gentle doting, the way it rushed through his fingers with promise of greater things. It was a promise the untamed velocity could never keep — delicate, yet comforting, the crackle of a fireplace in wintertime’s grimness rather than a raging wildfire. In that, Anthonie found some sort of still peacefulness. His gaze drifted back towards Samuel and Katherine after an uncharacteristic bout of silence, voice slipping into their conversation like a knife through butter, “Pass me my guitar, will you?”

He extended a hand towards Samuel, expectant.

Anthonie flicked off the radio. Casually, his fingers strummed the strings a few times, falling into a familiar rhythm as his foot tapped softly on the Tahoe’s floor. His fingers found the chords easily, pressing down on each fret as the melody came to him, as natural as the way the breeze rushed through the lowered window. Dropping into muscle memory he played a song that carried the heavy burden of nostalgia despite each light, carefree flick of his thumb. His eyes drifted towards the distant road, lit only by passing street lamps and the lights of rare cars on their empty stretch of asphalt. “Lady,” he began, stepping tentatively into the chorus, “Running down the riptide~ Taken away to the dark side~ I wanna be your left hand man….”

There was a sort of intangible freedom in song, just as there was an intangible freedom in the way his hand held the wind or the breeze sent hair into his eyes. Possibility tasted sweet between Anthonie’s lips, an eternity of hopes let loose into a world that refused their existence. No matter, in that moment, on top of the world yet on a mountain so mundane, they were stubborn and young enough for belief to bloom. They rotated through a playlist, with Kitty joining into the lyrics of songs she knew. Eventually, after the final strum of the last chord, Sonnetjie fell asleep in Samuel’s arms, snoring softly as evening dissipated into night.

They passed a sign with a loud proclamation, and there was something wild in Anthonie’s eyes.

He leaned back and reclined his chair, then spread his arms as best he could in the suffocating metal box of a car, “We’re in North Carolina.”

@Katherine Townsend, @Samuel Sauber

The pretty paper that the bouquet was wrapped with crinkled lightly as Kitty received it from Samuel, her smile pushing further at her cheeks until it felt almost stupid to wear. “Thank you. Really,” she said, careful not to disturb the flowers or the ribbon. When the garage door opened, she placed it carefully behind the headrests of the backseat, not wanting it to get crushed by any of the baggage. She would have to move it at some point — had absolutely zero clue how she would handle it going forward, without a vase or anywhere to keep it for three weeks — but that was irrelevant. For now, it was just gorgeous. Roses and carnations, complemented by baby's-breath and a shiny ribbon that felt perfect.

As Samuel and Anton put their bags inside the car, Kitty found herself lingering out of it for a few moments. She was halfway expecting one of her parents to rush in, start yelling again, and didn't want to be unprepared. Her foot tapped restlessly on the concrete, and Kitty found herself constantly glancing back at the house. Her parents didn't seem intent on coming out again, perhaps still stewing in their anger, perhaps simply resigned. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for. By the time she shook the apprehension off, Samuel and Anton had already loaded the rest of their bags and were waiting in the front of the car.

With Samuel behind the wheel and Anton sliding into the shotgun seat, Kitty was left to sit in the back. She suppressed an eye roll — she would get to watch the road from the front plenty when she was driving. The back had more room anyways, even with Anton's guitar and a few of their bags resting on one of the seats. She made herself comfortable immediately, careful not to disturb Sonnetjie and her carrier, instead placing her bag somewhere at the floor of her own seat for easy access.

The moment the engine rumbled beneath them, Kitty felt something buzzing underneath her skin. Possibility. Anticipation that made her fingertips tremble lightly with something she would have called fear, if not for the sheer excitement of it all. With the open road stretching before them, Samuel focused on the wheel and Anthonie focused on navigation, there was nothing holding them back. They were free. For the next month, they would remain that way — the three of them, the concrete underneath the wheels, boundless. Together in her mom's stolen Chevy Tahoe.

