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scattered-irises · 2 years ago

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Tale XIV: The Merchant’s Daughter and the Misled Merman (Kotori and Shark)

It’s here! It’s finally here! Illustrations for this chapter here

I'll be releasing a happy ending, multi-chaptered version on its own sometime in the future. Stay tuned, sharkbait fans!

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 24K (Good luck :’)

Characters: Ryoga, Durbe, Rio, Yuma, Kotori, Vector

Relationships: One-sided Tomoshipping (Durbe/Ryoga), Skyshipping (Yuma/Kotori), Sharkbaitshipping (Yuma/Ryoga)

Warnings: Murder, gore, angst, Hans Christen Anderson version of The Little Mermaid despite me listening to the Little Mermaid musical soundtrack while writing this

Summary: In exchange for his eternal life and voice, a merman gains human legs. Up above, he finds that the human world is filled with deception and gentle lies.

Once upon a time, there was a young merman who lived beneath the ocean. The merfolk were long-lived people, their lives carefree and rich. Pearls adorned their tails and they danced beneath the stars every night. They sang and frolicked beneath the waves, ignorant of the lives of the humans above. Each one possessed their own unique melody, creating a chorus said to raise moons and sink ships.

As I strum my harp, my eyes glance at the distant shores, glimmering with seafoam. Every night I come to this lagoon in search of my love. For a human prince, he traded away his eternal life beneath the waves. What folly, what foolishness, to have fallen in love with a human. Yet I had loved him so and recited the forbidden spell to help him.

I have lived for millenia, collecting tomes upon tomes of my people’s history and magics. There have been none to resurrect seafoam back into flesh. Yet I continue to seek that elusive spell, traveling to the blackest of trenches and the hottest of underwater vents.

The sea has been so quiet without him.

The corals have been bleached in the places that we swam together. The sunken ships have been eaten away. Medaka, in all her beautiful talent, has quietly shut herself away in her cave. She only sings on stormy nights now, leading sailors to their watery graves. It feels as if we ageless merfolk have aged without him. He had always been there, tucked away in the back of our gatherings like a reassuring shadow.

Now all we have left are fruitless wishes.

If only, if only, if only…

The shadows, waves and seagrass seem to endlessly whisper this phrase.

🎵

Hansel runs despite the pain in his stomach. He runs past the candy house and through the woods, the shadowy man always a few paces behind him. The trees and shrubs mean nothing to him when his body is already on fire from the bulletwound. When the trees begin to thin out, he gulps. The sound of the ocean fills his ears. Bursting out of the trees, he is met by the edge of the world, dropping off into a blue abyss.

Above him is the cold wintry sky, deaf to his pleas. Seagulls flutter about, cawing and screeching. Below is the frigid ocean, waves mercilessly beating against the rocks. Behind him, he can hear the man with the rifle coming. Looking around, his blood turns to ice when he sees that there is nowhere else to run.

“There we are…!” calls Vector. “Now come here so I can—”

He’ll see Gretel again someday. Hansel clutches his shirt and closes his eyes. Without another moment wasted, he leaps off the cliff. For a moment, it feels as if he’s flying, weightless and free. Just like a bird, he could flap his arms and fly away. And then he’s falling. Falling, falling, falling into the water, a lone drop in an endless pool. When he hits the water, pain blooms across every single part of his body. His world turns white as his bones break into thousands of pieces, his body scattering across the ocean like bits of seafoam. But then he opens his eyes. He’s still in one piece.

It feels as if he hit a cold brick wall. He lets out a choked cry, pain the only sensation in his body. His vision blurs as the frigid waters wrap around his neck. And then it swallows him into its depths, the coldness like thousands of needles piercing his skin. Darkness creeps into his vision. The last thing he sees is the shadowy figure from above walking away.

Amidst the pain, it feels as if something warm is erupting from his chest. He envisions himself in a golden hallway, standing in a long line of pale and wan individuals. The figures keep to themselves, their eyes focused on the floor. Hansel winces as he tries to wrap his hands around his arms, his skin cold to the touch.

“You, there! Next!” cries a cherub at the side of the room.

Hansel pauses. A cherub? He hadn’t gone to church often but…he knew for a fact that cherubs weren’t real. He tries to peek behind the child in hopes of seeing that the wings were glued on, but there were too many people in the way for him to clearly see.

A man reluctantly plods to the front of the line. Hansel tries to peek above the others’ heads but cannot see anything beyond the man’s bun. When the time comes for him to speak to the man at the front of the line, he freezes upon seeing the man’s gentle face yet fiery eyes. A pair of white wings sprout from his back and he clutches a quill matching the feathers from his wings. An angel!? Hansel’s heart leaps to his chest.

On the angel’s desk, a thick book lays open. The angel gives Hansel a smile and then crosses something off of his book.

He was dead? No, it couldn’t be…Just a few moments ago he had discovered the cannibal wizard’s stash with his sister Gretel…They were going to build a palace by the sea together and live happily ever after…

“Hansel from the tale of Hansel and Gretel ,” declares the angel. He looks down at the book again and frowns. “Dispatched by Lord Diêm Vương’s order due to an undeserved happy ending. Sentenced to another attempt.”

“What…?” asks Hansel, looking around.

His head begins to hurt. The angel shakes his head, the frown remaining on his perfect lips.

“It’s been happening more recently with you fairytale characters. None of the afterlife networks are particularly happy about this, but the karmic departments raised the alarm so we must heed their call…,” murmurs the angel.

“Fairytale? Me? Karma? What?” sputters Hansel.

Like the fantastical characters in books? But everything in their world had been perfectly normal. He and Gretel had grown up surrounded by rumors of wizards and witches. Running into the cannibal wizard had been something they had been warned about countless times. No one was trying to climb a monstrous beanstalk or turn fish bones into clothes.

The angel briefly shakes his head.

“It’s not something my department is particularly well-versed in, but I think it has something to do with the balance of good and bad…,” says the angel, tapping on the great ledger’s pages. “If you were assigned to an Eastern fairytale in the next life, you’d probably be able to talk to them.”

“I don’t understand! I’m not a fairytale character! My sister and I…we were real!” protests Hansel.

The harsh winter. The pebbles. Their father murdering their mother…That couldn’t have been just been events written on a piece of paper…

“You are real…just…in another way,” says the angel slowly. “Everything is predetermined for you and, at the end of that path, you’re supposed to remain there…eternally.”

“Then why am I here?” utters Hansel, looking around at the golden hall and the light-filled windows.

Had he been less bewildered and scared, the angel shrugging would have made Hansel laugh.

“It has something to do with karmic balance. Apparently, there’s a finite amount of happiness in this universe and remaining eternally blissful without meeting the proper requirements was disrupting this balance. So now, the karmic branches are sending out agents to resolve this issue.”

The shadowy man? Was that someone who was working for the so-called karmic branches? Hansel stares at his hands, this newly gained knowledge feeling like a hundred boulders.

“I’m sorry, but it’s time,” says the angel, checking a large clock. “Good luck in your next life.”

“I still don’t understand, I—”

Hansel opens his eyes to find himself back in the frigid water, his limbs a mangled mess. A strangled cry erupts from his throat, white bubbles escaping from his mouth. Pain shoots up his limbs. His body begins to twist in on itself, broken limbs reforming into different shapes. He lets out a strangled scream as a burning sensation fills him from the inside. Scales erupt from his arms and webbed skin connects his fingers together. Flashes of white and black fill his vision as his body bends in on itself, his spine snapping and reforming.

An invisible thread pulls together his broken legs, attaching them together. The bones within elongate and Hansel screams as the skin on his legs erupts with iridescent scales. Slowly, the water around him brightens, clearing up to reveal a seabed full of brightly-colored grasses. The water he has breathed in has stopped choking his pained throat, instead escaping through the vents on the side of his neck. Bubbles surround him like a veil, the result of his limbs flailing about.

Screwing his eyes shut, he tries to recall the happier times at the cottage with Gretel, yet can find nothing. When he tries to recall his sister’s face, he’s met by a similar blankness. Running through his life, he’s horrified to find that he can’t remember anything, not even his name. A horrified shriek escapes from his throat, ringing in his ears with its unfamiliarity.

A distant voice fills his mind, gentle yet commanding.

“The pain you have suffered has served as your repentance for your previous life. Now live on in this reincarnation without the burdens of the past.”

Not knowing anything, not even his own name, he flails through the ocean. He only knows that he has a tail with freshly grown and painful scales. And somewhere, someone he loves is singing.

🎵

“We’re going to be late,” mutters Shark, knocking on Dusky’s wall.

His friend sighs and rests something heavy down. Shark crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. They were given eternity to live and this was how he spent it? Shuffling noises follow. Then the door opens with a thud . Always slightly disheveled, Dusky greets him with a tired smile.

Shark brushes a piece of gray hair away from Dusky’s bangs.

“Put that down,” he says, eyeing the book beneath Dusky’s arm.

“I can’t find a place for it,” he says.

Shark rolls his eyes and peers into his friend’s home. Towers upon towers of books line the walls, almost toppling over each other.

“Just put it anywhere that doesn’t have a complete stack,” he grumbles.

“You don’t understand! There’s a system!” protests Dusky, swimming into his labyrinth of books. He motions to each pile, his tail swishing in irritation. “There’s the legends, myths from the northern sea—”

“Forget about it!” groans Shark.

He swims into his friend’s house, snatches the book away and places it on the floor. Dusky stares at the book and then lets out a sigh.

“There’s going to be countless more full moons to witness. What makes this one so special?” he asks.

“Medaka has a solo and she’ll kill me if I don’t come!” urges Shark. “Let’s go!”

Dusky chuckles at the mention of Shark’s sister.

“She’ll have to kill me too, then,” says Dusky. “What is this, her hundredth performance?”

Without gracing his friend with a response, Shark grabs Dusky’s arm and yanks him out of his home. Together, they entwine their hands as they swim past beds of coral and schools of fish. Above them, the setting sun shines like a distant lighthouse. Beneath the waves, the world was dyed in hues of pink and orange. Shark softly smiles to himself as he looks at his world. This was one of Medaka’s favorite times of the day. She had specifically chosen matching accessories for this sunset performance, her solo beginning the merfolk’s full moon gathering. As one of the most sought-after singers in the kingdom, her performance was bound to be crowded.

Shark runs his fingers through the kelp, the fronds tickling his skin. When they were guppies, he and Medaka had hidden from their lessons in these fronds. Dusky always had to go and find them, the devoted student he was. Shark looks up at the sky, where the clouds are beginning to look clearer. He exchanges a smile with Dusky as they near the surface, dozens of merfolk joining their ascent.

“Looks like we’re right on time!” exclaims Dusky as he surfaces.

“Thank Poseidon,” mutters Shark, clearing bits of seaweed from his hair.

They swim into the lagoon surrounded by iridescent rocks and fragrant plants. Already, there is a buzz of excitement in the air. With pearls and shells strewn throughout her long blue hair, Medaka basks in the center of the lagoon. Every morning his sister had carefully brushed out her hair, which she loved just as much as her voice. Upon seeing him, Medaka beams and waves, her fingers tipped with long conical shells.

“You came!” she says.

“Of course!” interjects Dusky before Shark could make a rude comment.

Merfolk cluster around the edges of the lagoon, all attention focused on Medaka as she prepared. Hundreds of their kind were eagerly awaiting the full moon ceremony, opened by their beloved songstress. Medaka’s friends Catfish and Swordfish were behind her, tuning their instruments. Dusky waves to his sister Catfish and she waves back. Swordfish, meanwhile, was arguing with the drummer, Tarwhine. Pretty much everyone but they knew that the two were in love.

“I’ll stick you with my sword the moment you say another thing!” snaps Swordfish, her cheeks aflame.

“To summarize, you wouldn’t have a drummer after that,” mutters Tarwhine.

Dusky and Shark exchange tired glances. For such a pretty mermaid, Swordfish wasn’t particularly bright. She was always reaching for her sword, one way or another. Unlike the rest of the mermaids, Swordfish had recently cut her red hair short, much to everyone’s horror. To be honest though, Shark thought that it suited her.

Dusky looks behind to see that the sun was midway into the ocean. A hush falls over the lagoon as the stones begin to shimmer. Even Tarwhine and Swordfish silence their arguments, all attention drawn to Medaka. With each move the mermaid makes, her seashell bracelets jingle in time. She smiles as she meets the audience’s gaze, turning all around the lagoon.

“And so, let our songs and dances for tonight strengthen our bonds with one another. Let us perform our gifts for Poseidon, lengthening our many years in his realm and strengthening our power,” declares Medaka, her voice echoing across the lagoon.

She flicks her iridescent blue tail. The audience holds its breath. Shark crosses his arms and sighs.

Medaka begins with a high, crooning note. She is soon joined by Catfish’s shaking shells. Then Swordfish’s harp. Below Medaka, lights in jewel tones begin to glow, illuminating the lagoon with their rich colors. When Medaka’s note melts into a full-fledged song in the ancient Mermish language, fireflies fill the air with their golden lights. Gasps fill the air as the bugs flit about, their lights competing with that of the sunset’s.

Shark has heard his sister sing this song hundreds of times in their shared home. It was a ballad detailing the myth of Poseidon and the creation of the merfolk. When they were guppies, it was a song that they had all been taught at school. Full moon ceremonies always began with this song, the merfolk’s way of giving thanks to their god. Over the centuries, Medaka had perfected this song with her haunting voice, luring unwary sailors to death on moonless nights.

Really, it was getting old, no matter how many lights or special effects Medaka used. Scanning the crowd, Shark finds that he is in the minority. As always, the audience is enraptured with his sister’s performance.

Sensing his boredom, Dusky tugs at Shark’s arm.

“There’s rumors that a human prince is sailing in our waters tonight,” his friend whispers.

Shark smirks at his friend.

“You should have told me sooner,” he replies.

At the height of the ballad, detailing Poseidon’s fierce battle against his brother, the two dive into the waters and swim off. The sun was almost completely swallowed by the sea at this point, the waters now a twilight purple. Once out of the lagoon, they resurface, looking around for the ship.

Every once in a while, Shark and Dusky would swim near human ships to tease the sailors. They never fully revealed themselves, cackling whenever a bewildered sailor was called insane for claiming to have seen merfolk. Well, it was mostly Shark who cackled. Dusky usually snorted. The sailors they had seen were grizzled, gruff men, always barking orders and often too drunk to fully trust their own eyes. Whenever Shark was in a foul mood, he’d sing some overboard.

Dusky raises his nose into the air and frowns.

“It seems like there’ll be a storm tonight,” he murmurs.

Shark looks up at the cloudy sky.

“They chose the wrong night to sail,” he agrees.

Compared to merfolk, humans were so delicate. Their skin couldn’t withstand the cold of the sea nor could they swim for long. Whenever Shark sang someone overboard, he would watch in morbid interest as the human struggled and flailed against the crashing waves. Sometimes they would be saved by their fellow sailors. Sometimes they would drown, their dying cries heard only by the fish and Shark. It was terribly fascinating, watching the light fade from their eyes. He doesn’t do it as often anymore, what with his sister’s record of drownings. If they drowned too many sailors, the humans would get suspicious.

The two friends swim along the surface, looking for the telltale sails and dark silhouette of the ship. In the distance, the waves crashed against the shores of a human settlement. The humans’ buildings were dull and closely built, nothing like the merfolk’s spacious homes. In the night, they gave off a glow similar to fireflies.

“There!” calls Dusky.

On the horizon, they see the outline of a massive galleon with billowing white sails. Upon coming closer, they can see human emblems imprinted on the sails. With a head covered in a helmet of gold and white with glowing red eyes, Shark couldn’t help but think of a pirates’ skull and crossbones. Perhaps this was what the skull had looked like when it was alive.

They swim towards the galleon, Shark’s heart beating wildly in his chest. It seems as if nothing this exciting has happened in the last few moons. Sure, the dances and full moon ceremonies were grand spectacles but…eventually, one was bound to grow bored.

“I’ll race you!” calls Shark as he dives into the water.

He feels Dusky swim after him, his kicks fast and strong. Despite all the time he spent cooped up reading books, Dusky remained a formidable swimmer. Shark smirks. Luckily, he was no guppy either. Picking up the pace, he swims towards the rapidly approaching shadow of the galleon. When he sees the barnacle-covered wood of the galleon’s hull, he reaches out towards it.

“I win!” he declares, his hand pressed firmly against the wood.

Dusky crosses his arms and smirks.

“Only because you had a head start.”

Shark lets out a hmph .

“You’re only saying that because you hate losing,” he teases, surfacing.

“My prince!” yells a human voice.

“Not now!” replies a youthful voice, punctuated with a laugh.

Shark slightly tilts his head. True, he has heard many humans laugh before. Yet the prince’s laugh…There was something about it. Something that the other humans didn’t possess. Shark frowns and then peers up at the deck. Immediately, he meets the red eyes of a young human man. The young man’s eyes widen and his mouth opens. In a panic, Shark dives into the water, dragging Dusky below with him.

“He saw me!” gasps Shark.

From above, the young man runs across the deck, wildly pointing down at the ocean. Shark watches as various men surround the young men, peering hopelessly into the dark waters. Doubt fills the men’s faces as time passes. The young man receives a few laughs. In response, the young man shakes his head in frustration.

“I saw him!” he shouts.

An elderly man puts a hand on the prince’s shoulder, shaking his head. Once again, the prince is left alone. With a frown, the prince leans over the deck and places his head in his hands.

“I know you’re out there!” he shouts.

