A Vacation

A Vacation

Leomord’s POV

The sea looks endless from our window.

Waves crash against the shore, white foam chasing the sand like it’s trying to erase the past. The cottage we found is small but neat—one bedroom, a creaky wooden floor, and a kitchen that smells like lemons because Anastasia insists on wiping everything with citrus oil.

It’s been five days since we left the village. Five quiet, strange, beautiful days.

She’s sitting by the window now, sketching something in her notebook. I don’t know what it is yet, but she hides it when I ask.

“Not ready,” she says with a playful smile. “You’ll see.”

I pretend I don’t care, but I do. I want to know everything that goes through her mind. Every shadow. Every light.

She’s peaceful here, I can tell. Less jumpy. She laughs more. She makes toast with way too much butter. She dances to music when she thinks I’m not watching.

But I’m always watching.

Still, something inside me won’t settle. It’s like I’m waiting for a storm that hasn’t come yet. A crack of thunder behind the calm.

The past doesn’t let go easily.

I step outside to breathe.

The salty wind hits my face, clearing my thoughts. I walk down the narrow path that leads to the beach. The sand is warm under my shoes. Far in the distance, two kids are flying a red kite. It dips and rises, fighting the wind. Kind of like me.

I sit down on a rock and stare at the waves, letting the memories crawl back in.

The boss hasn’t contacted me again. No calls. No threats. Just silence.

But silence is louder than noise when you’ve lived the life I have. It’s the kind of silence that feels like something is waiting in the shadows, patient.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my old phone. The one I hid from Anastasia. Still turned off. Still untouched.

But I haven’t thrown it away either.

That’s the part that eats at me.

Why am I holding on?

A voice calls behind me.

“Leomord?”

I turn to see her. She’s barefoot, standing in the sand with her hair dancing in the wind, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun.

“There you are,” she says softly, walking over.

I force a smile. “Needed some air.”

She sits beside me, knees pulled to her chest. “You’ve been quiet.”

“So have you.”

She nods. “I’m scared too.”

I look at her. “Of what?”

“That this will all disappear,” she says, her voice breaking. “That we’ll wake up and it’ll be gone. Or something will take it from us.”

I don’t answer right away. Because I’m scared of the same thing.

“We’re allowed to be happy,” I say finally.

“Even after everything?” she whispers.

“Especially after everything.”

She lays her head on my shoulder, and I kiss her hair.

We stay there a while, watching the kite rise and fall with the wind. Like us—fragile, stubborn, still flying.

~

That evening, I take her out.

No secrets. No lies. Just her and me, somewhere public, somewhere peaceful.

We walk to the town’s small riverside park, where the lights are soft and the air smells like pine and grilled corn. There’s a local food festival tonight. The kind of thing normal people go to on dates.

And maybe we are normal now. At least, we’re trying.

Anastasia slips her hand into mine as we stroll past the food stalls. She buys cotton candy, tears it into small pieces and feeds me like a child. I pretend to hate it. She knows I don’t.

“This place feels like a dream,” she says.

“You feel like a dream,” I say back, without thinking.

She blushes and nudges my shoulder. “Don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

“I do,” I say quietly.

We sit on a wooden bench under a streetlamp. There’s a musician playing something soft on his guitar nearby. Kids run around with glowing balloons. It’s warm. It’s perfect.

“I like you like this,” she murmurs.

“Like what?”

“Relaxed. Open. Like you’re not carrying a thousand invisible knives on your back.”

I laugh under my breath. “They’re still there. Just, lighter now.”

She leans her head on my shoulder again. “Can we stay here? In this town?”

“Forever?” I ask.

She looks up at me. “As long as we’re free.”

I don’t answer right away.

Because freedom is tricky. I don’t know if we’ll ever truly have it. But for her, I’ll chase it until my last breath.

“I’ll try,” I say. “For you, I’ll try.”

Later, we eat at a small diner by the river. The walls are covered in postcards from around the world. Anastasia orders pasta. I get steak.

“You always eat like you haven’t had a decent meal in years,” she teases.

I grin. “That’s because I didn’t.”

She looks at me then, eyes soft. “Does it still haunt you? The prison?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “Every day. But you_ you make it quieter.”

We sit in silence after that, our hands on the table, fingers brushing. It’s simple. It’s everything.

When we walk back to the cottage, she stops in the middle of the road.

“What?” I ask.

She smiles, tugging my hand. “Dance with me.”

“There’s no music.”

She hums softly, a melody I don’t recognize. I let her pull me into her arms, and we sway under the stars. Her hair smells like vanilla and sea breeze.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she whispers.

I rest my forehead against hers. “You make me want to be a good man.”

“You already are.”

I kiss her.

Not like before, not rough or desperate.

It’s slow. Gentle. A promise.

A new beginning.

As we walk home, hand in hand, the wind carries away the last whispers of our old life.

We don’t know what waits tomorrow. But tonight, we choose peace. Tonight, we choose to be in our embrace, our bodies mingling with each other.