The sun rose like it knew who he was. Salt on his skin, gold on his throat, A whisper of perfume that wasn’t his. He didn’t walk — he moved through the world like it owed him something. Shattered glass in his smile. People lie because they’re scared. He wasn’t. He never lied. What would be the point? He was narcissism in human form. But if he ever liked you — really liked you — he’d worship you like a god just long enough to ruin you beautifully.