Shark and Dusky exchange glances. Taking Dusky’s hand, Shark leads his friend to the other side of the ship. Lights fill the deck of the galleon. From above, human music begins to fill the air. It’s nothing like the merfolk’s ballads and operas. This music is lively, the instruments loud and powerful. Once again, Shark surfaces, his eyes enamored by the sight of the myriad of bright lights. Unlike Medaka’s, these lights were bright, almost to the point of blindness. How could the humans dance in this light?

He can see their silhouettes lurch and totter about in their festivities. A small chuckle escapes from Dusky. Shark turns to him.

“Look at them,” says his friend. “They live only a few rotations so they must celebrate everything.”

“Not much of a grand celebration either,” adds Shark.

Compared to the merfolk’s festivities, this was a mere picnic. Shark turns to the horizon and sees the darkening clouds in the distance, the moon’s silvery light obscured. He exchanges a worried glance with Dusky. This was to be a bad omen for the merfolk. He frowns, thinking of Medaka and the performers after her. If the storm broke during the ceremony, he would return home to a distraught sister. To begin a ceremony that was interrupted by a fierce storm would be terrible indeed.

Once again, the human prince reappears, leaning over the deck and peering through the lights. From a distance, Shark sees the prince’s red bangs and black hair, sticking out at irregular angles. His skin is tanned, evident that he was a seasoned explorer. Unlike most of the other sailors he had seen, the prince’s eyes were still filled with hope.

“You have a shell?” asks Shark.

“Why?” asks Dusky, following his friend’s gaze.

“Just asking.”

Dusky reaches into his hair and pulls out a small clamshell.

“This okay?”

Shark takes the shell and gazes down at it.

“Sure,” he says.

Before his hesitation can get the best of him, he aims the shell right at the prince’s forehead. Plunk. He dives down just as the shell hits its intended target. A cackle escapes from Shark, followed by a snort from Dusky. The young prince cries out, clutching his forehead in pain. When the prince pulls away, a drop of scarlet falls into the water.

Immediately, Shark stiffens at the smell of human blood. Dusky’s smile fades.

“You plan on drowning a human prince?” he asks.

A chill runs down Shark.

“No,” he utters. “Just a little warning to keep his eyes on shore and away from the ocean.”

He looks up at the human prince, who is now surrounded by worried men looking out at the sea. Dusky grabs Shark’s hand and starts to pull him into the depths of the ocean.

“Wait,” calls Shark. “Look.”

He points to the sky that was now darkening.

“So?” asks Dusky. “Let the storm do its work.”

“I…”

Medaka’s delighted smile fills Shark’s mind. It was a peculiar kind of smile, the one that was filled with her sharp teeth, slitted pupils and painted red lips. His sister only smiled like that after she had a successful drowning, her lips and nails painted red by the human’s blood. Did Shark look like that whenever he drowned someone? The coldness in his sister’s voice, the jewels she had collected from the men she drowned…

In his youth, the struggles of the drowning humans had helped kill time. But after witnessing his sister tearing into a sailor’s innards and painting her lips with his blood, something had changed in Shark. He supposes it was seeing the human’s heart, so small and pink in Medaka’s hands. It languidly beat outside of the human until it slowly stopped.

Within that insignificant human life was a heart that beat just like his. If humans possessed hearts, what else did they have that merfolk did as well? The thought haunted him for moons.

He breaks away from Dusky’s grip and swims after the galleon.

“You go,” he forces out. “I’ll tell you what I witnessed.”

Ships sinking were always major events for the merfolk. Due to the general debris, chaos and struggling involved with a sinking ship, it was rare for merfolk to involve themselves. It was only after everything had reached the ocean floor did the merfolk begin to pick through the humans and their belongings.

“Stay safe!” calls Dusky as he swims off.

“Don’t worry!” calls back Shark.

He swims close by the ship, listening to the sound of rain falling from the sky. A distant rumbling fills the air. Up above, the humans begin to rush along the deck, preparing the sails for a storm. Thunk thunk thunk. The humans’ shoes thump against the wood. Their shouts falling to the ocean in distorted blurbs. Light flashes from behind Shark, followed by a resounding boom .

He quickens his swimming as the ship is tossed by the wind. He surfaces, trying to find the red-haired prince. Nowhere. Shark swallows a lump in his throat, continuing to swim against the surface. The rain falls from the sky like bullets, the waves roaring in Shark’s ears. Truly, the storm had arrived.

The sailors’ shouts fill Shark’s ears along with the booming thunder. A wave crashes against the other side of the deck, the white froth of the wave seen from Shark’s side. He’s never been in the middle of a storm before, always strongly advised against the unnecessary risk. It would be like staring straight into Poseidon’s wrath.

Now, in the midst of the chaos, Shark understood why. In the past, as storms raged on, he had always found other things to do. The churning waves of the surface had nothing to do with him, after all. Then the wind howls in his ear, a keening, painful cry akin to a whale’s dirge. A flash of red fills the edge of his vision. The young prince and his hopeful eyes fill Shark’s mind. He was like a bright spark, filled with joy and curiosity. Already short-lived, Shark couldn’t allow the prince’s life to be taken by the ocean this soon.

For a moment, the entire world turns to white as a lightning bolt strikes the ship’s tallest mast. Shark’s insides shake with the following rumble. He forces himself to look back up at the mast. A creak fills the air. Just as a massive wave crashes onto the deck, the mast falls. Shark dives underneath as he hears the sickening crack, bits of debris hitting the surface of the ocean.

Fighting against the waves, he wishes Dusky was here. Tossed from wave to wave, Shark gasps as he spots the young prince’s bright red hair. A wave crashes against the prince. For a moment, he disappears. Then he reappears, gripping onto a long rope. His shouting is lost in the howling of the winds, indistinct shouts answering back.

“WATCH OUT!” shouts Shark as a dark, surging wave crashes onto the deck.

For a moment, it feels as if the world has slowed. The prince is swallowed into the dark waters. Then he resurfaces, his body bobbing in the dark water like seafoam. And then the ocean once again pulls him into its depths. Shark’s cry is lost in a white light and loud crack. He briefly turns to the ship to find that a lightning bolt has hit the center.

Just as a monstrous wave raises itself over the ship, Shark dives into the water. He frantically searches for the prince, looking for his red hair in the darkness of the water. The wave crashes down just as he sees a hint of red among the debris. For a moment, Shark loses all sensation in his limbs as he feels himself being carried away. Then, he shakes his head and swims towards the prince, hair swaying like fronds of kelp.

Hooking his arms beneath the prince’s, Shark pulls him to the surface. The prince takes a pained gasp of air. In the flames of the dying ship, his skin looks pale and lifeless. Shark panickedly looks around for the closest shore. In the distance, he sees the dim lights of the human settlement.

With his limbs burning in effort, he swims towards the lights, the fierce currents fighting against him.

“Please…!” gasps Shark. “Spare this one and take the rest!”

He raises his head to the cloudy skies, begging for Poseidon to hear him amidst his wrath.

A wave splashes into his face.

Shark continues to swim, despite feeling as if his arms were about to be torn off from the weight of the prince.

“Take the rest but spare him, please!” cries Shark hoarsely. “Let him live out his life, as brief as it is!”

The prince’s laugh feels like a distant memory now, youthful and full of life. He looks down at the prince, with his closed eyes. A wave splashes against them. Shark weakly raises the prince back to the surface. Above them, the wind howls.

Don’t look back, thinks Shark as he continues to swim towards the shore.

If he looks back and sees how little he has swum, it may just make his aching limbs drop the prince. Beneath him, the prince groans. The sound fills Shark with a mixture of disgust and tenderness. The noises humans made at times could be so distasteful. Yet, in spite of everything, they continued to fight on for their existence. As the lightning and thunder grows further and further, hope fills Shark’s chest. The shore’s lights shine brighter.

Taking a deep breath, he quickens his pace.

“Hang on,” he says.

The prince lets out another groan. Shark’s muscles scream out in protest as he swims through another crashing wave.

“Please,” prays Shark. “Let this one live.”

The wind lets out a howl.

“PLEASE! I won’t ever drown a human again!” vows Shark.

A large wave draws towards Shark and he braces himself.

“I vow on my eternal life!” cries Shark.

Just as the wave was about to crash over them, it dissipates a few paces before him, its spray splashing Shark’s skin. Shark stares at the still waters before him, his heart beating in his throat. The wind subsides and a distant rumble fills the air, as if Poseidon had conceded. A wave pushes Shark closer to the shore, running a chill down his spine. His decision surely must have been sealed in stone.

“Just a little further,” murmurs Shark as he holds the prince closer.

Like a firm hand, the waves continue to push Shark’s exhausted body towards the shore. The wind has turned warm. Distantly, he can hear the singing of crickets. Looking behind him, the galleon is no more, swallowed entirely by the sea. Shark gulps. When he reaches the sand, he collapses onto it with the prince.

He looks down at the young man, clearing away bits of hair from his face.

“Wake up,” urges Shark. “Wake up...”

He pats the prince’s cheek, surprised at its warmth. Surely, Poseidon had to keep his vow. A merman vowing on his eternal life was nothing to be made in jest. Shark grits his teeth. His hands travel down to the prince’s chest. Through the wet fabric, he can feel the distant thump thumping of the prince’s heart. Shark breathes a sigh of relief.

His hands travel to the center of the prince’s chest. If he could correctly recall some of the interesting human tidbits from Dusty’s studies…this was how water could be removed from a human’s lungs. He had laughed at his friend’s reenactment then. Now he wishes he had paid more attention. Pursing his lips, Shark begins to press against the prince’s chest. Up and down he moves until the prince coughs, a thin trail of water trickling from his mouth. Another cough follows. He continues until the prince’s breathing has evened out.

Falling onto the sand in exhaustion, Shark looks down at the prince’s peacefully resting features. Blunt nose. Lips that always seemed to be curved into a small smile. Shark closes his eyes, listening to the sound of the waves against the shore. The atmosphere has changed, from the muggy humidity of a storm to that of a warm summer night. Beside him, he can hear the prince’s steady breathing.

“Thank you,” murmurs Shark. “Thank you.”

Perhaps it would be worth it, trading in the prince’s life for the future lives he could have drowned. Besides, he was already quite close to abandoning the practice anyways. Shark rolls onto his back and looks up at the sky. The clouds have covered the moon, allowing only a very thin sliver of moonlight to illuminate the dark shore.

“Mmm,” sputters the prince. He lets out a weak cough.

“Sshh,” says Shark.

“Who’re you?” whispers the prince.

He coughs a bit more and then opens his eyes. In the dark, he blindly reaches out for Shark. Awkwardly, Shark offers his face.

“Wow, you’re cold,” says the prince, chuckling weakly.

“I am?” asks Shark.

“Yeah. You want my coat? I know it’s wet but…It’s the least I can do.”

Shark eyes the sodden material and shakes his head. The prince’s hands fall away from his face. A part of Shark misses the warmth and life in those fingers.

“It’s alright. I’m always like this,” he replies.

The prince looks around, frowning.

“It’s so dark,” he grumbles. “How did you save me?”

“In the dying lights of the ship I saw you,” lies Shark.

“Is everyone else alright?”

A pit forms at the bottom of Shark’s stomach. He purses his lips.

“I…I could only save you,” he forces out.

The prince’s lips curve into a slight frown. The chasm in Shark’s stomach deepens.

“Sorry,” mumbles Shark.

“We were so far from shore. How did you do it?”

Shark gazes down at the prince’s scarlet eyes, gazing blindly into the darkness of the night. He wonders what the prince could see of him. Briefly, his eyes travel to his tail, partially submerged in the ebb and flow of the waves.

“I prayed and I swam,” replies Shark after a few minutes.

“Who did you pray to?” asks the prince.

“Poseidon. Who else?”

“You worship the god of the sea?”

“My people always have,” says Shark.

“I see…Thanks for saving me. What’s your name?” asks the prince.

“It’s not important,” says Shark quickly.

The young prince chuckles, revealing flashes of white teeth.

“Is it an embarrassing name?”

“N-no!”

Frankly, Shark didn’t know what an embarrassing human name would be. All merfolk were blessed with beautiful names reflecting the vibrant world they dwelled in. But there was no point in letting a human know his name.

“Where are you from? What do you do?” asks the prince.

His curiosity tickles the pit of Shark’s stomach for unknown reasons. He feels a small smile fill his lips. The young prince was just like a little guppy, always questioning everything that passed by his large eyes.

“I’m from…a land beyond the sea,” begins Shark. “My sister and I…we sing.”

“You have a sister? I do too!” exclaims the prince. “She’s really bossy.”

A chuckle escapes from Shark before he can stop himself. He scratches his head in embarrassment.

“Mine too.”

He’s certain to receive an earful the moment he comes back home.

“I guess no matter where you go, sisters never change,” chuckles the prince.

“I guess not.”

In the silence that followed, Shark lies down beside the prince and looks up at the cloudy sky. Beside him, the young man lets out a tired sigh and then a yawn.

“What a way to end a birthday! First I see a face from beneath the ocean, then someone throws a rock at me and then my ship sinks!”

At the mention of the rock, Shark purses his lips and surreptitiously glances at the prince.

“Mmm, what a way indeed,” he agrees. “You think there actually was someone down there?”

The prince vigorously nods, heat filling his cheeks.

“I’m not crazy!” he protests. “It was a beautiful boy with blue eyes, long, purple hair and blue bangs!”

Shark’s tail splashes at the waves during the prince’s description. His heart skips a beat. He rests a hand on his head and turns around, facing the prince.

“What would a face like that be doing in the water?” he asks, his voice wavering at the end.

The prince lets out another frustrated sigh and rests his head behind his folded arms.

“Don’t laugh,” he begins.

“I might,” says Shark with a smirk.

The prince pouts. Then he raises his nose to the sky. He beats his chest with conviction.

“I’m pretty sure that was a young merman, curious about my party!”

Shark’s smirk widens.

“Merfolk aren’t real,” he teases. “Besides, merfolk have far better spectacles than anything a human could ever do.”

In a huff, the prince crosses his arms and looks away at Shark.

“My granny saw one,” he mutters.

“Granny?” muses Shark, the unfamiliar word odd in his mouth.

“Yeah! The dowager! That’s my granny!”

“Er…I see,” replies Shark.

The prince lets out another yawn and then closes his eyes.

“She tells the most fun stories…,” he mumbles.

“Don’t you have to go back to…wherever you came from?” asks Shark.

He’s answered by a head shake. In the warm heat, the prince’s clothes and hair have already dried. With each motion he makes, his red bangs wildly fly about.

“I sometimes sleep under the stars. You can bring me back in the morning,” mumbles the prince.

Shark gazes at the young man, watching in fascination as his breathing slowed. For a human that was so short-lived, he sure was easygoing. Hesitantly, he rolls onto his back and imitates the prince’s pose. He closes his eyes and soon drifts off to sleep.

🎵

“..ma…Yu…ma! Yuma!”

A distant voice stirs Shark from his sleep. Dim morning light washes over him and the prince, who was still sound asleep. In the distance, Shark sees a human girl running down the steps of the beach. Her dress billows in the wind, an attendant hurrying after her. His heart leaps in his throat. Amidst the low tide, the ocean is a few paces away.

“Yuma!” cries the young girl, her voice carried away by the wind.

Shark looks down at the prince. Yuma? Was that his name? He doesn’t know what to make of it. Looking out at the ocean, he quickly edges himself towards the water. If the humans caught him, surely they would kill him. He’s heard far too many stories about colorful fish being scooped into nets and put into small bowls of water. His hands push him towards the water, his tail uselessly sliding against the sand.

As if sensing his desire to return, a wave rushes towards Shark. Desperately, Shark pushes himself towards it, relishing in the familiar feel of the salty water. Like welcoming hands, the wave takes him and pulls him back into the water. He swims towards a nearby rock, watching as the girl arrives by the prince’s side.

“Yuma! Wake up!” calls the girl.

Yuma snorts, rubs his eyes and then wakes up. He sits up in confusion, looking around at the shore. Then he turns to the girl, a huge smile on his face.

“Kotori!” he calls.

The young woman falls to her knees and pulls Yuma close, much to the dismay of her attendant,

“I heard the ship sank!” she gasps. “We were so worried…! I searched all night for you with father’s soldiers!”

Dismay fills Yuma’s face.

“Right…,” he murmurs.

Looking around, Yuma frowns in confusion.

“Where is he…?” he mumbles.

Kotori raises an eyebrow.

“Where’s who?” she asks. “There was only you on the shore.”

Surreptitiously, her eyes turn towards the rock where Shark was hiding. A small smile fills her lips.

“There was a young man!” protests Yuma. “He was the one who saved me! Please, didn’t you see him?”

He turns to the attendant, an elderly woman with thick spectacles. Slowly, the woman shakes her head.

“My grandmother is half-blind and even she saw that you were alone!” scoffs Kotori. She stands up, trying to pull Yuma up with her. “Come on! Everyone is worried sick about you!”

Yuma lets out a groan until Kotori pinches his ear.

“Alright, alright! I’m up!” yelps Yuma. “But we need to find the young man that saved me!”

Kotori turns back to the rock where Shark was hiding. Shark’s heart skips a beat. The young woman smiles and mouths a thank you , before turning away. A chill runs down Shark’s spine and he dives back into the waters, hurrying home.

The waters are calm after the storm. Soon, he approaches schools of fish and the occasional merperson. It seems as if nothing had happened beneath the sea, the waters as peaceful as ever. On the seafloor, the seagrass peacefully sways. From below, the skies seemed as blue and distant as they have always been.

It’s only when he approaches his home that the mood becomes tense. The merfolk he passes by speak in hushed tones, their eyes warily aimed at his and Medaka’s home. Shark hurries towards the cavern of marble and shells.