The giddy excitement Kitty felt did not last long, transforming from something skin-deep and settling into a pleasant sense of boundlessness she felt in every muscle. Muggle radio was not much different in use from the wizarding kind, so Anton quickly took over music without requiring much instruction. The space of the car filled with chatter, conversation starting quickly. Beautifully, too — they flowed from subject to subject with laughter and ease, the kind that felt more like melody than the actual radio did. The laughter shared between her and Anton could soundtrack the rest of this drive, and Kitty certainly wouldn't mind. Sonnetjie made herself known with a few gentle yips here or there.

Her earlier questions was answered soon enough. An accident. Her brow furrowed with concern. “You're joking,” she said plainly, perhaps with more tension than she should have. Samuel seemed alright, as did Anton. They seemed cavalier about it, even; there was zero reason to panic, it seemed. “But you're, like… okay, right?” She cleared her throat, leaning forward in her seat, hand finding purchase on the back of Anton's backrest, searching the rearview mirror intently for some response in either of their expressions.

Only after some reassurance, and a sound from inside Sonnetjie's carrier, did Kitty lean back once more and allow herself to relax. “Well, you'll need patching up,” she finally commented, reaching to her side. Sonnetjie was happy to be taken out of her carrier and rested with her small head in Kitty's lap instead. Kitty's hands scratched behind the half-crup's ear mindlessly.

The conversation soon returned, settling back into its previous rhythm. Samuel showed off his international driving permit — prepared as always — and even contributed. Asked questions. Kitty learned about the graduation ceremony she wasn't able to attend and the latest happenings at Uagadou, and shared plenty of gossip of her own. It continued for a good few hours, until the sun was reaching out to just barely touch the horizon. Golden light bathed the road ahead and a small structure a few hundred feet away. Samuel got them off the road wordlessly, only bothering to explain once the car was parked.

“We'll go look for something edible, and some bandages.”

Kitty stretched her arms out above her head, waiting for a moment before hopping out of the car. It was much warmer out of the car than inside it, though the heat did not grate on her — the sunset in the sky was far too pretty for Kitty to be displeased. Shutting the car door behind her with one last scratch behind Sonnetjie's ear, she fell into step beside Samuel easily.

Inside was bright, colorful products lit by fluorescents screaming for attention from every shelf. Samuel veered towards medical supplies; Kitty thought to stay with him, though ultimately figured he was the better pick for the job. Instead, she simply grabbed a shopping basket and went on a search for “something edible.”

She meandered between the aisles on her own for a moment, passing through each one unhurried. Rows of cheap stuffed animals with polyester fur dyed in the most obnoxious colors sat across from equally colorful bottles of soda. Kitty picked things out idly, grabbing whatever caught her attention first — some bright orange drink she had never seen before, gummy bears, a bag of chips, one of those pre-packaged sandwiches she didn't look at the filling of. A keychain with a teddy bear wearing a pink bowtie somehow found itself in the cart as well. When she reached the cash register, Samuel was already standing there, waiting.

Samuel carried the bag full of stuff as they stepped outside, and Kitty found herself once more hit by the gentle warmth of the night air. The AC inside had been pleasant, but there was something nice about the hot air here, too. It sat heavy all around them, wrapping them in something tangible and smelling of jasmine. The sky that had been painted a vivid orange less than an hour ago had now quieted down into something yellow and pink. A shy lilac was beginning to bloom towards the horizon, announcing the blue and black that would soon follow.

It took a gentle tug at Samuel's hand for their fingers to easily intertwine and for Kitty to be able to lead him to the dusty bench near the gas station entrance. She sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, though quickly found herself turning inward to look at his face. Tentatively, careful not to touch any of the scrapes, her fingers found themselves gently at his jaw; checking for where the worst of the damage had been done. She glanced only for a second at what he had purchased, noting where things were before picking out the antiseptic wipes.

