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Frayed threads can be repaired, Mr. Caspian; if only you would let them.
Caspian Recluse was not a sentimental man. He was calculative, straight to the point, and onto his next objective as soon as the job was done.
He broke his 7 year sabbatical of smoking because it was the only thing he could think to calm himself down. It helped him focus. The stolen lighter he kept on his person at all times was there for convenience, and the weight and solidity of it in his hand grounded him. There was no other reason to it, and if he ever got lost staring at it, observing the way it reflected light as it danced in his hands… That was between him and the god he had long since stopped begging forgiveness from.
We could have been good friends, you and I.
Caspian Recluse was not a sentimental man. He was conniving, studious, and valued results and flawless execution.
A seagull landed closeby, next to the feet of what probably used to be a lifeguard's post before the local city collectively decided to migrate to another coast for their beach activities. Caspian watched it peck at some trash before giving up and staring back at him.
I love you, uncle Cas.
Caspian Recluse was not a sentimental man. He did, however, remember his promises and hold on tight to what kept him moving, until he couldn't.
The sea breeze caressed his face like a mother coaxing her child to come home. Not today, Caspian thought as he buried his cigarette into the sand. Not today.