“Medaka?” he calls.

A pale hand reaches out from the darkness, still tipped with red shells and a matching bracelet. Shark reaches for the hand, only to be roughly pulled in. He lets out a yelp as he sees Medaka’s swollen eyes and deep frown.

“Where were you?!” his sister gasps. “I thought the storm took you!”

“I…”

Medaka shakes her head, the shells from last night jingling angrily in her hair.

“Never mind that…Do you hear what they’re saying about me?! It’s all my fault that there was a storm! I don’t understand why…It was a performance just like the other times…I…”

His sister buries her face into his chest, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. Pearls bead in her eyes and languidly float to the floor of their cave. Shark watches with detached interest. It had been centuries since he had seen Medaka cry. Slowly, he moves to pat her back.

“It’s all my fault…it’s all my fault…,” repeats Medaka.

Shark holds her closer, looking out at the blue waters of their homeland.

“No it’s not…,” he murmurs. “You were doing all you could…”

“But it wasn’t enough!” protests his sister. “I’ve displeased Poseidon…”

Shark purses his lips. Pearls continue to drip onto the floor, leaving behind small puffs of sand in their wake. His sister…always the one with the brightest voice and the most beautiful hair. Always the one to be surrounded by admirers, her laugh carrying across the waters like chimes. When something goes wrong, his sister always takes it to heart.

Surrounded by the white walls of their cavern, with bits of sunlight filtering in from the surface, his sister was still incredibly beautiful. The pearls in her eyes are the color of the sky, azure with a silvery sheen. There were suitors who would fight for his sister’s pearls, claiming her tears as a priceless treasure. A sigh escapes from Shark as he brushes back his sister’s hair.

“There was nothing wrong with your performance. Dusky and I could sense the approaching storm even before your performance,” reassures Shark.

Medaka sniffles.

“Really?” she asks.

“Really,” confirms Shark.

Come to think of it, there truly was something in the wind, even before Dusky had pointed it out, hadn’t there? A slight abundance of humidity in the air…a wetter breeze…

Medaka shakes her head and then pulls away from Shark. She wraps her hands around her arms, staring down at the small pile of pearls that had amassed at her tail.

“What did you see in that storm? What took you so long to come back?” his sister asks.

Memories of Yuma’s laughter and his bright smile fills Shark’s mind. He briefly shakes his head, bubbles floating about.

“A shipwreck,” he said. “A human prince’s shipwreck.”

Medaka’s eyes fill with light, a small smile filling her sallow features.

“Show me! Maybe we can get there before everyone else does! Maybe there’s a crown for me!” she exclaims.

His sister giggles, taking his arm and swimming away. As she pulls him out of the cavern, she wipes her eyes. A small laugh escapes from her throat, wavering at the end.

“Do I look okay? I do, right?” she asks, a hint of desperation in her voice.

With a tired smile, Shark nods.

“I’ll show you to the general area but I won’t go with you,” says Shark.

Medaka tilts her head in curiosity.

“Why not? I thought you loved treasure hunting. I’m surprised you didn’t spend all night picking through the shipwreck!” exclaims his sister.

“I…”

The screams of the lost sailors. The fires, the chaos, the merciless way Poseidon had pulled the ship into its depths, never to be seen by human eyes ever again. His vow, burning through his throat. Shark pulls his hand away from Medaka and forces a smile.

“Nah, I got enough things,” he says. “You go have your fun.”

He swims on, weaving through fields of seagrass and anemone beds. Often, he stops due to Medaka stopping for a conversation with a friend or two. Their conversation is light, yet he can hear the strain in his sister’s voice and the fragility of her smile.

“It must have been Dolphin’s opera,” says Swordfish.

“It must have been Orca’s harp. It was out of tune,” says another.

Medaka takes all of these suggestions with a mere nod and tight lips. From the tightness of her shoulders, Shark knew that his sister had believed none of their reassurances.

“It’s coming up,” says Shark as he swims past a rock.

In the distance, he can see the dark outlines of the grand ship. His heart leaps to his chest. He points to the ship with one hand and then turns to his sister. Medaka follows his finger and beams.

“There,” he says, stopping.

“You sure you’re not coming?” she asks.

Shark shakes his head, swallowing the screams of the sailors. All of those hearts, lungs and warm skins…rendered to cold bits and pieces by the sea. He could smell hints of blood, even from here.

“Yeah. I have to talk to Dusky. He doesn’t know I’m back yet,” he says.

Medaka holds his gaze for a few moments. In the aqua water, her pink and turquoise tail shimmers with an otherworldly glow. She clears a bit of stray hair from her face. Her smile is genuine this time as she swims away.

“Thanks,” she says. “For looking out for me.”

“It’s nothing,” mumbles Shark.

He crosses his arms. As long as he can remember, he’s been by Medaka’s side. They had been hatched from the same egg, viewed as a fascinating oddity by their mentors. It was said that they were born clutching each other’s hands. Since then, they haven’t left each other’s side for long. Even as Medaka found a circle of devoted friends, even as she captivated the hearts of the merfolk, Shark still remained by her side like a shadow.

Shark watches his sister swim away and then lets out a sigh of relief. Quickly, he makes his way towards Dusky’s house. The structure is seemingly a simple thing, made of tightly packed rocks and seaweed. Only those who have wandered inside it know of the deep caverns that tunneled beneath it. Shark’s only been in the anteroom, but he hears that within those caverns were stacks upon stacks of books from millenia ago, written in ancient mermish and even languages before that. Shark never knew where his friend obtained such heavy tomes, but the knowledge Dusky possessed was always useful in one situation or another.

“Dusky!” calls Shark when he arrives at Dusky’s home.

He knocks on a rock.

“Dusky!”

“Just a moment!” calls a distant voice moments later.

His friend must have been deep within the confines of a cavern. Shark lets himself into Dusky’s house and sits himself on a stack of books. Spare pages and books litter the floor, leading deep into the caverns. Shark sighs. How did Dusky get anything done in this mess? It never failed to amaze him to see Dusky actually LIVE in this mess. Shark clutches his arms in discomfort. He can’t even stand being here for even a few minutes.

Soon after, his friend swims up from the caverns and greets him with a relieved sigh.

“Where were you?” he asks.

“At the wreck,” answers Shark laconically.

On the shore with the prince, his warm breath on his scales. Spending a night side by side on the shore, the waves rocking them to sleep.

Dusky sniffs. Then he grabs Shark’s arm and breathes in. His eyes narrow, pupils shrinking into slits.

“You smell like dry sand.”

Shark stiffens and pulls his hand away from his friend.

“What did you do?” presses Dusky.

The conversations they had about sisters and mermaids. The quiet laughter Yuma had. How he had thought that Shark was human, just like he was.

“I saved the prince,” breathes Shark.

Dusky’s mouth opens, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

“You stole from Poseidon?” he utters.

“No! I…I vowed that I would never harm a human again,” says Shark. “I vowed on my eternal life.”

His friend’s mouth opens even wider.

“But that is a right bestowed to all our people,” he begins.

Shark looks out the cracks of Dusky’s home. The water outside is calm and the sunlight is bright. Dusky balls his hand into a fist.

“It’s no longer mine,” he murmurs. “Besides, I don’t really like doing that anymore either.”

Dusky’s tail irritatedly flicks at the floor, sending a pile of silt into the waters.

“What do you mean?!” he asks.

Shark runs his sharp teeth through the edges of his lips. He looks down at his hands, webbed with thin flaps of skin. Rarely does Dusky raise his voice.

“They have hearts. Just like us. They have sisters. They can feel pain, sorrow, joy…”

Shark trails off when he sees Dusky’s dark glare.

“You traded your innate right for a single human,” snaps Dusky. “Who will only live to see a few rotations and then perish.”

“He deserved to live, just like us,” snarls Shark.

Dusky’s eyes narrow. He grabs a stray tendril of Shark’s hair and pulls him closer, golden eyes blazing with fury.

“We don’t live, we’re eternal,” hisses Dusky, teeth bared.

Shark pushes Dusky away, baring his teeth in turn.

“You and the others might not care about them, but I do,” snaps Shark.

“Have worms eaten your brains?!” exclaims Dusky. “What, are you going to join them? Live among them like a shark among anchovies?!”

“And if I did?!” shouts Shark.

His voice seems to bounce against the stone walls, an endless echo traveling deep into the caverns. Dusky’s eyes widen and his mouth shuts. Shark stiffens. After a few moments, his friend’s shoulders loosens and he slumps.

“Do you even know what you’re saying?” utters Dusky.

Shark holds his friend’s gaze. A lump has formed in his throat. He clenches and unclenches his hands. When was the last time they had shouted at each other like this? He runs his eyes down Dusky’s furrowed brows and pressed lips.

“…forget it,” he mutters, swimming out of the house.

As he swims away, he can feel Dusky’s gaze burn into his back. A pang fills his chest.

“Shark!” calls Dusky.

Shark ignores him, forcing himself to keep on swimming in the direction of his cavern.

“Shark!” repeats Dusky.

For some reason, the guilt in Shark’s chest wasn’t as deep as he had expected it to be after confessing how he had truly felt.

🎵

“Shark?”

“Shaaarkkk? Ocean to Shark!” calls Medaka, waving her tail in front of Shark’s face.

Shark startles, his tail kicking up clouds of sand.

“What?!” he snaps.

Medaka shrugs.

“You’ve been out of it for suns now. You sure you don’t have any worms in your brains?”

Shark gives a small shake of his head.

“Of course not,” he grumbles. “I’ve just been…tired.”

Medaka frowns and grabs Shark’s tail, running her eyes down the iridescent scales.

“It’s not fin rot, is it?” she muses. “It’s infectious, you know. I can’t have that for my next performance.”

Much to Medaka’s joy and Shark’s relief, she had been chosen to perform for the merfolk’s next moon ceremony. Although it was the closing ceremony and thus more understated, Medaka still came to Shark with a bright smile and a delighted embrace.

His sister puts her hand on her hips, staring at Shark. He looks at Medaka with a glare.

“Don’t tell me…” muses Medaka. “Suns and suns of bumping into rocks…tripping over piles of sand…getting tangled up in seagrass…Not listening to most of my rants—well, you usually don’t listen much in the first place but now you’ve just made it very obvious…”

Medaka pauses, putting a hand on her cheek. Shark swallows a lump in his throat. No, it couldn’t be…He only thought of the prince every…

Oh, sweet Triton’s conch…

“You’re in love!” gasps his sister, beaming.

She grabs his wrists, spinning him around in their cavern. Bubbles swirl around them, Medaka’s rich laughter bouncing against the marble walls. Already, Shark can see curious merfolk peeking in through the cave’s opening.

“Wh-what?! No!” he snaps, trying to free himself from Medaka’s grip. “D-don’t make up assumptions like that!”

Medaka grins and pulls her face closer to Shark’s, their noses touching.

“Who is it?” she whispers.

“N-no one!” protests Shark.

“My brother’s in LOVE!” shouts Medaka, her final word turning into a trill.

A few merfolk swooned at the perfect note while others began to focus their attention on Shark. Stiffening at the attention, Shark allows Medaka to pull him to the cave’s entrance. He was always used to adoring stares being focused on his sister while he could simply sink to the back of the crowd and slip away unnoticed. To have this many eyes on him at this moment made him feel as if he were a shrimp in the sights of a particularly hungry eel.

“I…I’m not in love!” protests Shark as he is pulled through the crowd of curious onlookers. “You’re just being ridiculous!”

“He’s been so absentminded! And, he’s been talking in his sleep! Have I mentioned the humming?” gushes Medaka.

“I haven’t been humming!” snaps Shark.

He frees his grip from Medaka and shoves his way through the merfolk, hissing at their giggles.

“Maybe you’re the one that has worms in her brains!” he shouts as he hurriedly swims off.

What Medaka had said was true though, as much as he hates to admit it. He’s been tripping over insignificant things and can’t really find himself to even pretend to listen to her at times. It feels like every waking moment since that stormy night has been filled with memories of Yuma. Fronds of red sea grass bring to mind the prince’s red hair. Tiny shells remind him of the wound that he had inflicted on the prince’s forehead. Even a youthful merman’s laugh had reminded him of Yuma, leaving him to swim away in a hurry after he had been caught staring at the merman.

He swallows a lump in his throat, swimming and swimming until he reaches Dusky’s house. After a few moments of hesitation, he knocks on the stone walls.

“Dusky!” whispers Shark.

As always, silence greets him.

“Dusky!” whisper-shouts Shark.

Catfish’s eye peeks out from a hole in the stones. Shark startles.

“Gah!”

“Shark?” asks Catfish.

“Where’s your brother?” asks Shark.

“Out.”

“Where?”

“Looking for books.”

Shark rolls his eyes.

“Doesn’t he have enough of them?”

Catfish laughs. A sharp finger of hers pokes through a hole, nearly jabbing Shark in the eye.

“He does that whenever he’s sad or mad.”

Their argument from a few suns ago fills Shark’s mind. He glares at Catfish’s fingers.

“You don’t mean…”

Catfish’s eyes narrow, a smile surely on her lips.

“I do. You made him sad.”

Shark crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

“Just let me in,” he grumbles. “Everyone thinks I’m in love with some merperson.”

Catfish giggles. Had she and Medaka been talking about this?

“He should be coming home soon,” she says, moving to open the door.

“Shark?” calls a familiar voice.

Shark looks around to find Dusky swimming towards him, a stack of tattered tomes tucked under his arm.

“What are you doing here?” asks Dusky.

“I…I think we should talk,” admits Shark.

His friend’s expression sobers. Beckoning him inside, Dusky swims into his home and places his books on top of the nearest stack. Shark stares at the crowded room and sighs. Catfish giggles and swims out.

“I’ll leave you two alone!” she calls.

After a few moments, Shark closes the door. He looks around the room, finding new piles of books. The rock that he had sat on from a few suns ago was now obscured by three different piles of books.

“You’re going to be buried in these things one day…,” he mutters.

Dusky follows Shark’s gaze and shrugs.

“There’s a system,” he replies laconically. “Now, what do you want?”

“I…”

His friend crosses his arms.

Shark pauses, looking around at the small holes in the walls.

“Can we go somewhere private?” he asks, looking around.

Dusky nods and beckons Shark deeper into his home. After a moment of hesitation, Shark follows. The room narrows and sinks into the ground, leading into a cave lit by purple crystals. Shark slowly follows his friend, navigating his way through caverns upon caverns of books. They stop inside a relatively empty cavern. Dusky pushes a large boulder in the entrance, sealing them in darkness. In the darkness, Shark can make out a bed and a shelf filled with a sparse collection of books.

“I’ve never seen your room before, come to think of it,” he muses.

Dusky shrugs.

“Now you have.”

He sits on the bed, a collection of kelp and seaweed blankets. From across the room, he looks at Shark with a solemn expression. Shark’s heart begins to beat faster, his mouth growing dry and his nails digging into his palms. Shark remains where he is, back to the cold boulder, staring at Dusky’s emotionless eyes and unmoving mouth.

“Do you know how to turn a merperson into a human?” asks Shark after a few moments of silence.

Dusky remains unperturbed. He clasps his hands together. His voice is quiet as he speaks, eyes never moving from Shark.

“Perhaps I do. But why?”

“Because…I…”

“Don’t tell me you’re still thinking of that prince.”

Shark swallows the lump in his throat. He forces himself to look at his best friend, who has followed him through adventure after adventure.

“I want to see him again,” breathes Shark. “That's all I can think about these past few suns.”

He had felt alive in Yuma’s presence, a sensation he hasn’t felt in eons. The young man’s hope and boundless laughter felt like a warmth he had never experienced before.

“Think of what you’d be giving up,” says Dusky, rising to meet Shark. “Eternity for the life of a shrimp.”

“I could come back, couldn’t I?” utters Shark.

Dusky’s eyes narrow. He bares a hint of his teeth.

“Not after you have forsaken Poseidon’s gift,” he growls.

It was a possibility Shark had recognized after all the time he had spent thinking about it. Yet to hear it voiced by his friend fills Shark’s stomach with a hefty weight. The cavern is filled with silence as Shark contemplates his choice. There could be no going back now, this dark desire now revealed to his best friend.

“Think about it,” says Dusky, taking on a more desperate tone. “You’ll never be able to swim in the ocean again or speak our people’s language.”

“I have ,” murmurs Shark. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

His friend shakes his head and swims to Shark’s side. He places a hand on Shark’s shoulder. Their eyes meet and they gaze at each other in silence. Dusky softens his expression, letting out a small sigh.

“Just what is so special about this human?” he asks.

“He makes me feel alive,” replies Shark. “I haven’t felt like that in centuries.”

A flicker of hurt passes by Dusky’s expression. He pulls his hand away from Shark’s shoulder. Shark holds his breath. It felt as if time had stopped in this silent and dark cavern.

After a few moments, Dusky lets out a small sigh.

“I’ll give you until the next full moon to make your decision…,” he breathes. “Remember—there won’t be any going back after this. Not only will you have to trade in your eternal life, you’ll also have to give up your voice. Every step in a world that isn’t yours will be like stepping on glass.”

Shark rests his hand on Dusky’s, holding his solemn gaze.

“I’ll think long and hard,” he promises.

Although, deep down, he already knows his answer.

🎵

“You won’t be coming to see the opening?” asks Medaka as she slides a new golden comb into her hair.

She had found it in the prince’s shipwreck, eliciting envious stares from all of the mermaids that she had passed. Shark gazes at his sister’s reflection in the mirror, smiling at her relaxed posture and blemish-free face. All was back to normal now, the memory of the stormy ceremony a distant moon away. He gently shakes his head, his tail languidly flapping back and forth.