“It might sting,” Kitty said quietly, useless and entirely automatic. She would be surprised if Samuel even tried to squirm away from the wipes. Still, her hands were ever gentle, careful not to prod or press where it wasn't necessary. Her eyes moved easily from cut to scrape to bruise, taking in the face of the man in front of her. Angular features, set in their usual position. A watchful expression, the last vestiges of the sunset's golden glow turning the red of his eyes warmer, something more tangerine. He always looked a little unreal. A little too still, a little too pretty. Looking at him up close, it seemed odd to even notice the texture of his skin and find something other than marble.

Kitty's thoughts drifted as her hands worked. Samuel's everlasting consistency in stillness had, in the time they spent together, come to mean a sense of stability for Kitty. Her mind unfurled: thoughts untangled. Each thread brushed out into something easier to wrap her head around. The air around them was quiet, then. The sound of cars passing by on the speedway only a few hundred feet away and the high pitched buzz of cicadas didn't register to Kitty as she considered the day's events. The knot at the back of her neck untangled, and her breathing slowed ever so slightly.

The silence was broken by a quiet giggle from Kitty herself, recalling the fight back at the house — or rather how it ended. “‘I wasn't aware Katherine had an even prettier twin sister’?” She recalled, tone slightly mocking through the soft laughter. “What was that?”

Samuel said something or other about it. “Merely removing a variable” — something logical and sensible and surely very like him. Kitty snickered as she put the wipes down and grabbed the adhesive bandages instead. “You're so stupid,” she muttered. It was not an insult. The only heat behind the words was that of evening settling in. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she fell quiet again. Her hands slowed the closer she was to being done, wanting the shared moment to stretch just a little longer. Her fingers lingered, smoothing needlessly over creases in the adhesive that weren't there, and then an extra heartbeat longer. She only pulled back after it felt far too overdone and a kiss pressed to Samuel's cheek, somewhere at the edge of one of the bandages there.

“Come on. We're swapping drivers.”

When they returned to the car, Kitty slid into the driver's seat easily. She had spent a good chunk of her last summer behind the wheel, though it was on the streets of the South Carolina suburbs. Shifting into drive and pulling out onto the highway was new. Freeing. The sun hid itself entirely, a last streak of red in the sky that was sure to fade away in time. The heat was beginning to ebb, though the windows remained open, and the inside of the car remained pleasant. Her fingers tapped lightly to the rhythm of whatever song was on the radio now; she acknowledged it being switched off with only an eyebrow raise, smiling when she was Anton reach for his guitar. She snickered at the sight of him doing his best to fit the instrument into the constrained space, but it seemed he was doing just fine, soon strumming something gentle and familiar.

“Lady, running down to the riptide…”

The road was emptier now. With only streetlights to speak of for light, Kitty noted each passing car's headlights; there were significantly less of them than earlier in the day. She inhaled, remaining focused on the empty road. She sung along to the things she knew, laughing through the lyrics she didn't — until they finished, guitar safely tucked away in the backseat once more, Sonnetjie tucked in Samuel's arms and softly snoring. It was quiet, then. Only the gentle rumble of the engine and the hum of the air passing through the car's windows was left. Golden hues long gone and transformed into deep navy.

They passed a sign — Anton reclined in the limited space he had and spread his arms out. “We're in North Carolina,” he announced, something lazy and liberated to his figure; to the wind in his hair and the effortless expression he wore. It was infectious. Made everything ahead, the stretch of asphalt and dirt, seem unlimited and clear. Kitty grinned. They were past state lines, then: well on their way, and undeniably so.

“What's on the itinerary for NC, again?”

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Backdated to Samuel post Graduation

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Sleep, to Samuel had never been an indulgence he willingly participated in. It was a mechanical necessity, a need of the flesh and bone that would, at times, feel like a cage. Sleep was a biological concession he had to permit his body in carefully measured intervals. These moments of lack of operation were inefficiency, but he also understood how these moments also served restoration, of the mind, the body, and for those weaker; of spirit.

