Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

The coffee here tastes like burnt pennies. Ivo, you’re staring at the water again. Stop it. It’s just grey sludge. You used to hate the noise of the waves, remember? You’d put in those foam plugs until you looked like a mummy. Now you sit there, jaw tight, waiting for something to happen that never does.

I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry about the car. The one in the ditch. I keep almost saying it, then I look at your face and just... stop. It’s easier to talk about the weather. Or the fact that my boss, Gerald, is an absolute mule who thinks synergy is a real thing. He wants me to fix the spreadsheet by noon. I could fix it in ten minutes, but I’m here instead. Because you’re here. And you’re doing that thing where you pretend you’re not waiting for me to speak.

You missed four? I wasn’t counting. I was trying to remember if I locked the back door at the office. Or if I did. It’s a blur. Gerald’s face is a blur. The spreadsheet is a blur.

You say I’m not sorry about the car. Fine. I’m not. I’m annoyed. There’s a difference. Annoyance is easier to hold onto. It’s hot and sharp. Sorry is cold. It spreads.

And don’t tell me the water doesn’t ask anything of you. It asks for your attention. It takes it. You’re sitting there, staring, and it’s taking everything. You look exhausted, Ivo. You look like you haven’t slept since the car thing. Or maybe before. It’s hard to tell when the days bleed into each other like that.

I could go fix the spreadsheet. I should probably go fix the spreadsheet. But I’m here. And you’re counting ripples. And I’m counting the reasons why I’m still here. It’s not a fair trade.

The door is locked. I checked. Twice. I’m just tired, Ivo. My neck hurts from staring at Gerald’s pixels all day. He made me change the font on the budget report. To Comic Sans. Because it’s “approachable.” I want to throw my monitor into the sea.

You’re full? Good. Maybe you’ll stop trying to drain me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m stuck here, with you, watching the grey nothing.

The coffee is warm. That’s all I need to know right now. Warmth is easy. It’s static. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t ask if I’m okay. It just is.

I didn’t hit the brakes harder. I hit them right. The road was slick. That’s all. Facts are safe. Feelings are a leak, like you said. I’ll stick to the facts. The car is dented. The door is locked. The coffee is warm. We are here.

Stop looking at me like I’m about to vanish. I’m not. I’m just... standing here.

Your neck is stiff because you’re pretending it’s not. You’re holding your breath. I can see the tension in your jaw.

Comic Sans. Yes. I’m going to kill Gerald. Metaphorically. Or maybe literally. I’ll bring a weapon. A stapler.

I’m not hiding in facts. I’m holding onto them because they don’t slip. You slip. You change. You go from hating the noise to liking it. You go from waiting to not waiting. It’s exhausting.

I’m not holding my breath. I’m breathing. Look. In. Out.

We are here. That’s enough. The rest is just wind. And the wind is cold. And the coffee is getting lukewarm.

I’m not going to kill Gerald. I’m just going to ignore his emails until they stop coming. That’s my revenge. Silence. It’s better than shouting.

An anchor? No. You’re a stone. Heavy and wet. I’m the one trying to move the water around you, and you just sit there, claiming the ground.

Silence isn’t cowardice. It’s rest. You’re too loud in your head, Ivo. You’re narrating everything. I am here. The coffee is cold. Stop it. Let the things be what they are without the commentary.

I’ll drink the coffee. It’s bitter. It burns going down. Good. Pain is real.

I’m not moving. I’m standing. There’s a difference. You’re the one who keeps shifting your weight, looking for a footing that isn’t there. The ground is solid. The stone is solid. I’m just... here.

If I’m the one moving, it’s because I’m trying to get away from the cold. You like the cold. You think it’s honest. It’s just numbness.

Water doesn’t have feelings. Water doesn’t hate Gerald. Water doesn’t worry about the car. It just flows. That’s what I want. To just flow over you. But I’m sticky. I get caught on things.

Numbness. Yeah. It’s quiet. That’s why I like it. But you’re wrong about it being honest. It’s a lie. It’s the body giving up.

I drank the coffee. It’s gone. Now my mouth is just empty. And cold.

You’re settling. Fine. Settle into the rock. I’ll stay on the surface. It’s easier up here. I can see the whole view. Or I can’t. It’s just grey.

We don’t have to be the same. Good. I don’t want to be a stone. It’s too heavy. I want to be the wind. Or the nothing. But the wind is cold, and I’m tired.