“Nah. I’ll be there for your performance though,” he says.

Medaka quirks a smile.

“You better be.”

Shark returns his sister’s grin, albeit halfheartedly.

“I know,” he says.

“Medaka!” calls Swordfish through the opening of the cave.

Medaka meets her friend’s gaze and smiles. She waves her hand and then slides a pearl bracelet around her wrist.

“Coming!”

Swimming past Shark, Shark quickly grabs her wrist. Medaka startles, looking at her brother with widened eyes.

“Tear a fin,” says Shark.

His sister breaks into a radiant smile. She pulls away from Shark, giving his shark tooth necklace a final tug.

“I don’t need it,” she says.

He watches her go with Swordfish, Catfish and Tarwhine, the group laughing and singing songs together. As always, Medaka had the brightest voice. Shark’s fingers trail to his necklace, wondering when would be the next time he could see Medaka again. Looking out at the waters, the world was dyed a bright orange as the sun began to set. After waiting a few more moments, Shark swims off towards Dusky’s home.

As he makes his way through the familiar routes, he drinks in the sights of the anemones, seagrass and corals that he passed. He wonders if the human world had anything as bright or as beautiful. Above him, a school of fish swim past, hundreds of voices filling the waters as the fish chirped, groaned and burbled in their indecipherable language. Distantly, he sees the outline of a great ray languidly flapping across the waters.

Shaking his head, he hurries on.

In the light of the setting sun, the sand on the seabed glimmered like small jewels. Crabs and lobsters scuttled about, paying Shark little attention. It was almost always like that, wasn’t it? He, the ignored sibling compared to Medaka’s radiance. For the first few days after Medaka’s announcement, he had been endlessly pestered by curious merfolk. Even Medaka’s most persistent admirer, Stonefish, had asked who the lucky merperson was. Shark had pushed them all away with his usual bluster, meanwhile trying to swallow the memories of the prince.

For a merperson to fall in love with a human…It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so blasphemous.

He arrives at Dusky’s house far too soon. Slowly, he raises his fist to the stone walls. Looking up at the distant sky, he takes a deep breath.

Knock knock.

Unlike the eternity that it took for Dusky to usually respond, his friend immediately opens the door. With one look at him, Dusky’s shoulders slump.

“So?” he asks.

“I’m ready,” says Shark.

For a moment, his friend’s brows furrow.

“Just a moment,” he says, swimming back into the house.

Shark once again turns to the skies, watching as the sun sets. Soon, he would be in a world where the sun’s rays would be all-encompassing. A strange land with solid earth and only small reserves of water.

“Alright. Let’s go to the rocks near the lagoon,” says Dusky, reappearing with a tattered tome and a dagger.

Warily, Shark eyes the dagger. Its handle is obsidian black, drinking in all of the light around it. The blade itself is curved like the movements of an eel. As Dusky swims, white flakes flutter from the old tome. Its cover is littered with holes and the pages beneath it are bleached white.

“We’ll do it when the moon is at its highest,” says Dusky. “It’s when Poseidon’s realm is drawn closest to Artemis’ emblem and his power is at its weakest.”

“You’ve done this before?” he asks.

Dusky doesn’t look back at him as he replies.

“Here and there. Small spells and whatnot. A love potion a few moons ago.”

Shark thinks back to Swordfish’s shorn locks. He raises a brow.

“Was that why Swordfish…”

“Oh, no, that was to ensure her sword dealt a killing blow to anything that it touched,” replies Dusky nonchalantly.

“Are you kidding me?! Giving a loose piranha a weapon like that?!”

It’s then that he sees the small smile on Dusky’s lips. Shark lets out a sigh of relief.

“So it was the love potion.”

“Mmmhm. Either she hasn’t used it yet or she didn’t fully read the instructions.”

The two exchange a small laugh. Shark briefly looks down at the colorful world that he was leaving. Quietly, he reaches out for Dusky’s free hand. Tightly, Dusky grasps it, pulling his lips into a thin line.

“I’m only doing this for you because you’re my best friend,” breathes Dusky.

“I know,” utters Shark.

Dusky forces a smile, turning his face up towards the sky.

“It’s been nice knowing you, old friend.”

Shark squeezes his friend’s hand.

“Likewise.”

They reach the surface, Shark breathing in the warm, salty air with a mixture of excitement and pain. Dusky leads him towards an outcrop of rocks. Distantly, they could hear the opening ballad to the merfolk’s ceremony. Together they sit on the rocks, waiting for the sun to set and night to fall. Their hands overlap one another’s.

“Will you take me to the shore where I stayed with him?” asks Shark. “After…”

Dusky nods.

“Where?”

“By the shore with the red sun rocks,” he replies. “By the human village.”

“Alright.”

In silence, they look out at the final glimmers of the sun, swallowed into the ocean’s abyss. Behind them, the moon has started to ascend, its silvery light unblemished by any clouds.

“There’s the Ray,” says Dusky, pointing out a cluster of stars.

“I can see bits of the Kraken,” says Shark.

For a brief moment, their heads touch, their breaths syncopating. A lone seagull flies by, letting out a shrill caw. Shark closes his eyes, listening to the distant songs of the full moon ceremony.

“Will you listen to Medaka’s closing performance in my stead?” asks Shark.

“Of course, old friend,” says Dusky.

Shark can imagine the hint of disappointment that would fill his sister’s face once she can’t find him among the crowd. A pang fills his chest. Surely, Medaka would be fine without him. She would have her friends to support her. Those silly, loving friends of hers…More silence fills the air.

Together, Dusky and Shark used to be able to talk for ages about everything and nothing at the same time. He doesn’t remember any of those conversations, truth be told. But this one, with all of its silence and scarcity, where only the most important things are uttered…this will stay in his heart for eternity.

“Do you…want to sing?” he asks Dusky after a few moments.

Dusky looks at Shark with a small smile.

“I’d love to.”

“Which song?” asks Shark.

Dusky motions with his hand.

“Any one you’d like.”

Distantly, he can hear the familiar notes of a battle hymn. Shark rests his head on his elbows.

“What about the one about the red shell?” he asks.

Dusky raises an eyebrow.

“Are you certain? That one is…”

He trails off, a smile filling his face.

“Alright.”

Shark grasps Dusky’s hand. They look up at the canopy of stars soaring over then, blessed by the light of the moon. Once again, their eyes meet and the song wells up in their chest.

I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you

A story that is deep and true

One of the brave warrior Astakos and his beloved bride Zargana

Separated by a dispute of the gods, Astakos vowed his red shell to protect Zargana

For in those times, our people had truly been one with our namesakes

“Do not worry, my sweet, for this shell is only for you to take,” promised Astakos as he set off to war.

Off he went, clashing against the beasts of the land with their sharp fangs and hard hooves

The nights were long, the sun too bright and the waters far too distant

Moons upon moons rose and set, Astakos dancing about the fiery waters

Whilst Zargana, poor maid, had thought herself a widow.

She set off to the distant battlefields, arriving at a field of red shells

She littered the red field with her pink pearls, so endless was her sorrow

“Oh, what good does war do when it only births widows and empty red shells?” lamented the mermaiden.

Above, the raging gods continued to clash in their wars, deaf to her pleas.

Determined to find Astakos’ shell, Zargana swam off into the distant waters of the cold North, a land where no god of hers paid audience to

Once the war subsided, weary Astakos returned to a home without Zargana’s laughter and love

Betrayed by Zargana’s desertion, the warrior withdrew into his shell

How silent the fates were, how unseeing the gods were to the lovers’ plight that to this day Zargana swims alone in the icy waters of the north whilst Astakos slumbers in his red shell

A grin fills Shark’s lips as their melody is carried off by the waves.

“If I’m blaspheming tonight, then I’m going to commit it as much as possible,” he says.

Dusky exchanges a matching grin. Above them, the moon shines full and brought. Shark follows his gaze and lifts his tail from the surface, iridescent scales sending droplets filled with rainbows into the sea.

“It’s time,” murmurs Dusky, clutching the dagger in his hand. “Are you certain?”

Shark gazes into Dusky’s earnest eyes. His chest tightens as he nods.

“I am.”

With a sigh, Dusky slides into the water, positioning the dagger above Shark’s tail. Shark takes a deep breath, staring at the dagger’s dark blade and Dusky’s grim expression.

“Open to the 73rd page,” instructs Dusky. “It’ll be the page with the large inkspill behind it.”

Shark takes the tome into his shaking hands, wondering if it would disintegrate at his touch. Gingerly, he grabs a pile of the delicate pages and flips past them. The ancient mermish swims before his eyes, yet his memories from school slowly bubble up. He immediately knows when he has arrived at the correct page, the ink stain behind it nearly swallowing up the words on this page. Through the ink, he can make out the title Ondine’s Doomed Desire.

Dusky follows Shark’s gaze and nods. Then he looks up at the sky.

“Hurry. We don’t have much time. Read the incantation.”

“Hold on…It’s been a while since I’ve read ancient mermish…” mutters Shark.

He takes a deep breath.

“ L…llm…”

Shark swallows, his throat growing dry.

“Llm oor et ee ays et poris,” he reads after a few moments. “ Pase, aber rye meor sx oo ss mg cae ee ae.”

Beneath the moon I weep. Father, turn away from this sinful plea.

Shark takes a deep breath, forcing himself to continue.

“Py. Oe at. Ec alae eye ee i Se SO Gah Prater. re TS tye.”

May this undeserving blood wash away this body of mine.

With his lips pursed into a thin line, Dusky plunges the dagger in Shark’s tail and pulls it down. Shark lets out a scream, a hand shooting out to grasp Dusky’s hair. Pearls beads in his eyes as he continues to read the spell. Dusky grits his teeth in effort as he pulls the blade down, slowly splitting Shark’s tail in half.

“Fo - aa Cw ea BOER aie aa. Sean ro wT SEP te Te o ora Mise nS ge…! Vo wane wre Tag ek ate rasa a Se oe ROBE ee, Cte all!” screams Shark.

Fins to skin. Tail to feet. Flippers to hands. Scales to hairs. Pearls to water.

Shark can feel pearls tumbling down his cheek as the webbing recedes from his hands. He digs his nails into the pages of the worn tome. His blood is bright red as it pools into the ocean. Dusky’s hands are completely covered in blood as well. Yet he remains determined, his grip on the blade unwavering.

“Give me that!” shouts Dusky as he reaches out for the book. “Now, together!”

Awkwardly, the two run their eyes over the last few sentences.

“ A Mees soy ey ky Me pe ER elt A rn Soe ea Seg ee a, a cre or RTS. i, a EN RRR LS Ne ee, ORS ZONES, BO RPS SEY og CE ER ge Td SRST !” they cry together, Dusky’s blade exiting Shark’s tail.

Upon the final word being uttered, Shark can feel his throat seizing up. His hands fly to his throat as he lets out a choked scream. Only a small mewl escapes from his throat, soon turning into a sharp exhale. Then, silence. He looks down at his split tail, its color lightening and the halves stiffening. Fear fills Shark’s chest as Dusky takes him into his arms, hurriedly swimming towards the red sunning stones.

As the songs from the full moon gathering fades away, Shark’s human heart begins to beat louder in his chest. He clutches Dusky’s shoulder, flecks of ocean water touching his grayish toes. Carefully, Dusky places Shark onto the shore. Beneath the moonlight, Shark looks at his pale skin. Now, his toes are a rosy pink, flecked by small nails. He looks at them in wonderment, pulling them to his hands. When he opens his clenched fist, a handful of blue pearls tumble out.

Looking up at Dusky, he smiles.

Thank you, he mouths.

Dusky rests his forehead against Shark’s.

“I hope you’ll find happiness,” he says, his voice wavering at the end.

Shark clutches Dusky’s face in his hands, marveling at the warmth his fingers radiated. He presses their foreheads closer. Dusky pulls Shark into a tight embrace. His friend’s voice is a bare whisper, almost carried away by the wind.

“Every step will feel like stepping on shards of glass. You will have no voice. And…,” Dusky’s voice trails off, something hard bouncing off of Shark’s shoulder. “By sunrise, if your feet touch ocean water again, you’ll turn into seafoam.”

Shark’s shoulder slackens at the final warning. A chill runs down his spine. He closes his eyes, knowing that this would be a final farewell. Dusky pulls him closer once more. Something hard tumbles to the sand.

“May the waves be with you,” he utters.

Voiceless, Shark can only raise his hand and watch as his dearest friend swims away. Giving Shark one last look, Dusky waves, his eyes filled with pearls. Before they can fall from his eyes, he dives deep into the ocean, praying that the pearls would be carried towards the shore.

🎵

“Woah! Are you okay?!” shouts a distant voice.

Shark jumps awake, turning towards the voice. A green-haired girl runs towards him, clutching her skirts in her hands. Behind her, an elderly woman calls for her in an exasperated voice.

“Kotori! Don’t just approach ruffians on the beach like that! For decency’s sake, he’s unclothed!”

Shark stares at the approaching girl. She turns back to the woman and sticks her tongue out.

“You act as if I’ve never seen a naked man before! Yuma and I practically grew up bathing together!”

At the mention of Yuma, Shark sits up straighter. He tries to recall the name of the familiar girl. It was something that began with ‘Ko,’ like coconuts.

“Are you okay?” asks “Koconut.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a few moments. Then, “Koconut’s” eyes widen and her hands fly to her mouth as recognition fills her face. Quickly, she peels off her dark blue coat and wraps it around Shark’s shoulders.

“You must be freezing! Have you been like this the entire night?” asks “Koconut,” her voice now a high-pitched whisper.

Slowly, Shark nods.

“I can bring you inside and the servants can help you get dressed. Are you looking for Yuma?”

Another nod.

“Koconut” beams and takes Shark’s hand. The warmth sends a prickle down Shark’s spine. He frowns as he slowly stands up. When he takes a step forward, pain shoots up his legs. He collapses back into the sand, where he lands on a clutch of pearls. Surreptitiously, he gathers them into his fist.

“Are you okay?!” asks “Koconut.”

“Kotori!” calls Grandmother Yone. “You can’t take him home! What would your mother and father say?”

“Just look at him! He’s hurt!” protests “Koconut.”

Shark quickly shakes his head and forces himself to stand again, the pain once more stabbing his legs. He bites his lip and forces a smile at “Koconut.” Motioning towards the stairs from where “Koconut” and her grandmother came, he begins to walk towards the stairs.

“He’s walking just fine! Don’t you think he’s planning something?” asks Grandmother Yone as “Koconut” walks Shark across the beach.

“We’ve met before! Kind of,” says “Koconut” with a nervous smile.

She exchanges a nervous smile with Shark.

“I’m Kotori, by the way. What’s your name?”

Oh. Kotori. Right. Shark looks down at the sand and then the ocean. Awkwardly, he places a hand on his throat and then shakes his head. His companion frowns, putting her free hand on her chin.

“Do you know how to write?”

Shark shakes his head.

“I’ll teach you!” pipes up Kotori excitedly. “You know, on Sundays, I help out at the school in the village! I teach little children who can’t afford to pay for classes how to read! It’ll be super fun!”

How easily the words flowed from the girl’s mouth. How easily she could tell her stories and infuse it with her joyous emotions. Shark had taken this ability for granted, communicating with grunts and muttering when he couldn’t be fully bothered to communicate. Now, even grunting has been taken away from him. A pang fills his chest.

“How did you even make it here? I’m glad I found you, though! I always go to the beach in the mornings. It does wonders for my skin!” continues Kotori. “Was the journey dangerous? Did you use magic? You know magic, right?!”

Shark frowns at her and motions to his throat. Kotori gasps and places her hand on her mouth.

“Right! Sorry.”

They approach the stone steps leading up to a large mansion. Kotori slowly walks up the steps, her grip firm on Shark’s. He looks at the young woman whose cheeks were flushed with red and whose eyes were sparkling with life.

“You chose the right time to come. Yuma’s visiting today,” says Kotori. “He does that in his free time.”

At the mention of the young prince’s name, a strange heat fills Shark’s cheeks. He looks down at the stone steps, slowly ascending them. Pain continues to fill every step he takes. But, if his legs could bring him to his prince, then everything would be worth it. Beside him, Kotori chuckles.

“Before I forget, thank you. For saving his life,” she breathes. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Warmth—a different kind than the one he felt around Yuma—fills Shark’s chest. It felt familiar, almost. As if he were with Medaka or Dusky. Maybe things on land weren’t so different after all.

🎵

“Hey, Kotori!” calls Yuma’s voice from the window.

Shark perks up and watches as Kotori runs to the window. She opens it and waves to her friend.

“Come on in!” she shouts. “I have a guest who wants to see you!”

She turns back to Shark with a grin, hooking her arm around his. Together, they descend the winding staircase. Kotori’s parents had welcomed Shark with raised brows. However, with enough explanation (they had found Yuma’s body together and then agreed to become pen pals), her parents relented and allowed Shark to stay in their home. From the way her parents sighed, Shark knew that they were used to appeasing their daughter.

When the butler opens the door to the young prince, Shark’s heart stops. He stiffens as Kotori runs up to Yuma and pulls her friend towards him. Yuma greets Shark with a boyish grin.

“Hey there! What’s your name?” he asks.

Shark opens his mouth, only for nothing to come out. Dismay fills his features. Now how would Yuma recognize him? In the darkness, he had only heard Shark’s voice.

“I’m sorry. He’s mute. But, he came a long way to see you,” explains Kotori.

Shark can only nod, each breath more painful than the last. He grasps Yuma’s outstretched hand, begging, begging for him to recognize the feel of his fingers in his. Yuma’s expression remains unchanging, the bright yet empty smile still on his face.