In it's most distilled form, sleep was a requirement, an inconvenient, biologically enforced interval of inactivity that fractured all carefully curated continuity of thought and interrupted the execution of one's will, their intentions. If it had been possible to remove it entirely without compromising any of his cognitive functions, Samuel would have done so with no hesitation, no remorse and certainly no further reflection.

Yet, even for a system as controlled as his, there existed limits.

Thresholds.

And Samuel, despite all his brilliance, calculations and restraint, had far exceeded them today.

His day had been excessive in ways that would not register to an untrained pair of eyes, there was no outward collapse or visible lapse in his composure. His posture, remained as straight as it always was; deliberate and unyielding in his appearance. His expression, even in his moments of vulnerability with Kitty hadn't once betrayed strain nor had his voice deviated from its usual cadence. To Anyone observing Samuel, there would be nothing to suggest anything was amiss.

But they body as we know it, is not always reliant on perception.

Bruised had formed beneath his skin, blooming in muted shades he had no interest in acknowledging beyond their puny existence. Cuts—minor and entirely superficial, which had already been cleaned and sealed with Kitty's soft hands, yet they lingered as irritants to Samuel's pristine skin. His knuckles bore the most persistent reminder of the day's earlier events, a dull, deep ache that had settled into his bone rather than the surface. It wasn't pain in any sense that would disrupt his usual workings, It was just, annoyingly present. Like the cousin you do not wish to encounter at the family gathering.

The analgesics he had taken earlier were working with sufficient efficiency, reducing the sharper edges of sensation into something he could simply ignore without much effort. The medicines had rendered the pain irrelevant enough to ignore.

And ignore them he did.

Yet, the body, regardless of how well it is managed, retains it's own set of priorities. Fatigues is not something that can be reasoned with indefinitely. It did not require permissioned nor did it ever negotiate. It simply asserted.

There was a steadiness to his voice, a repetition that aligned too easily with the hum of engine and the breathing of the other three individuals in the vehicle. The environment, unintentionally, had become conducive. Samuel didn't resist it.

Resistance implied necessity, and there was none. There was only inevitability.

His eyes closed.

There was no transition, no state of gradual slipping. One moment he was present, the murmurs of the world around him, of this shared existence and the next, he was gone, he was elsewhere.

Seven.

He was seven again.

The recognition came before full awareness, an immediate and precise reaction. Samuel's memory was never subject to distortion. It didn't soften rougher edges of his past nor did it obscure details with the passage of time. What he recalled, he recalled exactly the events as they happened. Structures remained preserved, so did the sequences.

He knew where he was before he had even adjusted his eyes, the air itself confirmed it. It carried the distinct composition he had catalogued in his mind long ago. This curated blend of floral notes and faint bitterness of steeped tea. None of this was a natural scent, all of it had been engineered with deliberate care, and Samuel knew where he was.

His mother's house.

The manor revealed itself to Samuel in perfect accordance as he'd remembered it. Every surface was immaculate, each line intentional. The visible gardens through their tall windows were symmetrical, trimmed with precision that bordered on obsession. Nothing existed out of place, nothing existed without it's purpose.

There was order. Absolute and uncompromising.

But no warmth to find, there never had been. He looked down at his hands, small and bruised. The discoloration was pronounced, stark against his marble skin. Shades of purple and blue spread evenly across his knuckles, accompanied by faint traced of blood at the edges; now dried. These injuries were neither surprising, nor were they concerning.

They were simply....data. Samuel remembered the cause with perfect clarity. Three boys, Older and Larger. The dogs had approached him with their confidence misplaced, bolstered by their reliance on a numerical advantage rather than individual capability.

Their error hadn't been in aggression but assumption. They'd assumed he'd yield; they assumed wrong.

Samuel flexed his little fingers slightly, observing the delayed response of pain as it settled into his hands. It wasn't sharp or immediate. But it was dense and heavy, contained within his bones than surface. Pain, he recognized it now, categorized and dismissed it.

He hadn't lost, and the was the only relevant metric.

Samuel moved through the familiar manor with ease, there was no hesitation in his steps and no uncertainty in directions. The corridors knew him and he knew them. Every turn, every doorway, every shift in light had been catalogued to his mind long ago.

