Page 82 of Inside the Sun

Then I start playing. Not a real song, just… whatever comes out. Bits of things I’ve played before. Something soft, something weird. My feet shift the pedals without thinking; it’s all muscle memory now. The sound fills the room. Suddenly, I’m not here, not really. The strings vibrate through my chest, and for a second, it’s quiet inside me, actually quiet.

I almost forget where I am.

Almost.

The last note dies out, and the room is still again. That kind of still that feels loud. I stare at the harp like maybe it could’ve done more. Fixed something, saved me. So stupid.

I stand up. That’s all it ever is, just a break, not freedom, not peace. Just a pause in the shitstorm.

Still. I’ll take it.

RAGNAR

What the hell is happening to me?

I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I need to focus on my mission, not get caught up in weird sexual energy exchanges, hugs, and little chats with Anzo’seighteen-year-oldlover.

It doesn’t matter what I think about his situation, or how pissed off I am at my own helplessness, or how shitty I feel for not doing anything to help him.

Because it’s all fucked up anyway.

And the most catastrophic part? I’m attracted to him. For real.

What happened with me after he touched my arm yesterday was just… beyond acceptable.

Despite promising myself I’d stop thinking about him, I jerked off in the evening, twice. But it didn’t help. The vision of him keeps coming back to me, stubbornly.

Just before the end of my shift, I head into the inner garden for a moment to grab my toolbox, the one I left there earlier, and that’s when I notice something different.

Someone moved a harp onto the patio near the pool. A beautiful, elegant instrument with carved detailing.

There’s music in the air, quite stunning. I never thought a harp could create something that would enchant me like this, but the sound is absolutely heavenly.

Sun is sitting by the instrument. Yeah, I’ve started calling him that in my head now. He's not just 'the guy' anymore. It fits him too, with all his golden colors. He's become real to me, a person with a name.

Even though I would prefer him to be a bit abstract, dreamlike, because being real makes his situation more dreadful, and I hate it so much.

And now, the music strips away even more of that anonymity.

Sun… he’s got serious talent. How much practice must it have taken to get this good?

His eyes are closed, fingers dancing across the strings seemingly effortless. The music pulls me toward him like I’m on a leash, and even though I know I shouldn’t go, I do.

God… What a waste, this boy, trapped in the hands of that monster. I inch closer, pretending I’m just carrying a watering can to tend to the flowerbeds along the patio’s edge.

Sun keeps his eyes closed. His hair is loose, cascading down his shoulders like liquid honey. Have I ever seen a more beautiful view?

His fingers glide across the strings, silver waves of music spilling into the garden, mesmerizing.

When I step beside him, he slowly looks up at me. His dark lashes no longer shadow his cheeks. I meet those bright-green eyes. There’s sadness in them… and something like defeat.

The bruise on his face is lighter today, and his skin looks almost flawless. That soft curve of his lips seems so inviting and… sinful.

I drop my gaze to his neck, where a golden collar gleams, a mark of that monster.

He’s wearing a pale blue tank top, the fabric thin enough that his nipples are clearly visible underneath.

What? Fuck. I shouldn’t be looking, shouldn’t be drooling over him.

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