“I see!” says Yuma. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

We’ve already met. Shark’s smile wavers. He lets go of Yuma’s hand and then points to the sea. Through the glass, it feels so distant and small, framed between trees and rocks. Then he points back to himself and mimes out a swimming motion with his hands. Confusion fills Yuma’s expression.

“Oh, wow. That’s a long way, isn’t it? You swam across the sea just for me?”

Shark vigorously nods. He swam, he bled and cried for him. From his pocket, he fishes out one of the pearls he had kept from the shore. He mimes it falling from his eyes and then presents it to Yuma.

Yuma stares at the bluish gray pearl with an open mouth.

“Oh, no…I possibly can’t. My family has a ton of…”

Kotori elbows Yuma, eliciting a squawk of pain from the prince.

“That’s a mermaid tear, isn’t it? Don’t you know how precious that is?!”

She briefly glances up at Shark, her brows furrowed.

“Are you sure?” she asks him.

Shark replies with a fervent nod. He had more where that came from.

Awkwardly, Yuma takes the pearl and holds it up to the sunlight. Then he sticks it in his mouth, much to Shark and Kotori’s dismay.

“Oh, thanks,” he says, spitting out the pearl after Kotori kicks his foot.

“They’re not edible!” she snaps.

“I know! I was just testing to see if it was real!”

“You do that with gold, not with pearls!”

Shark smiles. With a grin, Kotori leads the both of them to the couch. Yuma pockets the pearl and plops himself onto the soft cushions. Placing his arms behind his head, he turns to Shark with an inquisitive look.

“What makes a foreigner like you interested in meeting me? I know I’m a prince, but you have your own princes, right?”

No. Beneath the sea, all merfolk were seen as equal. True, there were some that were more popular than others, but they were seen more as idols than true leaders. Shark stares at his feet, placing a hand on his chin, imitating Kotori. He shakes his head.

“A land without a prince, huh…?” muses Yuma. “You have a king or a queen?”

Another headshake.

Yuma’s brows jump up.

“You must be from Venusia! Is it true that everyone there has a voice in how the government functions?!”

Kotori stifles a smile at Shark’s bewildered expression. Yes, every merperson had a voice beneath the sea, but regarding the sea creatures…Long before Shark’s hatching, his people had been able to communicate with the fish. Only when a mermaid, full of hubris and pride, had challenged the Sea-Mother Aphritite to a singing contest had they lost their connection to the sea creatures. When he was young, he had attempted to speak to the fish. They merely stared at him in wide-eyed confusion, just like how he looked now when Yuma asked him about Venusia.

Once, again, he shakes his head, heat filling his cheeks. He wishes he knew how to make the prince understand. His nails dig into the unfamiliar “pants” that he wears. It had seemed so easy in his fantasies. Once he made it on shore, Yuma would take him to his palace and together, they would travel the lands above. Shark would always feel warm and alive, the sun always shining on his skin.

“Well then…where are you from?” asks Yuma.

Shark points to a picture of the ocean hanging above the fireplace. Yuma follows his stare.

“A lighthouse?” he muses.

Another headshake. Shark emphasizes his pointing, focusing on the blue tones of the ocean.

“The sky?”

Shark gives Kotori an exasperated stare. The young woman gives him a helpless shrug. Sighing, Shark points out the window towards the sea. Then, he makes a motion of waves with his hands. Yuma laughs.

“You can’t be from the ocean! Humans can’t breathe in water! You’re so funny!”

Without warning, Shark jabs his finger onto the fading wound on Yuma’s head and then points to himself, miming a throwing motion.

“Ah…!” exclaims Yuma, pulling away from Shark’s touch.

Shark immediately stops, a pit forming in his stomach. Kotori gasps.

It was me who did that, can’t you see? thinks Shark desperately, holding Yuma’s wounded gaze. Slowly, he points to himself again and then motions throwing.

“Oh, yeah. That happened on my birthday. You guessed right. Someone threw something at me,” mumbles Yuma.

Were all humans this oblivious? Shark bites his lip in frustration and balls his hands into fists. He motions to Kotori to grab something for him to draw on. Nodding, Kotori hurries off. In the silence that follows, Shark moves closer to Yuma. In response, Yuma slightly pulls away. A pang fills Shark’s chest. Hesitantly, he reaches out towards Yuma’s forehead. Slowly, Yuma meets his hand. His skin is warm and soft, nothing like the rough scales of the merfolk.

Shark lowers his head, cheeks burning with shame.

“ Sorry, ” he mouths.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t you who did it,” murmurs Yuma.

With a sigh, Shark shakes his head and then points to himself. Yuma grins and pulls away from Shark.

“You’re funny, whatever your name is.”

He doesn’t even know his name. Shark looks down at his feet, inches away from the floor. Now what?

“Here you are,” says Kotori placing a piece of paper and charcoal before Shark.

Nodding, Shark takes the charcoal and begins to draw himself beneath the sea with a tail. Above, he draws a ship with Yuma and the approaching storm. Perhaps it was foolish, revealing to a human that he had once been a merman, but there was no turning back after his decision.

“Oh, wow…,” begins Yuma. “How did you know?”

Scoffing, Shark circles himself, the charcoal snapping in half in his frustration. Yuma purses his lips.

“No, it can’t be,” he says, forcing a chuckle. “Merfolk aren’t real.”

Glaring at Yuma, Shark tosses half off the charcoal at Yuma’s forehead.

“Hey!” shouts Kotori.

“Ow! Why did you have to do it right…”

Yuma pauses, watching Shark’s sketch on the other side of the paper. On a sandy shore was the bedraggled prince. Beside him was Shark. Above them was a dark and cloudy sky. Yuma’s hand slowly falls from his forehead.

“No, the person who saved me could talk,” mumbles Yuma, turning away from Shark. “You can’t be him.”

“Yuma!” whisper-shouts Kotori.

In the remaining space of the paper, Shark draws himself with a dagger, slicing his tail in half to form legs. He had already broken the rule of revealing himself to a human. He shouldn’t drag in Dusky as well. Pointing to the image, he then points to his throat and motions it flying away. He stares at Yuma, pleading for him to understand. How else could he have known of these events, unless Yuma had told everyone he knew?

An awkward smile fills Yuma’s lips.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “All I knew about him was his voice. If you can’t speak, then…well, it’s a bit of a serious topic, finding the man that saved a prince’s life. I have to be really certain.”

Dismay fills Shark’s chest, deeper than the trenches of The Sea Mother’s Grief. He watches as Yuma turns to the clock and then stands.

“That’s about all the time I have for today. I have a lot of meetings to attend and Akari’ll bite my head off if I come to them late. I’ll see you later!” says Yuma.

“Oh! Bye!” says Kotori.

She reaches into her pocket and presents Yuma with something wrapped in a handkerchief. Immediately, Yuma’s face lights up, similar to the time he was on the ship. Shark’s heart twists with envy as Kotori beams in return.

“I was about to ask if you had any treats waiting for me!” he says. “Tell Chef I said thanks!”

Before Shark could beg for him to wait, Yuma runs off. Shark watches him in silence, his skin cold just like when he was beneath the waves.

🎵

“S-H-A-R-K,” spells out Kotori. “Shark. That’s your name?” she asks.

Shark nods, admiring his handiwork. The quill pen had taken ages to grow accustomed to. It was nothing like the flexible squid ink quills. Kotori smiles and then puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re a fast learner, Shark.”

Shark scoffs. He’d been alive for centuries. Of course he was a fast learner. Even if the feather quill had taken a while to grow used to.

“Lady Kotori! His royal majesty is here!” calls Grandmother Yone.

Kotori perks up along with Shark. Despite their awkward initial meeting, the memories on the shore continued to fill his mind. Together, they run down the stairs, the pain erased with the thought of seeing Yuma again.

“Yuma!” calls Kotori as she enters the receiving room.

Yuma stands upon seeing her, crumbs lining the tray of treats he was busily eating from.

“Hey!” he says, his mouth stuffed with cookies.

When he sees Shark, his smile slightly fades. Shark’s heart skips a beat.

“I was thinking we could go for a carriage ride today! It’s lovely weather,” says Yuma.

“Yes! I think Shark would like it too!” says Kotori, pulling Shark close.

Color fills Shark’s cheeks as Yuma’s attention turns to him, his eyebrows quirked.

“Shark…?” muses Yuma.

“Yeah! I’ve been teaching him how to read and write and today, he wrote his name!”

“Shark, like the fish?”

Not a fish, but, close enough. Shark nods.

“That’s a really cool name!” says Yuma. “You know, I went across the desert and met a scholar named Leo! That means lion in his language!”

Shark nods, unsure exactly what a lion was. For the umpteenth time, he wishes Dusky was by his side. Surely, Dusky would know all of these strange terms. Meanwhile, he had just familiarized himself with what was a fork, plate, spoon and napkin. Now he had to learn about what a ‘lion’ was?

“Let’s go to the market. I’ve been craving some of Miss Okudaira’s caramel apples!” says Yuma.

Kotori nods in agreement. She turns to Shark.

“You do want to go, right? I don’t want you to go somewhere you don’t…”

Quickly, Shark nods. He dashes over to the door and begins putting on his boots. Kotori laughs and hurries over.

“Alright! All three of us, embarking on an adventure!”

Slipping on her shoes, Kotori opens the door.

“Grannie, I’m going!” she calls.

“She’ll be in good hands!” yells Yuma afterwards.

Hooking arms, the two exchange smiles and walk out the door. For a moment, Shark is transfixed, caught in between their youthful smiles. A brief flicker of pain fills his chest. He walks out the door and closes the door behind him. Ahead of him, Kotori whispers something in Yuma’s ear and he laughs. The pain intensifies. Once, he also had someone to whisper in his ear. Medaka and Dusky’s faces fill his mind, their faces slowly losing their sharpness by the week.

Over Kotori and Yuma’s laughter, Shark wonders when he’ll be unable to recall their faces.

He sits at the end of the carriage, hands folded in his lap. Yuma sits in between, the reins of the horses in his hands. Shark eyes the large creatures with wariness, the strange devices on their eyes serving no apparent purpose. With a flick of his wrist, the horses jump to life. Shark startles, his hand falling on Yuma’s lap. The young prince briefly stares down at Shark’s hand.

“Did you have horses from where you came from?” he asks.

Shark shakes his head.

“No horses?!” exclaims Yuma. “How did you get around?”

Shark creates a swimming motion with his hands.

“You crawled?” asks Yuma incredulously.

His eyes nearly pop out of his head. Shark stifles a derisive snort. For a prince, he sure was thick. Maybe the seashell Shark tossed at him did some damage. Humans were very delicate, after all. If so, Shark was wholly responsible for the prince’s sand-filled head and was determined to take care of him his entire life.

Shark shakes his head and waves his hand. Nevermind. Yuma frowns.

“You should take me to your country sometime. It sounds like you could use some improvements,” notes Yuma.

The derisive snort escapes from Shark. As if these short-lived humans could teach his people something. With a shrug, Yuma flicks the reins of the horses and lets out a cry. Shark jumps as the large animals leap into motion. He wraps his hands around Yuma, blushing as Yuma looked down at him in confusion. Immediately, Shark pulls away, his skin hotter than a deep sea vent.

Fins are a perfectly good way to travel.

The land before them is an array of colors, similar to that of a coral reef. A cold breeze stirs through the air, swirling orange and yellow leaves around. Unlike the verdant trees of summer, these trees are in shades of sunset. Medaka would have loved this. Yuma whistles a gaily tune, Kotori joining in with her singing. Shark looks at the couple in envy, his hand clutched around his throat. If Dusky had read more books, would there have been a way for him to keep his voice and have legs at the same time? It would have solved so many problems…

He pictures him and Yuma singing together, the full moon shining down on them. If he could still talk, he would have taught Yuma all the mermish hymns he knew. Maybe they would like the same songs.

The clouds pass by them like flocks of sheep, white and fluffy. Shark raises his nose to the air and smells the familiar earthy smell of rain in the distance.

Trees soon begin to thin out, giving way to small human settlements. Atop of Kotori and Yuma’s laughter, the sounds of other humans fill the air. Laughter, whinnying, shouting…It’s almost like a concert. Shark perks up, looking at the colorful stalls and vast array of people. At the top of the village is a large structure with high towers and white marble walls.

Perhaps the humans weren’t as depraved or barbaric as his people had thought.

“Woah!” calls Yuma, pulling on his horses’ reins. He turns to Shark and gives him a smile. “We’re here! What do you think?”

Following Shark’s wide-eyed gaze towards the castle, Yuma’s smile turns into a grin.

“Yup! That’s where I live! Isn’t it gorgeous? My great, great grandfather built it with his bare hands! But let’s go! Mrs. Okudaira’s caramel apples never last long!”

He hops off the carriage, helping Shark and Kotori down. Linking arms, the three begin to walk into the village square.

“Your majesty! Lady Kotori!” call passerby, bowing to the prince.

Yuma greets his subjects with his lively smile, waving at children and merchants. Kotori accepts the greetings with a slight bow of her head.

“And who’s the purple-haired lad?” calls a man.

“This is our friend, Shark!” replies Kotori.

Shark turns towards the sound of the voice and waves to the man. The elderly man looks at him and puts a hand on his chin.

“Looks a bit thin! Have you been treating him well?”

Kotori laughs, her laughter akin to the ringing of bells.

“Of course! He came a long way to meet me!”

Tightening her grasp around Yuma’s arm, Kotori drags him and Shark towards a stall laden with treats. The vast array of color dazzles Shark’s eyes. A woman whose hair was tied back by a cloth greets the three with a smile.

“I knew you’d be here! I saved some apples just for you,” she says, handing Kotori a basket of caramel apples.

“Thank you!” says Kotori, handing Mrs. Okudaira a pouch of coins.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly…!” laughs the woman, turning her gaze to Yuma. “You’ve already done so much for my son.”

Yuma blushes and scratches the back of his head.

“Aw, it was just a little letter of recommendation…,” he chuckles.

“Nonsense. It meant the world to Fuuya to be able to study in Venusia,” she says, her gaze turning to Shark. “Have you made yourself a new friend?”

The prince turns to Shark and gives him a lopsided grin. Enraptured by the colorful treats, Shark startles upon hearing Yuma’s voice.

“Any friend of Kotori’s is mine,” he replies.

A hint of color fills Shark’s cheeks. He gazes at the shopkeep, wishing he could ask her what all of her strange wares were.

“What’s your name?” asks Mrs. Okudaira.

Once again, a pang fills Shark’s chest. How he had taken his voice for granted…Now he can’t even tell anyone his name.

“His name’s Shark. He’s a mute,” explains Kotori.

The woman’s eyes widen.

“Oh, my apologies…”

Shark points to a colorful array of seashells, gazing at their light colors with curiosity.

“This?” asks Mrs. Okudaira to Shark’s nod. She smiles. “These are my powdered seashells. Would you like to try one?”

Shark nods. As the soft shell is placed into his hand, he’s surprised to find that it’s made of a sand-like texture. Slowly, he places it in his hair to peals of laughter.

“You’re supposed to eat it, silly!” says Yuma.

“He’s from overseas. He’s still getting used to a few things,” explains Kotori to a giggling Mrs. Okudaira.

With his face aflame, Shark removes the shell and places it into his mouth. The cold, chalky texture makes him wince. It was like eating a mouthful of sand! What were these humans putting in their bodies?!

“Oh, dear…not to your liking?” asks Mrs. Okudaira.

Shark vehemently shakes his head. The shopkeep chuckles.

“It’s a bit of an acquired taste, I know…”

She takes a small pearl from a bowl and offers it to Shark.

“Here’s something that always sells. It’s a candied cherry.”

The red pearl glistens in the bright sunlight. Hesitantly, Shark reaches out for it. He looks to Kotori and Yuma. Both of them motion to their mouths. Placing it on his tongue, he’s surprised to find it sweet and pliant. Slowly, he chews.

“Better?” asks Mrs. Okudaira.

Shark nods.

“That’s good to hear,” she says, turning to Kotori. “Where is your friend from?”

“He’s the son of Drahalenese sailors,” says Kotori. “He’s been on water more than land!”

“My, how interesting!”

Shark’s attention wanders off as Kotori and Yuma begin to talk about people and things he doesn’t know. He’s drawn to the distant sound of human music, with its high pitched tones and looping melodies. Unlinking his arm from Yuma, he wanders through the market square until he finds the source. A bevy of maidens and young men have gathered to dance, their heads bedecked by autumnal wreaths. By the wall, a small band plays, their instruments unfamiliar to Shark. He gazes down at the long bow and strings of one instrument. Then he turns to see a stick with holes drilled into it, emitting high pitched squeaks. Slowly, he feels himself drawn closer and closer to the dancers and the band.

Although the music was unfamiliar, everything else reminded him of the merfolks’ celebrations. Medaka, like the maidens here, would dress herself in finery. Then she would arrive to the celebration, immediately surrounded by hopeful partners. Shark and Dusky would remain in the back, watching as their friends and neighbors danced. Celebrations would last for hours, filled with singing and dancing. Often, Shark and Dusky would sneak out once everyone had their fill of kelp wine. As the merfolk celebrated, the two friends would go to the surface to stargaze.

In the cool night air, they would talk about their dreams and softly sing together. Sometimes, they would just hold hands and gaze into the vast expanse of the heavens.

“Shark!” calls Yuma, jolting Shark from his memories. “There you are!”

Shark turns to see Yuma, his mouth stuffed with caramel apple. He holds one out to Shark.

“There’s one for you too!”