House help existed at the edges of his perception—silent, unobtrusive and careful to remain outside his path unless an intervention was required. They didn't speak or intervene. They understood their purpose, as he understood his.

No one stopped him, none questioned him. They wouldn't unless instructed to do so.

Him room awaited him in a state of preservation, exactly as he'd left it. Nothing had been altered, nothing had been displaced. The environment and the decorations reflected purpose above all else. There was no excess, no indulgence and no unnecessary personalization.

Function dictated the design.

Samuel reached the bed and allowed himself to fall forward onto it, partly out of exhaustion in the physical sense. But also because the sequence of action had concluded. Input, response, resolution and lastly, cessation. Darkness, in the form of sleep followed soon with no resistance from Samuel.

Time passed unmeasured, it was irrelevant anyway. The came a sensation, of fingers, of light from curtains being drawn, measured touched. The fingers moved through his hair with precision that bordered on clinical, yet there was something within this gesture that did not align with expectations.

The touch pressed where it didn't need to, caressed what it had no motive to caressed and lingered without reason.

Samuel didn't move. After all, observation preceded reaction.

The hand traced along his temple, pausing briefly over his bruise before adjusting, as though calculating whether this was acceptable. There was no hesitation in the movement, only control. But it contained something else— there was Gentleness. An anomaly.

Samuel knew his mother as many things, gentle was not one of those.

Not in this manner.

She offered approval only if it was earned, encouragement was only used to further her purpose while recognition, a rather notion, only applied when results justified it. But this— this had no measurable function and yet it continued all the same.

He opened his eyes, only to witness their butler standing beside his bed, posture flawless and expressions neutral as ever.

But for a fraction of a second, beyond this man, near the doorway, there was something else, someone else. A silhouette. No longer still, but observing all the same. It was gone before Samuel could seek confirmation. His eyes closed themselves again.

Samuel never required affection. He understood it as a concept. He'd observed it in other and analyzed it's function within human behaviour. It existed as a reinforcement mechanism, a tool for emotional regulation and bonding. He didn't require such mechanisms, he had never experienced such absence. Because he'd never been given something like this to lack.

Instead, he was given a glorious purpose. He'd been given structures and expectations, all of which he had fulfilled perfectly. He was by every measurable standard, far exceeding all that his parents had intended him to be. His mother's finest creation. Her magnum opus.

A result.

Less a son. And that was sufficient for the both of them.

Which was why the disruption had been an inefficiency and a hindrance. Anthonie Engelbrecht had entered his life with utter disregard for his structure, without predictability and without adherence to any system Samuel recognized as valid. He operated on instinct, on impulse, on something Samuel could only categorize as controlled chaos.

And yet, his methods weren't ineffective. All his traits made Anthonie even more significant.

And then there was Katherine. Kitty, as her loved ones would call her. Introduced to Samuel through proximity, yet incapable of remaining peripheral. She was different, far less chaotic than Anthonie but no less disruptive in her own right.

Together, they introduced a variable in Samuel's life, one that he had not accounted for. Not purpose or expectation but choice. And with choices came deviation. His world, which was once defined by function and outcome, had begun to shift. Colors appeared sharper. Sky, which was once irrelevant had now become something dynamic. Patterns emerged where none had been necessary before.

It was all very inefficient and illogical, yet Samuel couldn't bring himself to reject it all, despite outward appearances.

This dreamlike state ended abruptly.

A dull impact against his shoulder pulled him back into awareness with immediate clarity. His eyes, without the lenses, now aquamarine; their true color opened, focus returning back to him without delay. There was no lingering disorientation. No confusion in his mind.

He sat up, adjusting his posture and straightening his shirt. His gaze lifted to the rearview mirror, eyes meeting Kitty's as he offered her a small, intentionally controlled smile. "Where are we?" he asked, voice even as he was told about their arrival to North Carolina.

It was...progress.

