where the water meets the moon | e.d.

twenty-five

addy

friday night, i hurry past ethan in the hallway.

he got a letter from kendall today. i looked at his envelopes when he wasn't watching. her's was the first one he tore open, and i saw him read it multiple times over.

if we were on speaking terms, i would talk to him about it and ask him if the letter was good to receive.

but today marks six days since i've mumbled a single word to him. two days ago he tried to get me to fight him over the shower, but i still stayed silent and stood my ground.

i promise i'm not mad anymore, but the silence is kind of nice. and besides, he's been extra pleasant around me recently, hoping to get me to speak.

the silent treatment works.

evan tells me ethan's been driving himself crazy trying to see what's wrong with me, and what he can do to fix it.

point for me.

he made me suffer for the first month on the boat, so i think i deserve this, honestly.

but as i brush past him, practically hugging the side wall so our shoulders don't touch, he reaches out and grabs my elbow.

not harshly, but definitely not gently.

i roll my eyes and attempt to wriggle from his grasp. he keeps it firm, and steps closer to me.

i stiffen when his mouth stoops down and is only a mere couple inches away from my ear.

"meet me where the water meets the moon."

and then he lets go and walks off.

i stand there, taking in his words and not moving a single muscle.

sometimes we talk about how "the water meets the moon" at especially around 2 am. it just means that from the angle of the boat and the water, the moon looks like it's resting on top of the horizon.

so basically, he just told me a time and place all wrapped up into one.

2 am, observation deck.

𓆉𓇽𓆉𓇽𓆉𓇽

at 1:55 am, i hear ethan's door open, and light footsteps pad through the boat. evan has been sound asleep since 9 pm, and i can slightly hear captain avery's snores from upstairs.

i sigh before pushing my covers off and pacing the small length of my room, waiting for the long five minutes to tick by.

what could he possibly want to say?

at 1:58, i shake the hair out of my loose ponytail, grab a sweatshirt, and sneak out my door.

the night is actually pretty chilly for it being practically june, and i fold my hands up inside the sleeves of my sweatshirt.

ethan is sitting on the bench— per usual— and my spot is open next to him.

he looks relieved when he sees me.