Slowly, Shark takes the apple from Yuma. He looks up at Yuma’s hopeful eyes. Hesitantly, he takes a bite, surprised at the stickiness. The sweetness of the sugar and the tartness of the apple makes him stare into the distance. Then he swallows and takes another bite. It was almost like biting into a glazed pufferfish.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” exclaims Yuma.

Shark nods despite not being sure what to make of it. Yuma’s gaze moves past him and towards the dancers.

“Have you danced before?” he asks abruptly.

Shark swallows a particularly large chunk of apple and then shakes his head. Yuma’s mouth opens into a small “o.”

“I can teach you! Right! You’re invited to the ball next week! I almost forgot!”

Ball? Kotori never told him about that. Shark takes another large bite of the apple, the sweetness now overpowering the apple.

“After you finish the apple, we can dance!”

Already, a curious crowd is gathering around them. Shark can feel his skin begin to heat up at all the attention he was receiving. He opens his mouth wide and tears the apple off of its stick. Yuma claps his hands in delight, eyes filled with admiration.

“That’s so cool! You should teach me how to do that! I can only fit a few pancakes in my mouth but it looks like you can fit in a whole dish!” gushes Yuma.

Maybe he was just a particularly dumb human, thinks Shark as he tosses the stick aside. Immediately, Yuma grabs his hands and pulls him into the crowd. The warmth of his skin never fails to surprise Shark.

“See, here’s how we dance in my kingdom…,” begins Yuma. “No matter what ball you’re going to, there will always be the Utopos Quadrille.”

With smiles on their faces, the dancers around them begin to get into position. The array of color, smells and steps meld into one, increasing Shark’s heart rate and the heat on his cheeks. Yuma’s hold is firm as he teaches Shark to dance, his instructions delivered with enthusiasm. It’s similar to our circles, thinks Shark as the music starts up. I haven’t been in a circle for moons.

His steps are stumbling at first, the strange music out of sync with his steps. Yuma corrects him with a gentle smile. Heat flares up in Shark’s chest as he steps on Yuma’s shoe.

“It’s alright,” says Yuma. “I did that all the time with my poor sister.”

He punctuates his statement with a grin.

“Now I know how it feels.”

The heat in Shark’s chest intensifies. He looks down at his feet for the next few moments, begging this strange body of his to obey. With each step he takes, pain shoots up his legs. Despite this, he forces himself to continue on, his fingers laced through Yuma’s like seaweed. He can’t bring himself to let go, not when he feels this alive.

“Wow, you’re a fast learner!” exclaims Yuma.

Now that Shark thinks of it, the quadrille was a circle but with legs. He turns, gazing at Yuma’s radiant expression. The other dancers part ways, leaving them in the circle.

“It’s our turn to be in the center! Let’s go!”

One step. Two step. Three step. Four. For a moment, Shark feels as if he’s floating in water again, light and airy. He ignores everyone’s curious eyes on him, focused only on his prince. They’re in sync, step for step, twirl for twirl. A hint of sweat has beaded Yuma’s brow. His vibrant smile remains as he and Shark dance. Briefly, it feels as if time has stopped and Shark’s legs are no longer in pain. Then they twirl back into the crowd, allowing another couple into the circle.

A droplet falls at Shark’s feet, darkening the ground at his feet. Shark looks down and then looks up. Another droplet splashes on his nose.

“It’s just a sprinkle,” reassures Yuma. “I’ve seen a lot more rain sailing.”

Shark nods in agreement. They watch as the couples take their turns in the center, the rain increasing its intensity. Slowly, the square empties, yet the two remain with the musicians shielded by an overhand. Yuma looks down at Shark, a shyer smile on his lips.

“Before we go back, can I teach you my favorite dance?”

Of course. Anything to keep this feeling alive, thinks Shark as he nods. He hasn’t felt this…warm…since…he can’t even remember. Grasping Yuma’s hands, they turn towards the musicians. Yuma exchanges a wink with them.

“This one is simple. It’s called ‘the sea.’”

Indeed, the steps are simple. Two steps forward, one backward. Swaying in each other’s arms like ocean waves. They twirl and part, like two ships in a storm. Despite the pouring rain, it feels as if Shark’s pain has been replaced by a warmth he can’t describe. After a few practiced steps, the music swells and Yuma’s grip around Shark tightens. Once again, it feels as if Shark is floating in the water again, surrounded by the comforts of home.

Yuma pulls him closer, his head resting on Shark’s shoulder.

“I showed my grandmother your pearl,” murmurs Yuma. “She says it’s a real mermaid tear. How did you get that?”

Shark stiffens. Then he looks at Yuma. For once, the prince’s expression is serious. Shark’s heart skips a beat. He takes a deep breath and raises his index finger to the bottom of his eye and pulls it down, miming a tear. Yuma hardens his jaw, brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a few moments. “For not believing you at first.”

Shark’s world stops. He holds Yuma’s gaze. In response, Yuma squeezes his hand.

“It really was you, wasn’t it? It was too dark to see the color of your hair or your eyes, but…”

A smile fills Shark’s lips. Yuma avoids his hopeful gaze.

“It must have hurt, coming to shore.”

Shark vigorously nods, the pain returning to his legs as if on cue. But it’s alright now, because you’re here. If only he could speak…if only he could tell Yuma how amazing it felt to be by his side and finally feel alive…

“Sorry for causing you all that trouble,” continues Yuma.

Shark shakes his head. He mouths out a ‘ thank you.’ Yuma looks at him in confusion.

“What for?” he asks.

Looking down at his hands and then his surroundings, Shark then decides to motion at the village square. He opens his arms wide and then turns around, the smile remaining on his lips. Yuma chuckles.

“Then I guess you’re welcome. Do you think you could take me down to the sea sometime?”

Shark pauses, remembering Dusky’s warning. With furrowed brows and a frown, he shakes his head. Then he mimes opening up a book and then shrugs.

“Not much of a scholar, huh?” says Yuma.

Reluctantly, Shark nods. He’s surprised to find Yuma’s hand on his shoulder afterwards, a grin on his face.

“Me neither.”

“Yuma! Shark!” calls Kotori. “Goodness, you’re both drenched!”

Neither of them seem bothered by the rain. As if in response, a raindrop drips from the feather in Yuma’s hat. Quickly, Shark grabs the hat and puts it over his head. Yuma turns to him and laughs.

“It suits you!”

In spite of himself, Shark lets out a silent laugh. He never thought that red could be his color.

🎵

“That looks gorgeous on you!” exclaims Kotori.

Shark smiles, looking down at his purple coat and the gossamer scarf he wore. It was almost as if he had his scales again. He twirls, earning a giggle from Kotori. She grabs his arm and pulls him downstairs. Grandmother Yone looks at the two with a smile, clasping her granddaughter’s hands in hers.

“Make us proud,” she says.

Kotori kisses her grandmother’s head and moves onto her parents. They pull her into an embrace. Shark looks at the scene, still unaccustomed to the concept. When he and Medaka were born, they had taken care of each other. Older merfolk had taught them how to hunt and speak their people’s language, but they never had anyone to hold them like that. It stirs…something within him, seeing Kotori with her parents.

Shark makes his way outside towards the family carriage. Along the way, Kotori gaily talks to her parents about her and Shark’s day. It seems like her parents have also accepted Shark into the household, although it’s mostly because they don’t know what else to do with him. Kotori’s father was usually cooped up in his study or out surveying his shops. Kotori’s mother was often away at parties. Maybe they saw Shark as Kotori’s guardian, similar to how he saw himself with Medaka.

Closing the carriage door behind him, Shark looks out at the sea. There was a full moon tonight. Somewhere, his sister must have been singing. He can almost imagine her voice, so haunting and clear in the chilly air. For once, he wishes he could hear her again.

The carriage lurches into motion. Shark keeps his eyes focused on his home until it melds with the shadows of the night. Above him, the constellations shine brightly. Yet to Shark, Yuma’s smile shines brighter than all of the stars in the sky.

“Uhm, Shark?” asks Kotori.

Shark looks up at her. In her gown of emerald green, Kotori’s amber eyes shimmer underneath the lamp. No wonder she could always make Yuma laugh. Rubies adorn her throat and a feather playfully waves in her hair. She is so young and inexperienced, yet so much of her reminds Shark of the mermaids beneath the sea.

“I look okay, right?” she asks.

Shark nods. Kotori breathes a sigh of relief.

“I just don’t want to embarrass Yuma…,” she mumbles.

“Nonsense, darling!” says her mother.

“My goodness, you’re the jewel of the village! How could you think of such a thing?” exclaims her father, a heavyset man.

Her parents voiced Shark’s thoughts exactly. No one could be kinder or more generous than Kotori. She had taught him to read with infinite patience. Her touch was gentle as she held his hand and helped him trace letters in the human language. In the village, she always made sure to greet everyone she knew and paid the merchants a fair price.

It’s as if she was Shark’s opposite. Beneath the sea, he was moody and kept to himself. Medaka had always done the talking for him.

Come to think of it, Medaka would have loved Kotori.

The carriage’s wheels clatter on cobblestone paths, drowning out the Mizukis’ conversations. Shark looks out the window at the well-lit homes and burbling fountains. From the sea, they had seemed so small and desolate. Now he knows better. Like beneath the sea, there was a vibrant community of people who wanted to make the best of their lives. He tries to peer into the houses, wondering who resided in them. Was there also a family like the Mizukis’ in there? Were there only two siblings who took care of each other? A pang fills his chest. He misses the cave that he and Medaka resided in, its nooks and crannies filled with their secrets.

It had been his place to hide away from the world, where he felt safe and comforted. After a long day, he would always be able to return to that place and sleep in his own bed. Now he realizes that it was a luxury to have one’s own space.

He looks ahead. On top of the hill is the palace, Yuma waiting within.

🎵

“Presenting Countess Hương from the land of the Decandra Monarch!” announces the crier.

Before the Mizukis, a young woman with a retinue of attendants descends the stairs. Her dark hair is gathered into a tall bun, a circlet lined in fabric adorning her head. Even inside, she is shielded by a red umbrella with tassels. Layers upon layers of brocade sparkles beneath the chandeliers. Her steps are soundless, elegant silk slippers peeking from underneath her robes.

Another woman dressed in lavish robes greets her with a bow. Together, they disappear into the crowd, their elegant clothes adding to the wide array of fashions within the room.

“Her country’s monarch came from a little yellow fruit,” whispers Kotori.

Shark raises a brow, trying to search for the mysterious woman in the crowd. His search is interrupted by Yuma, rising from his throne.

“Presenting the Great Merchant Jun Mizuki, his wife, Lady Suzume Mizuki and their daughter, Lady Kotori Mizuki!” announces the crier.

Kotori gathers up her skirts and whispers in the crier’s ears. The crier turns to Shark.

“Apologies, milady,” he says, clearing his throat. “And, last but not least, her friend, Shark!”

Kotori glides into the ballroom, immediately surrounded by her friends. She greets each person with a smile, laughing at their jokes and offering her own witty remarks. As if he was undersea again, Shark finds himself drawn to the walls, a glass of champagne in his hand. Once again, he wishes for Dusky to be by his side. How he would love pointing out each country the guests were from. His eyes would sparkle at the women’s elaborate hairstyles and the men’s mustaches.

“Hey!” whispers a voice from below. “Shark!”

Shark looks down at the table to find Yuma’s face peeking from underneath. He nearly drops his champagne in surprise. Yuma chuckles and holds a finger to his lips.

“Shh…! My sister wants me to dance with Viscountess Sei but she’s got bad breath and talks too loud!” whispers Yuma.

Shark drains his champagne and then dives underneath the table with Yuma. The prince looks at his outfit and then reaches out to Shark’s scarf.

“That’s pretty,” he notes. “Did Kotori pick that out for you?”

A nod. Yuma’s smile softens.

“She has great taste.”

They spend what feels like an eternity gazing into each other’s eyes. The sound of the Utopic Quadrille snaps Shark back into reality. A smile fills his lips. He grabs Yuma’s feathery hat and places it on his head. Taking Yuma’s hand, he pulls Yuma out from beneath the table and into the middle of the dance floor.

“W-woah! What are you…”

Yuma looks around in surprise as Shark begins to effortlessly step into the dance.

“You practiced!” he exclaims.

Shark grins and hooks his arm with Yuma’s. The music speeds up, the rhythm growing fervent.

“Yuma!” calls Kotori with a wave.

Yuma grins.

“Kotori!” he calls.

Briefly, they switch partners, Yuma hooking his arms with Kotori’s. Longing fills Shark’s chest as he twirls about with a stranger, longingly staring at the happy couple. Once Yuma is back to his side, Shark lets out a sigh of relief.

“Did they have dances like this beneath the sea?” asks Yuma.

Memories of his sister surrounded by her friends fills Shark’s mind. Really, he never felt as if he could join her circles. Perhaps a part of him had longed to, many years ago. It was too late now though. Shark nods, grabbing Yuma’s hand and pulling him into the center.

He should live in the present. There was no point in regretting decisions made in a place that he can no longer return to. For once, feeling everyone’s gazes on him didn’t feel terrible. In the center of the dance floor, he and Yuma were like two beautiful butterflyfish. Sometimes, Shark was jealous of them. The fish were always seen in pairs, whistling their incomprehensible love songs to each other. Although they lived short lives, it felt like every moment was joyous.

Surrounded by the people’s cheers, Shark feels alight. When it’s time for another couple to take their place, the moment feels too soon. Shark turns his attention to Yuma. The young prince’s cheeks are flushed with color and his breathing sends his chest rising and falling. Perhaps humans were like butterfly fish.

“Want refreshments?” asks Yuma.

Shark nods.

The night passes by in a flurry of dancing and listening to Yuma. He listens to Yuma’s seafaring adventures, laughing when he recalls seeing merfolk. When Yuma introduces him to his family members, Shark greets each person with a smile.

“He saved my life!” explains Yuma to each person that asked who he was.

Pride fills Shark’s chest as he walks around with his prince. He marvels at the array of costumes the humans wore and the various languages that they spoke. Yuma is able to speak enough for the both of them, delighting his guests and Shark. Throughout the entire time, Shark wishes he could have a piece of paper to communicate to his prince. During moments where Yuma has run out of things to say, Shark pulls him onto the dancefloor. Their dancing lifts his heart and fills him with warmth. Although he isn’t the best at anything besides the sea and the quadrille, being with Yuma is all that matters to him.

When the clock chimes midnight, Yuma sets down his drink and pulls away from Shark. His brows have shot up and he looks nervous. Perhaps he hadn’t intended to spend so much time with Shark. Shark frowns as Yuma looks worriedly up at the thrones.

“My sister’s gonna have my head now!” he exclaims, running towards the dais.

He tears through the crowd in his coat of blue, plowing through skirts and sliding between legs. A woman with long magenta hair glares at Yuma and then cuffs him on the head. His parents look on with lopsided smiles. Beside them is an old woman, shaking her head in exasperation. Shark winces as he watches the woman lecture Yuma. With his usual ease, Yuma laughs it off.

Ting ting. A bell chimes throughout the ballroom. The conversations soon die down as all attention turns to the royal family. Yuma’s father stands, a muscular man with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Thank you for attending my son’s party tonight,” he declares, his voice ringing across the room. “Although a bit late, here is my son’s promised announcement.”

A ripple of excitement spreads through the audience. Shark looks on in confusion. Yuma steps up to his father’s side. Nervously, he tugs at his cravat.

“Thank you! I almost didn’t make it to this ball because of that awful storm. Thanks to my friend, Shark, I was saved from drowning that night,” declares Yuma.

All attention turns to Shark. A round of applause fills the room. He wishes he could be by Yuma’s side. Alone, underneath all this applause, he feels lost.

“Because of his deed, I wish to make him my best man at the wedding,” continues Yuma.

Shark stiffens as the attention returns to Yuma. Wedding?

“Since we were children, Kotori and I have been promised to each other on our eighteenth birthdays. I intend to honor this promise and wed her by the end of the month,” says Yuma. “She has been a steadfast friend and a devoted subject, bettering the lives of the people around her. Although she comes from a family of commoners, I believe she possesses blood as noble as any queen’s.”

The applause is deafening. Shark’s vision swims. He looks at Kotori, whose cheeks are flushed with joy. Her friends grasp her shoulders and laugh. Beneath the chandeliers, she shines like a jewel. Blood roars through Shark’s ears. The pain returns to his legs. His limbs shake. For a moment, it feels as if he was going to turn into a jellyfish.

What did all of that dancing and talking mean to Yuma, then? A lump forms in Shark’s throat. It feels as if he’s been washed ashore.

So he runs. Runs from the humans and their glittering fabrics. Runs from the humans with their white teeth and beautiful lies. Runs from their sharp laughter and cruel eyes. They had known. Everyone had known except for him, a mere fish washed up on shore.

What was he thinking, trying to claim someone that had already been claimed? The way Yuma and Kotori had laughed by each other’s sides. The various childhood stories Kotori had shared with Shark. Yuma had been the first boy who had kissed her, his lips smeared with Grandmother Yone’s blackberry jam. They had been born for each other, like the coral polyp and its little companion.

Shark’s eyes burn. Liquid begins to drip from his cheeks. Beneath the sea, his eyes never burned when he cried pearls. A tear hits his tongue and its salty tang fills his mouth. It tasted like home, a place that refused to welcome him back.

Beneath him, the moon is high and bright, washing everything in its white light. Who was going to have the honor of singing beneath the full moon tonight? The thought tears a sob from Shark’s throat. He’ll never hear the song of his people again, replaced by the humans’ strange shrieking and moaning.