Samuel leaned back slightly, processing this information. His brief rest had restored clarity, but it had introduced a quite predictable complication. Hunger.

Samuel reached into a bag beside him and retrieved a packet of crisps, opening them with one hand as his gaze shifted towards Anthonie. He extended the packet to him without much comment and then towards Kitty.

A pause and he asked if she'd like him to save some for her. He didn't particularly enjoy the idea of Kitty getting distracted and crashing their car. One road accident was enough for today's itinerary. There was the faintest trace of dry amusement in his tone as he asked Anthonie to have some. Samuel soon took a crisp from himself, followed by unraveling the map as he scanned it quickly.


"Cape Lookout National Seashore," he stated, "that's out next stop."

He traced a slightly different route. "I've arranged accommodation here for us to rest, pet friendly with breakfast included, and a great view of the coastline". He folded the map again as their car continued forward.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“Are we there yet?”

The common, dreaded question of all road trips, Anthonie too fell into the trap of impatience. From the first steps, fresh off the boat, to the motorcycle crash, and the hitchhiking incident, the eventful day of travel had exhausted his being, and as the patch of bruising on his leg deepened concerningly in hue, the next destination he looked forward to was their lodgings, for excitement had renounced the concept of napping in the car entirely. Yet now as the last smudges of sun disappeared over the horizon, he felt a striking inclination to settle down and enjoy the night. Sonnetjie in his arms, he stared into the distance.

As Samuel produced a map, Anthonie’s eyes tracing his fingers as they drove along the designated route, he sighed and his eyes drifted out of the car window, approaching the narrow egress of the highway. They would drive along to the shore, and in the muted complexion of the ocean’s waves, Anthonie could barely have seen the stretch of beach they would sunbathe upon the coming day, only a vast expanse of blackness, out towards a black sea, and under a black sky, illuminated only by the dotting of stars. As they drove, distancing themselves from the lights of the city and American suburbia, they grew in amount, until he could make out the constellations, just as he would have sat on the South African safaris, counting stars with Aneska, two words of scrawled cursive on a piece of grass-flecked paper.

A bag of crisps appeared before his vision, its glaringly red packet reflecting the street lamps as they exited the highway and turned onto a bumpy, seaside road. Samuel was offering for him to have some, and he only offered back a sidelong glance.

“Oh- dankie.” A word of gratitude slipped out as hunger overtook refinement, and Anthonie relented to a single crisp, paprika powder between his fingers and the taste of fried potato between his lips. He had heard the dry amusement that slid into Samuel’s tone, yet despite no further comment being made, he slid the man a glare that could have killed. Food as such was not up to his par of dignity, but it was acceptable nourishment, in times of desperation.

Halfheartedly, he was realising how spoilt his narration sounded. At the glorious age of seventeen, however, he found his care for the matter slipping through between his fingers. It would all be memories made in the future, and laughter shared as they recalled his distaste, and perhaps, one day, reluctant acceptance. It was a part of the journey.

When they finally pulled into the driveway of the hotel, where Kitty executed a horrendous parallel park and the trivialities of check in were handled by Samuel, leaving Anthonie with not much more to do than entertain Sonnetjie, he let out a sigh of relief as he lowered himself into one of the armchairs in the lobby, drowning in the comfortable cotton of its cushions, far more comfortable than the seating of Kitty’s Tahoe. He grinned at his dog, then into the night.

As Kitty and Samuel slipped into their shared room, Anthonie bid them a goodbye and they closed the door that connected their quarters. Anthonie was left on his own, with Sonnetjie as his lone companion. A shower, a bite of the hotel’s complementary fruits, and a brush of his teeth later, he would have flopped into his bed, only to find that his heart called him elsewhere. Only as he exited the bathroom did he notice a far door next to the windows, half-concealed by the curtains, leading to what he assumed to be the balcony. Unlocking the door and swinging it open, he was greeted with the buzz of a mosquito, yet undeterred, he beckoned Sonnetjie to his side (his girl had been curiously examining the television), and caught her as she leapt into his arms.

