It started with a photograph.
An old one, frayed at the corners, buried beneath a stack of papers in Mason's closet. Eli hadn't meant to find it. He was looking for spare batteries and found history instead.
The picture was taken years ago—Mason in a worn denim jacket, arm around another man. They stood in front of a rundown theater, smiling like the world had finally started making sense.
Eli stared at it for a long time. Not out of jealousy. It wasn't that. He knew Mason had a life before him.
It was the fact that Mason had never mentioned him.
Not once.
That night, as the wind tapped at the window panes and the silence grew heavier, Eli finally asked.
"Who was he?"
Mason didn't pretend to misunderstand. He looked up from the couch, eyes shadowed. "You found the photo."
"I wasn't snooping."
"I know." Mason rubbed a hand over his jaw. "His name was Jonah."
Eli waited.
"We met in New Orleans. I was twenty-three. He was… the kind of person who made everything feel urgent. Like if you didn't say what you meant, you'd miss it forever."
Eli watched Mason's fingers twitch slightly. "What happened?"
"He died," Mason said softly. "Overdose. A week before we were supposed to move in together."
Eli's breath caught. "Jesus."
Mason looked away. "I didn't talk about it because… I didn't know how to make it make sense. It still doesn't. It was quick. Brutal. And messy."
Eli moved closer. "Why now? Why keep it hidden?"
"Because I didn't want to be seen through that lens. As a guy who carries ghosts into every room."
Eli's voice dropped. "You're not the only one who carries them."
Mason finally looked at him. "You're not angry?"
"I'm not angry," Eli said. "I'm just scared. Scared you'll never let me fully in."
Mason exhaled. "I'm trying. But loving someone after loss—it's like walking on glass barefoot."
"Then walk with me," Eli said. "We'll bleed together if we have to."
The next morning, Jasper found them in the kitchen, tangled on the couch, half-asleep, limbs like puzzle pieces. He paused, coffee mug in hand, then turned without a word.
"Your brother is getting sentimental," Mason mumbled.
"I'm choosing to believe that's a compliment."
A week passed.
Salt Bay began to breathe again. The town had won its battle. The skies had cleared. Even the air felt lighter.
But inside Eli, something still stirred.
The photo haunted him—not because of Jonah, but because it made Mason real in a new way. It reminded Eli that love was never clean. That everyone had chapters they wished they could rip out but couldn't.
He wondered what Mason saw when he looked at him. Did he see someone to build with—or just another shelter from the storm?
One afternoon, Eli sat at the beach alone, notebook in hand, trying to write.
Instead, he drew.
Lines that looked like wind. Shadows that resembled Mason's jaw. Waves that curled like fingers holding on too tight.
He didn't hear Jasper sit beside him until the sketch was nearly finished.
"You're drawing again," Jasper said quietly.
"I guess I am."
"Want to tell me why you look like the tide forgot to pull you back?"
Eli sighed. "I keep thinking I'm better. That I'm whole. But then I find out one more truth, and I spiral again."
"Welcome to humanity," Jasper said.
Eli chuckled, tired. "You think it'll ever get easier?"
Jasper plucked a seashell from the sand. "Not easier. Just... worth it."
That night, Mason surprised Eli with something unexpected—a framed copy of his own photograph, this time with Jonah's name on the back.
"You should keep it," Mason said. "Because I want you to know all of me. Even the parts I wish had ended differently."
Eli took the frame, heart aching in a quiet way. "Thank you. For trusting me."
Mason nodded. "You're not a placeholder, Eli. You're the reason I came back to life."
And for the first time, Eli believed it.