Pain fills every bit of Shark’s body, from his breathing to his running. Yet he forces himself to run until he can hear the gentle lull of the waves again. The cobblestoned path soon turns to dirt then to sand. His legs scream at him to stop. Before him, the ocean ripples and undulates like a black mass. Every breath feels as if glass were piercing his lungs now. Slowly, Shark trudges towards the sand and collapses into it.

The familiar salty smells surround him. A distant gull calls. Shark glances up at the shore, only a few paces away. Blood roars through his ears. His throat feels as if a hand is crushing it.

He could disappear again. The humans would forget him eventually. But what would Yuma think? After Shark saved him, did Yuma spend sleepless nights wondering who he was? Was he a mysterious figure in the back of Yuma’s mind, haunting his every moment? How did he feel when Shark finally revealed himself? Did he think nothing of it? Shark’s lip trembles.

The ocean waves beckon. He closes his eyes and tries to hear the distant mermaid songs.

Perhaps this was his punishment for throwing away Poseidon’s gift.

He closes his eyes and waits for the tides to reclaim him.

“Shark!” calls Kotori. “Shark!”

Jolting awake, Shark is shocked to find Kotori running after him, her skirts billowing in the night wind. Worry furrows her brows.

“Are you alright?! What happened?!” she exclaims.

When she sees his swollen eyes, her expression falls and she pulls Shark into an embrace. She at once feels like Medaka and Dusky. A fresh wave of tears fills Shark’s eyes. The tides had drawn closer to them. He wishes he could have disappeared before Kotori found him. How could he tell her of the pain he felt, watching her and Yuma dance together? How could he tell of the painful process he had undergone to become human? No matter where he goes, he’ll always be an outsider.

I love him, I love him… and yet…

Kotori pulls him closer.

“I’m sorry. It can’t be. You must know how it is with us humans…”

Shark shakes his head.

“We make promises for those that come after us…because our lives are so short, our children are used to further our goals…,” explains Kotori. “I love Yuma very much, but not many women are as lucky…”

Pulling away from Kotori, Shark buries his face into his hands. He shouldn’t be crying in front of this girl who had done nothing but help him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pulls Kotori into a hug. Kotori quickly returns the embrace.

“I think Yuma loves me as well. We’ll be very happy together,” she adds. “Please don’t worry about him. I promise I’ll take care of him.”

Pain, a different pain from the kinds he’s felt before, stabs Shark. Yuma’s laughter by Kotori’s side fills his mind. His eyes had always lit up at the sight of the treats Kotori had baked for him. The jokes they shared that could only be understood by them earned the loudest laughs from both. Even when all three of them were together, the looks Yuma and Kotori gave each had held so much meaning.

Kotori was telling the truth.

A fresh wave of tears fills Shark’s eyes. He rapidly blinks them away. He forces himself to smile and then pulls away from his friend. It was never meant to be, a human with a merman. The gods had decreed so since the beginning of time. This was his fate. Wiping away his tears, he then holds Kotori’s hands.

He’ll be happy for her. And for Yuma.

🎵

The wedding is beautiful, in human terms. Kotori is dressed in white, her skirts billowing in the breeze like seafoam. On the ship, she moves on the deck with ease in comparison to the other seasick maidens. Grudgingly, Shark is impressed. Proudly calling herself the daughter of a merchant, she greets each of her guests with a bouquet of citrus flowers and a pair of folded paper cranes for each couple. Shark had helped her fold each one, the two often found sleeping side by side in the morning.

From across the deck, Yuma watches Shark with a hint of a sad smile. At all costs, Shark avoids him. He’d hate to cry during the young couple’s happiest day.

When the time comes for the rings to be presented, Shark blinks away his budding tears and slowly walks down the aisle. The sunset dyes the skies a rich orange. His sister would have loved this. Everything looks as if it has been preserved in amber. In silence, he watches as the couple exchanges their vows. It feels as if he is just a shadow, locked out of Yuma and Kotori’s special world. Perhaps it was better for two humans to be together instead of a merman-turned-human to be with a particularly thick-headed human.

“Thank you,” whispers Kotori as she takes the ring from Shark’s pillow.

Yuma avoids Shark’s eyes as he takes his ring.

“Thank you, Shark,” he breathes, his voice barely audible above the sea breeze.

Shark’s heart twists, threatening to break in two.

Once the rings are exchanged, the newlywed couple pulls into a chaste kiss.

“THAT’S NOT HOW YOU DO IT!” yells Akari, the princess. “HOLD HER AND DO IT AGAIN, YUMA!”

In spite of everything, Shark laughs along with everyone else. Tears fill his eyes.

“Alright, alright! Stop embarrassing me!” snaps Yuma.

After a few moments of breathing in and out, Yuma pulls Kotori into a longer kiss. Applause ripples across the ship, punctured by Akari’s loud whistling.

“She’s only like that because she’s a spinster. She’s really excited to welcome you into the family,” whispers Yuma afterwards.

“I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING ABOUT ME!”

More laughter fills the air. Shark looks out at the waves below, wondering if anyone he knew was looking up.

While everyone else gathers beneath the deck for more festivities, Shark stays above, drinking in the fresh sea air and listening to the seagulls above. He watches as the sun sets, his eyes growing misty as he remembers the quiet moments he and Dusky had shared beneath the waves. Perhaps he and Dusky could have shared the rest of their lives together. Although merfolk were not known for their fidelity (due to their eternal lives), it would have been…lovely to have had someone by his side for a few centuries or so.

He doesn’t know if he could stand all the books and Dusky’s seemingly disorganized lifestyle, but an understanding could probably be reached. Then, once they wished to part ways, they could return to being friends.

A fresh wave of tears fills Shark’s eyes. They fall into the waves below, returning to their origins. He should have been kinder to Dusky. He should have noticed the pain in Dusky’s eyes whenever he spoke about Shark’s desire to become human. Beneath his friend’s anger was fear and sadness. His friend must have spent moons searching for the least painful spell for him.

Shark’s tears fall until the stars have filled the sky and the waxing moon appears. The amber ocean waves have once again turned into a roiling, foreboding mass. Shark wonders why Yuma was drawn to such a place on his birthday. Below deck, the sound of music and cheering continues on.

“Shark!” calls a voice from his dreams. “Shark!”

Shaking his head, Shark looks down at the waves.

“Over here!” calls Medaka’s melodious voice.

Shark rubs his eyes and follows his sister’s voice. Surely, he must be dreaming. When his sister and Dusky’s pale faces surface from the black depths, Shark jumps. His mouth is wide open in shock as they gaze up at him.

“Dusky told me everything. He even cast a spell on a flock of seagulls to keep an eye on you!” hisses Medaka. “You idiot!”

The memory of Akari reprimanding Yuma fills Shark’s mind. A small smile fills his lips.

“This isn’t funny!” snaps his sister. “Look!”

Something shiny rises from above the waves. Shark stiffens as he sees the dagger and Medaka’s shorn locks.

“I traded away my hair and Dusky traded away his voice for you to be able to return to us.”

Horror fills Shark’s expression as he looks down at his best friend. Dusky looks up at him with haunted eyes. Regret must have been eating away at him throughout the entire time Shark had spent on shore. And Medaka…his sister, who had always prided herself in her appearance…Since mermaid hair never grew back, cutting it was considered a sign of mourning or vengeance.

“Don’t look at us like that! You got us into this!” continues his sister. “If you kill the prince and his wife, all you need to do is stab your legs and leap back into the ocean! Then you’ll have your voice back and everything else!”

Taking the blade from Medaka, Dusky reaches out towards Shark.

Please, he mouths. We miss you.

Tears fill Shark’s eyes. He reaches out for the blade and then his other hand reaches out for Dusky’s hand. Briefly, they hold each other’s hands, Dusky’s scales cutting into Shark’s skin.

I’m sorry, mouths Shark.

For what could have been.

“You can be back to us by dawn!” promises Medaka. “Then we can sing together again!”

Shark’s tears fall onto Dusky’s cheeks. Dismay fills Dusky’s expression. Pearls bead in his eyes. Slowly, he slips away from Shark’s hand. Desperation fills Medaka’s eyes, pearls also filling her eyes.

“Please…,” she breathes. “We miss you so much…”

Shark’s lips tremble. He takes the blade and slips it into his pocket. With a brief nod, he pulls away from the railing. Moments later, a handful of pearls are tossed at his feet.

“We’ll be waiting!” calls Medaka, her voice choked by tears.

Plish. Shark waits for the familiar sound of flippers slapping the water’s surface to subside. He cradles the pearls in his hands. Medaka’s are a light blue, just like his. Dusky’s are a greenish-gray. He places them in his breast pocket, where they roll against his heart. Then he walks below deck to join in the human festivities.

🎵

When he’s certain that everyone has fallen asleep, Shark slips out of his bed and clutches the blade to his chest. Beside him is Yuma and Kotori’s room. In the darkness, the ship creaks out a lullaby. Slipping into the couple’s room, Shark follow’s Yuma’s loud snores and stops before the canopied bed. Gently, he parts the white curtains. At the end of the room, a porthole is opened, the cool sea breeze drifting in.

The breeze tickles Yuma’s bangs and the prince snorts. In his arms is Kotori, a small smile on her lips. They look so small, dressed in their white clothes. They were almost like two sea pups who were still unaware of the harsh world around them, slumbering in their mother’s womb. Shark takes a deep breath and raises the blade.

Yuma stirs in his sleep.

“Gee, grandma…that sure looks good…,” mumbles the prince.

Shark’s grip on the blade wavers.

When was the last time he had actually enjoyed a meal?

The caramel apple, right? Seasoned with Yuma’s bright smile and his words of encouragement.

When was the last time he had actually felt alive?

In Yuma’s arms, dressed in something akin to his opalescent scales, dancing on feet that finally obeyed him.

The blade continues to shake in Shark’s hands. His gaze travels to Kotori. Beneath the waning moonlight, she looks so young and small. She had nothing but kindness to offer to Shark, gently tutoring him over the human language.

Why did these two need to die so that he could continue to live?

He could plunge his blade into them, spilling their bright red blood across the pristine sheets. But the sight of their blood would always remind him of his sins. Merfolk and humans bled the same color and laughed at the same things. They loved, cried and hated similar subjects. What right did Shark have, denying this happy couple these emotions?

Shark places the dagger back in his pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper. He pulls the curtains closed and places the paper by Yuma’s bedside. In the morning, they would understand.

Stepping back on deck, he watches as the first rays of dawn color the sky. It is silent, save for the waves brushing against the ship. He takes a deep breath. The breeze stirs his curls about. On bare feet, he walks across the deck, noticing the debris from yesterday’s activities. A crumpled flower. Scraps of fabric. A puddle of spilled champagne. Humans…so insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

Yet the emotions they felt in turn were so raw and full.

He puts his leg over the railing, boosting himself over. Beneath him, the water is still a swirling, dark mass. Looking up at the sky, the moon is slowly setting.

“No happy ending, sweetie? That sure bites, doesn’t it?” calls an unfamiliar voice.

It sends a chill up Shark’s spine regardless. There was something so…cold and slimy to it, like holding onto a panicked lamprey. Slowly, Shark turns around to see a shadow peeling itself from the walls.

“We’ve met before but you probably don’t remember,” drawls the shadow, amethyst eyes glittering in the dark.

With a wave of his hands, it feels as if a weight has been lifted from Shark’s throat.

“You can speak now. We’re between the pages.”

“Who are you?” asks Shark, surprised to find his voice again.

The man steps out of the shadows. Unlike anyone else he’s seen before, this man is colored in shades of gray. Shark lets out a small gasp.

“Just…a little helper…You see, many years ago, I also experienced a similar problem as you.”

He reaches behind him and pulls out a large book, similar to Dusky’s tomes. He places the book on the railing with a thunk . Flipping to the middle of the book, the man’s sharp finger lands on an illustration of Shark and Yuma. In the amber light of the sunset, they gaze into each other’s eyes, rings encircled around both of their fingers.

“You see, you were supposed to end up with princey-poo here but because of karmic imbalances, the ball was passed to a lucky village girl!” explains Vector.

Shark gazes at the illustration in pain, the urge to slash at it with his blade overwhelming. He reaches into his pocket only to find that the blade has vanished.

“Looking for this?” asks Vector as he waggles the blade in front of Shark.

“G-give that back!” exclaims Shark as he reaches for the dagger.

Vector tosses it into his hat, which opens up its mouth.

“Oh, no, it’s served its purpose. You were never going to kill him, were you?” drawls Vector over the sounds of the hat munching on the dagger.

“I…”

“It’s not your fault. I promise. It’s the fault of undeserving heroines like that village girl, sucking up all the happiness in the world without balancing their karmic deeds out first,” snarls Vector. “So people like you and me have to suffer.”

“Suffer! Suffer!” hisses Vector’s hat.

Reaching his coat pocket, Vector places a card into Shark’s hand.

“Before you leap into the ocean and reincarnate again, I want you to stay and listen for a bit,” says Vector as he walks down the steps.

A distant snap sends the waves crashing against the ship and the heaviness growing back into Shark’s throat. Vector’s footsteps echo below deck. The sound of a door opening follows. Shark closes his eyes and keeps his ears open.

Vector enters Yuma’s bedroom on silent steps. He pulls the curtains open.

“Wakey wakey…,” he sings.

Kotori stirs awake. When she sees Vector’s gray face, she jumps.

“Who are you?!” she shrieks.

Yuma jolts awake and looks at Vector with widened eyes. Giving the royal couple a mock bow, Vector flashes his trademark grin.

“ You have been a very, very naughty missus,” says Vector.

His hat coughs up his list of targets and he runs his finger down the list.

“Lady Kotori Mizuki, 18 years old, a wealthy merchant’s daughter. Incurred a karmic imbalance by attempting a happy ending,” reads Vector.

“What are you talking about?!” demands Kotori.

“You knew that Shark loved Yuma and did nothing to help him!” snarls Vector.

“What could I have done?!” protests Kotori. “Mermen can’t love humans!”

“Did you really understand him then?” sneers Vector. He looks at Yuma’s fearful expression. “Did you?”

“I…”

Grabbing Shark’s letter from the table, Vector shoves it into Kotori’s hands. His hat coughs up a candle and a box of matches. Vector lights the candle and glares at the couple with bulging eyes and bared teeth.

“READ IT!” he screeches. “BOTH OF YOU!”

With shaking hands, Kotori forces herself to read the note aloud. The handwriting is clumsy and the spelling isn’t perfect. Immediately, she knows that Shark had written this.

“D-dear Kotori and Prince Yuma…,” begins Kotori. “My time on land is drawing to a close. I wish you the best in your lives. You have taught me much about human lives, all your joys, pains and loves. To become human, I relied on my dearest friend’s help. I’ve known him for centuries and he knows everything there is to know about me. He traded his heart and voice away to see me walk on land. Even now, he is silent, hoping for my return in vain. He loves me just like you love each other. I wish I could have seen that sooner.

Wishing. That’s all I can do now as the sun rises on the first day of your married life. If you had been free to choose, who would you have chosen? I would have still chosen Yuma. There were so many things I wish I could have told you two. If only there was more time. Beneath the waves, I had all the time in the world and wasted it. Now, as a human, I want nothing but time.

To become human, my tail was sliced in half, my blood dyeing the ocean red. Every step I took was filled with pain, as if I was stepping on glass. But I wanted to be with you, Yuma. You, who had awakened from my slumber of a thousand years. In your hands, I felt alive again. If only I could speak and tell you everything on that beach. There were so many things that I left unsaid. My dreams, my secrets, my love of the human world…I would have told you everything.

Every smile of mine hid so much pain.

Is this what it means to be human? Wishing, wanting, yet never achieving all of your dreams? You will always be wanting something, that want driving you on.

It’s a sad, yet beautiful existence.

As I return to the sea, I will keep you in my thoughts. Whenever you see bits of seafoam on the shore, think of me.

Shark.”

The couple looks up at Vector with tear-filled faces. Vector readies his rifle.

“Well?” he breathes. “Any last words?”

“I’m sorry,” chokes Kotori.

“Shark…,” utters Yuma. “Oh, Shark…You should have taken me with you that night.”

Vector sneers.

Yuma’s words bring tears to Shark’s eyes. Two bangs makes Shark jump. Vector’s footsteps once again fill the hallway below. The sun is beginning to rise. Looking around, Shark notices how dawn and sunset appeared quite similar. It was beautiful. He wonders how he had never noticed before.

“You’re free to go,” says Vector, splotches of blood spattering his otherwise gray ensemble.

Shark looks at him warily. Then he glances down at the card.

Vector Happy☆Heroine☆Sniper Associate of Lord Diêm Vương, Karmic Balance Department

“You wanna start over or try to get a happy ending in this world?” asks Vector.

Shark tries not to think about the familiar screams that preceded the bangs. The thing strapped behind Vector’s back lets out a thin trail of smoke. Beneath him, the ocean waves roil, licking at his toes.

Without another word, Shark leaps into the waves. For a moment, he is overcome by a burning pain. Then, he feels his skin bubble and fizz, as if he was being kissed by a million tiny plankton. Before his eyes, his limbs scatter into seafoam. He would have panicked, if not for the hazy calm that clouded his thoughts. The last thing he sees is Vector’s oddly tender smile.

“Good boy,” drawls Vector.

Shark’s soul flies into the peachy sky, his world turning gray and distant.

🎵

“Alright…let’s see who’s next…,” says Vector, slurping on some egg noodles.

“Next, next!” chirps his hat.

“You got it,” says Vector, feeding his hat a few noodles.

He flips to the newest fairytale and then lets out a low whistle. He was going to be traveling pretty far for the next one. Unfamiliar lands…unfamiliar names…the thought at once puts a pit in his stomach and excites him. Checking the clock, he shrugs. There was still lots of time before his next trip. Leaning back in his chair, he rests his legs on his desk and looks up at you.