If it were possible for Anthonie to have forsook sleep, he would long have bid goodbye to its tedious existence. Still young and wild-eyed, time spent in the land of dreams only stole away hours where he could have been working on what once could have only belonged in the realms of night. Possibilities were lost, time was sacrificed, just for the sake of rest. And for a teenager as restless as Anthonie… he was more than vexed.

The door slid to a shut behind him, and as Sonnetjie yapped, he pressed one finger to his lips, bestowed a kiss upon her head, and indulged in what he normally would have disowned: silence. No chatter, no music, no humming no boisterous laughs — just the sea of North Carolina, and a sea of nothingness. Plunged into the depths of solitude, Anthonie turned his eyes up to the stars, one hand stroking the velvety fur of Sonnetjie as the other cradled her by her back. The sound of her fur in the late night winds was the only Anthonie could hear, and as delusion overtook sense he almost thought they were whispering to him in arcane languages. The language of the stars, of all those stories glorified into mythologies above.

He could make out the different shapes, and drew over the stars with his finger, pausing on each dotted speck and nuzzling against his dog, half drowning in her fur, half in the awe striking sublimity of the skies above, and almost, just almost, drowning in the never-ending deepness of the ocean, too close, too deep. When the voices of Kitty and Samuel finally died down, and he was left only with the rustle of the seashore’s grass and the occasional small bark of Sonnetjie, he stared up into the stars, and told himself the same tales he had heard before every bedtime, merely a decade ago.

He could hear his mother’s voice in the darkness, see how her hair was fallen over her features as she leaned over him. As he laid back in his chair, he felt the slender fingers running through his hair, and sensed a smile spreading on her lips. He mirrored hers. He could go so far from home, an ocean away in a world he did not know, yet they would forever remain in his heart. Clutching the cross necklace his father had bestowed upon him, he prayed that this moment could last forever, that this summer could be an eternity.

In the haze of night, he was not sure if what struck him was memory or dream, or perhaps both and neither at the same time.

Yet when he finally closed his eyes, his rest was heavy and undisturbed.

—————

He twitched in his sleep, then his eyes fluttered open to rays of streaming sunlight.

At some point in the night he must have awoke, slid open the door to his room, and removed his shirt, for he found himself sprawled on his bed, bare-chested, Sonnetjie the only blanket over his abdomen in the open window of the summer heat. Now that the sun had risen, and the curtains were drawn wide, he could finally make out the shapes of the coast, the lapping of the waves, and the distant, out-jutting figure that attracted his eye: the lighthouse.

Blood pumping with excitement for his second day, he dressed himself with swiftness, sorting through his trunk for a new outfit, and came out triumphant with a white polo with a pair of olive green shorts, underneath of which he wore a pair of swim trunks. He descended the lift for breakfast, and although not overly extravagant, the hotel’s buffet came as a welcome respite to yesterday’s culinary endeavours, eclipsing the atrocities of his untouched McDonald’s and the sole snack he had swallowed in the drive. Anthonie helped himself to a selection of sausages, breads, and an omelette he had watched the chef cook himself. Pausing by the fruit rack, an apple would join to adorn his food.

An early riser, he was surprised to find Samuel and Kitty already occupying a table, and slid a chair over from another to join them. He sat down, asked for the ongoings of their mornings, made pleasant conversation, but was more so distracted by the panoramic views the floor to ceiling windows of their seating offered. The scene was a palette of pastel perfection: the khaki of the beach, the whites of the waves, the brilliant shine of the tides. And the cerulean blue of the sky, the same colour as vividly glimmering eyes. Anthonie grinned, laughed, and felt at peace with himself. There was little more a man could ask for.

Their hotel was walking distance to the national park, and they took a path off the roads and close to the beach, dirt and sand mixing with each other into a beat down path far from the rest of the tourists. They made steady conversation, ranging from the shallowest of trivialities to the deepest of philosophies, and such was a duality they were comfortable with, with both a teenager’s nature of gossip and undeniable pretentiousness. As the path widened out into bay, Anthonie surveyed their surroundings, and as his eyes flicked far out to the distances of the sea, he kicked off his shoes under the shade of an umbrella and took his clothes off until he was in swimwear, putting them onto a towel. There, he also placed a basket he had prepared, tucked into it three sandwiches and the latest edition of the Atlantic. Turning to meet Kitty and Samuel, he asked if any of his two friends would like to join him for a swim.

“Race you to the ocean!”

By the time his head was submerged, he had lost track of who had won.

Well-versed in the ways of the water, Anthonie waded out against the waves towards the distant shores until he reached a respectable depths. Perhaps they would engage in a few competitions of speed or breath work, perhaps they would simply tread water and continue their exchange, or perhaps, they would embrace the true sides of the youth they were just walking out of, and splash saltwater into each other’s faces. In these ages that defined them, between the preparation for examinations and the tireless interactions of socialisation, were merely three people newly stepped into the adult world, still clinging onto the ends of their childhood. As he met their eyes, the disarming saccharine-gash and the striking sea-glass, under wind-swept, sea-matted hair, cerulean glinted with joy, and as a laugh escaped him, bliss overrode any other sentiment that could have possibly crept up onto him. Then, as eye contact broke and the minute passed, he splashed another handful of water in Samuel’s direction, just for good measure.

With wrinkled skin and hair sprinkled with brine, they paddled back towards shore. Having first retrieving his inseparable Ray-Bans out of his basket, he handed Samuel and Kitty each a sandwich, delicately wrapped and made from the healthiest of gas station food selections. After finding a place to lay back on one of deck chairs facing out to sea, he sun-dried himself as he flipped leisurely through his magazine, allowing himself to skim more than read, daydreaming more than comprehending, more focused on Sonnetjie’s yaps than the politics between pages. Oftentimes his eyes were caught in the distance, at an approaching ferry or a stray seabird, and he graciously allowed the seagull to finish off the last of his sandwich when it approached with those beseeching beady black eyes. Occasionally he exchanged words with his two friends, yet they sat in mostly comfortable tranquility.

Until, after a morning of swimming and an afternoon of lazing on the beach, Anthonie plainly suggested they hike the lighthouse, and catch the views of the sunset just before it closed.

He slipped on his shirt and shorts, gathered his things, and beckoned for Samuel and Kitty to follow as he set off towards the trail that led towards the imposing building, overbearing in the distance. They turned onto a boardwalk and off the beach, taking turns to rinse their feet at the fountain by the side of the exit. Monarch butterflies swarmed in the bushes nearby, fluttering orange dotted over the flecks of wildflowers. Sonnetjie was particularly jumpy on the planks, and as Anthonie squinted into the sun to their west, the heat of wood under the late afternoon’s beating heat must have been unbearable, and he scooped the crup into his arms, hugging her tightly to his chest. The boards creaking under their footfalls, the sun was beginning to lick at the horizon, and the heat dropped to a comfortable temperate.

As a check of the watch revealed they were near closing time, Anthonie guided them in a run for the last few hundred metres. When they finally reached the towering structure they were some of the last tourists allowed entrance, barely making it past the ticket booth.

They filed into a single line for the climb, Anthonie in front, Kitty in the middle, and Samuel bringing up the rear. The stairs, winding and tapering in width towards the peak of the lighthouse, were steep and unforgiving, yet the windows scattered every few ten footfalls made the exertion worth it. Anthonie could not help but grow enamoured by the views, some pointing towards the fields inland, others out to sea. When they finally reached the ladders, he put one cautious foot on the first rung, and one hand gripped one above, scaling it up to the observation deck in merely a few swift steps. As he exited the building to face the high winds of settling night, Anthonie rushed to the side of the lighthouse, and cast his eyes outwards.

He leaned on the railing, wind blowing his hair into wild strands, “Isn’t it beautiful?”

@Katherine Townsend, @Samuel Sauber