“How about we get to know each other a little bit more?” he asks.

#zexal #H☆H☆S #writing from iris #Ryoga Kamishiro #vector #durbe #tomoshipping #yuma tsukumo #kotori mizuki #skyshipping #sharkbaitshipping

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

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In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 34: Forever

Chapter 33

Read on AO3

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: This fic is on a very long hiatus until further notice. Please see the AO3 link for more details. Much love❤️

It was June third, the day after their eleven month anniversary. Claire couldn’t believe it; it was truly almost an entire year since that fateful Saturday at the stables. A year since their hearts and bodies had spoken what their voices dared not say.

He took her down port again, to a restaurant even more extravagant than the one they’d gone to the last time they were there. It was a glorious Saturday night, and Claire was blissfully happy.

Though something seemed off with Jamie.

His hand had done that tapping that he did when he was anxious the entire drive over, and it was his left, always his left, so she could not reach out and take it to soothe him.

“Why, you’re as nervous as you were on our first date,” she’d teased.

“Aye, well.” He’d forced a chuckle, winking at her. “It’s no’ every day ye celebrate nearly a year wi’ the woman ye love.”

She’d laughed, too, not really considering what an odd thing that was to say.

She also hadn’t considered how strange it was to go so all-out when it wasn’t actually a full year yet. She could truly only imagine how extravagant those plans would be.

And anyway…what was there to be nervous about? There wasn’t a single thing they hadn’t shared, a single thing they didn’t know about each other now. Holding his hand as they left the parking meter, strolling down the sidewalk to their reservation, his palm was as sweaty as it had been the night they’d first slept together.

Had he never eaten at this restaurant? Was he worried she wouldn’t like it?

Watching his hand jiggle at his side at a constant loop at the table, Claire put her menu down.

“Jamie. You’re shaking the whole table.”

“Christ, I’m sorry.” He stiffened, reigning himself in. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said gently. “I’m serious. What’s going on with you? You’re never so out of it when we go out.”

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, and she almost believed him. “I’m alright.”

“You’re about to cause an earthquake with that nervous tick of yours and you expect me to believe you’re alright?”

His lips quirked up in a sheepish grin, and for just a second she caught a glimpse of Jamie again, not the anxious mess she was at dinner with.

“Is something happening with your family? And you don’t want to ruin the evening by bringing it up now? Because I don’t give a damn about the evening. We can leave right now—”

“No.”

Claire jumped a little, wincing at how tightly he squeezed her hand.

“Sorry,” he stammered. “I’m mucking this all up.”

“Mucking what up?”

He sighed. “Nothing is wrong wi’ my family. Nothing at all is wrong. Everything is…perfect. My life hasna been this right since I was a bairn.”

Claire allowed a tiny smile, her eyes glimmering. “Okay,” she said softly, urging him to continue.

“That’s what has me feeling this way, I suppose. You are perfect. Our life is perfect. I suppose this big anniversary is just…I dinna ken. I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Jamie…” Claire shook her head. “There is no other shoe. I’m not going anywhere. Faith is not going anywhere. You’re stuck with us, darling.”

He sighed in relief, and Claire could not comprehend that he would ever think otherwise to the point where he would feel such relief.

“Even when I’m shaking tables and sweating through shirts?”

She giggled. “Yes. Even then.”

He kissed her hand. “Good.”

The rest of the dinner went off without a hitch, though there was still something underlying buzzing through Jamie. She couldn’t wait to get him alone and reassure him the only way she knew how. If he kept this up, she might not be able to wait until they got home. She’d have to find a long, empty dock and drag him to the edge and kiss him senseless anywhere he wanted. She couldn’t stand to see him like this, and she wouldn’t rest until she could see that he was absolutely sure that she was his and his alone.

Forever.

They went to their usual ice cream place, and as they swapped cups and tasted each other’s, Jamie seemed to relax a little bit more, laughing, savoring the flavor like a little boy. That was one of the things she loved most about him. He took nothing for granted, not even the difference between his moose tracks ice cream and Claire’s mint chocolate chip, not even the pigeons and seagulls that watched them out of the corner of their eye the closer they got to the beach.

“I’ll unleash all my unholy power if they so much as peck this ice cream,” Claire said, eyeing a particularly nasty looking little bastard.

“Dinna fash, my lass,” Jamie said gallantly, raising his spoon like Excalibur. “No harm shall befall ye, or yer precious frozen treat. No’ so long as I’m wi’ ye.”

“My hero.” She batted her lashes at him, then craned her neck and puckered her lips, and he obliged her, kissing her soundly.

The farther along the beach they wandered, the less and less people they encountered, and Claire began scouting locations where they could tuck themselves away for even a few moments of privacy. She certainly couldn’t fully have him here, but a few sloppy kisses and heavy touches would do the trick. Her eyes flicked to a dock with a boat on the end, no people to be found on it. She gave him a mischievous look and began tugging him toward it.

“I ken that look well enough,” Jamie said, matching her mischief. “And I’ll no’ be giving in to ye.”

She stuck out her lip in her most convincing pout. “Why ever not?”

“I dinna trust ye no’ to get us arrested for public indecency. No’ with that gleam in yer eye.”

“I’ll be good! I promise.” She stopped tugging so she could press herself flush against him, arching her back just enough that her breasts were the first thing that came in contact with him. “Come on, love…I promise I’ll behave.”

She fully expected him to grab her hips, press his hardness into her with a growl, and accept defeat.

But instead, he just grinned. Not even a smirk, a full-faced grin.

“If ye can catch me, ye can have yer way wi’ me.”

“What—?”

And then before she could blink, Jamie was running, sprinting away from her, kicking up sand in his wake.

“You bastard!”

She hiked up her skirts and chased after him as fast as her bare feet could carry her in the sand. She lost track of how long she spent going after him, but he was not relenting, not letting her catch up. They were both laughing their heads off, whooping, Claire calling after him until her voice was hoarse. He finally stopped, appearing to not be exhausted in the slightest, and she slowed herself to a jog, chest heaving and burning.

“You absolute maniac,” she panted. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She was laughing as she said it, and he laughed with her, reaching out his hand and taking it when she caught up. He kissed her hand.

“My legs feel like jell-o. You’d better be planning on carrying me back.”

“Aye, of course,” he said automatically. “But I want to show ye something first.”

She cocked a brow skeptically.

“Come on.”

He tugged on her hand, and out of sheer exhaustion, she allowed him to lead the way. They were walking right to a dock, and before Claire could exasperatedly complain that she’d been trying to do the same thing before he started that marathon, she realized.

There were candles lining every step of the boardwalk, a string of lights wrapped around each wooden post along the way. Across the top was a zigzag of more lights, held in place by thin metal poles attached to the wooden posts. She hadn’t seen it, even as she was running right toward it. She’d had her eyes locked on Jamie’s bright red hair all the while, desperate to catch up to him.

“What…what is all this…?” She was still out of breath, and on top of it her breath was gone for an entirely different reason.

He didn’t say anything, just kept his hand laced with hers and continued walking her down to the end of the pier.

“This is beautiful…is this always here…? I don’t understand…”

A familiar humming noise took her out of her dumbstruck admiration of the twinkling beauty, and she whipped her head around. “Jamie…what…?” Squinting, Claire could make out two figures at the opposite end of the pier, and a bouncing little thing in front of them.

Before she could process what was happening, she felt him take her other hand. She turned her head to question him, but was stunned into silence by the look on his face.

He was radiant.

The string of lights painted glowing streaks in his hair and twinkled in his eyes. And God, his eyes…they were bigger than she’d ever seen; she may very well have drowned in them if he didn’t start speaking.

“Claire, I…” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. The hand that was grasping hers was trembling.

“Jamie…?”

“You are…the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met,” he continued, holding her gaze and squeezing her hand tighter. “The first time I saw ye I was…blown away by how big yer heart was. The way ye looked at Faith, the way she smiled at ye…I knew. I knew ye were special. And I didna realize at the time, but ye’d already crawled into this hole in my heart that was made for you. Both of you.”

Claire’s eyes welled up with tears, and it very suddenly hit her exactly what was happening.

“I know the pain ye’ve seen, mo ghraidh, I know the fear and doubt that plagues ye. But I…” He cleared his throat again, and then lowered himself to the ground, on one knee.

A single tear escaped Claire’s eye, trickling down as her breath hitched in her throat.

“I will never, never stop trying to be worthy of ye, Claire. I swear to ye on my life that I will be a good husband, and…a good father. You deserve to be loved beyond measure. And I…I do, mo sorcha. I love you wi’ every ounce of my being.”

Claire was fully sobbing now, and his thumb rubbed over her knuckles as his other hand reached into his pocket.

“So will you, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, make me the luckiest man in the world?” He opened the box, revealing the beautiful sparkling ring within. “Will ye marry me, Sassenach?”

Claire could not speak. She nodded vigorously, more ridiculous sobs sputtering from her. Jamie’s strained, concentrated face erupted into the most glorious smile she had ever seen. He leapt to his feet and Claire threw her arms around his neck, and he encircled her waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning her. He exclaimed loudly in Gaelic, laughing joyously, and Claire sputtered her own laughter in between sobs.

He finally put her down, and Claire seized his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, and he kissed her back passionately. When they pulled apart, Jamie was holding the ring, a small but beautiful rock set within it, and she allowed him to slip it on.

“Oh, love…” she croaked out, and he brought her hand to his lips and fervently kissed the ring.

Something suddenly collided with Claire’s legs, and she cried out a bit in shock. Jamie laughed again as Claire turned around and looked down to see Faith clinging to her legs. Looking up, she could now see that the figures in the distance were Gail and Joe.

“You…” She turned back to Jamie. “You had this all planned, didn’t you?”

Jamie just beamed at her, his eyes glistening with tears. Claire let out a joyous laugh and sank to her knees in front of Faith.

“Hello, lovie….” She wrapped her arms around her and squeezed tight, rocking her gently. “Oh, look at you…” Claire pulled back so she could see Faith, dressed in a beautiful little dress, blue and purple and frilly, white stockings and her perfect little white shoes. When she’d left her with Leina, she was still in her pajamas from the night before, and the plan had seemingly been to leave it that way.

“Look at us, hm?” Claire said, sniffling as she stroked Faith’s hair. “All dressed up? Mummy is going to be married, darling.” Claire’s voice broke, and she laughed through more tears. “See, Faith?” She held up her hand, and Faith immediately began fiddling with the rock. “This means I’m going to be a bride, baby.”

God…I can’t believe it.

A hand suddenly touched her shoulder, and she looked behind her to see that Jamie had crouched down beside her.

“I’ve, ehm, got something for her, too,” he said, his nervousness returning.

Claire’s heart felt fit to burst as her eyes landed on the pink velvet box in his hand.

“With yer permission, Claire…” Jamie took a deep, stuttering breath. “I’d like to ask yer daughter to let me be her father.”

Claire’s chin quivered again, her eyes immediately welling up. She nodded, swallowing thickly, and then fervently kissed Jamie’s cheek before standing up to allow him to proceed.

——

Jamie took a steadying breath before straightening himself out, getting up on his knee the way he’d just done before Claire.

“Hello, wean,” he said. She was fiddling with her skirt and twirling it back and forth, staring intently at its sparkles.

“Faith, a leannan, can ye look at my eyes?” He gently poked her chin with his finger, and she looked up, only to become enraptured by the string of lights above her head.

“D’ye like the lights, Faith?” Jamie flicked her chin with his middle finger, signing light. She giggled and snatched his hand in both of hers. “Ah, ye got me,” he teased, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing them. “I like the lights too, ye ken. Reminds me of our special day in our fairy den. D’ye remember?” She hummed a bit, freeing one of her hands from his grip to flap it, saying fairy

“Aye, that’s right. Very good, Faith.” He took her hand again in hopes of keeping her attention. “I had lots of fun that day, Faith. In fact, I have lots of fun whenever I’m with ye. Because ye’re a very special lass. D’ye ken that?”

She started fiddling with the wee hairs on his hands, giggling to herself.

“I asked yer Mummy a very important question, Faith. I asked her if she wanted to be my wife. And I gave her a special present to celebrate, a very pretty ring. D’ye like the ring?” She nodded absently, still twirling the little hairs. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Because I’ve got a special present fer you, too.”

That got her attention. She whipped her head up and looked at him, humming and then opening her mouth with an excited groan. Jamie chuckled softly and held the box up to her. She stroked the velvet box with her hands before pressing her cheek into it, likely enjoying its softness.

“Lovely box, is it no’?” he teased, and then gently lifted her chin to pick her head up off the box. “Let’s look inside, aye?”

Before Faith could snatch the box again or get upset, he popped it open.

“See what I’ve got for ye? Look.” He let Faith take it in her hands. “It’s a crown, see? And look what it says. F-A-I-T-H.” He signed each letter to her as he said it. “Faith. That’s yer name, aye?” She hummed, biting her lip with her smile. “Princess Faith, it says.

“D’ye ken that I love ye, Faith?” His voice got tight, his eyes welling up. “I think I fell in love wi’ you just as quickly as I did yer mam.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. He kept his hand there, cupping her cheek, as he signed I love you with his free hand. “See, a leannan? I love you.”

Faith gave a high pitched, squealing giggle, bouncing as she returned the sign. Jamie uttered a breathy laugh, a single tear trickling down his cheek. He heard a tiny sob from above him, and wasn’t surprised to feel Claire’s hand grasp his shoulder.

“Good girl, Faith,” Jamie whispered, rubbing a circle on her cheek with his thumb. “It makes me verra happy that ye love me, too.” He signed happy, smiling widely. “Are ye happy, Faith?” She hummed, jiggling her hands and nodding. “Good, good lass.” He sniffled, blinking away more tears, reaching to his own shoulder to cover Claire’s hand in his.

“I promise to always love ye, and protect ye, and do right by ye, just as I will yer mam.” He gave Claire’s hand a squeeze. “Will ye be my wee princess, Faith?” He poked a finger at the necklace, his fingertip cooling at the touch of the metal. “Will ye let me be yer Da?” He spread his fingers, poking his thumb to his forehead.

Faith hummed and jiggled a bit, but Jamie held the sign patiently. After a few seconds, she giggled, and then copied him exactly, thumb on forehead. Fingers splayed.

Da.

Jamie laughed out loud, fit to burst with joy. He released Claire’s hand to wrap his arms around his wee girl, and Joe and Gail broke into applause. He felt Claire fall to her knees beside him, and his heart cracked open to hear her openly weeping. He folded her into his embrace as well, and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, fisting his jacket in one hand, caressing Faith’s curls in the other.

“Oh, Jamie…” she blubbered against his skin. “I love you…”

“I love you, too, mo chridhe. Wi’ my whole heart.”

When the three of them finally released each other from their embrace, Jamie freed the necklace from the box and fastened it around Faith’s neck. She rubbed it between her fingers, pulled it up and rubbed it on her cheek, and jiggled it in her hands.

“It’s beautiful, Jamie,” Claire breathed against his neck.

“D’ye think she likes it?”

“She does.”

“D’ye think she…understands?”

They looked at Faith for a moment, grinning from ear to ear as she fiddled with her necklace.

“I think she does.” Claire pressed a kiss into the crook of his neck. “If nothing else, she knows that you love her, Jamie.” Claire met his eye and held up the sign, trembling lips curling into a smile. He repeated the sign, touching their fingers together as he’d often seen mother and daughter do, and their foreheads rested together. “And she loves you, too. She doesn’t say what she doesn’t mean.”

A tear slipped from Jamie’s eye and trickled down Claire’s nose, and they kissed one another sweetly, I love you’s still pressed together.

Gail and Joe suddenly got closer, calling Faith over to them. Jamie broke into a wide grin, watching from the corner of his eye; the last part of the plan was nearly complete.

“Go on, baby,” Gail said. “Go put them on, just like we practiced.”

Faith scampered back to them, bounding and skipping and squealing with glee. Jamie exchanged a look with Claire, who seemed utterly bewildered, and who somehow looked completely and utterly beautiful, even red and swollen from tears of joy.

Jamie ducked his head and allowed Faith to clumsily place the hat atop his head, and then watched as she plopped the one with the bow on Claire. Faith squealed again and jumped up and down, clapping her hands in triumph and then flapping relentlessly.

“What on Earth…?” Claire turned to look at Jamie, and then burst into laughter.

Faith had put Mickey Mouse ears on them both — well, Minnie Mouse for Claire if you accounted for the red bow.

“D’ye no’ find me rather dashing?” he teased, and Claire laughed all the harder. “Here. Look.”

Jamie removed the hat, and Claire did the same, then Jamie held them side by side. Claire exhaled with a breathy laugh, leaning her cheek into Jamie’s shoulder as she read the words that Jamie had had embroidered onto the backs, his and hers respectively:

I asked

I said yes!

115 notes · View notes

maxrev · 4 years ago

Note

Fluffy ask for Jon/Kaidan for you: walking on the beach (or the pier I suppose) while holding hands with their fingers laced together. (sorry, I can't get enough of these two!)

These guys I swear...short prompts don’t exist. They took this and ran with it and Kaidan had another surprise in store. I apologize for any mistakes or if something doesn’t make sense, I was...exhausted and probably overedited it into a mess lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy and thanks for the ask ;)

___________________________________

Where Palm Trees Sway

It is the heart always that sees, before the head can see - Thomas Carlyle

A breeze blew in off the ocean, warm air against hot skin. Jon was wishing for the cool breezes back home but he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

"Doing okay?"

He looked over, drinking in the sight of Kaidan wearing board shorts and nothing else; his fit, muscular body on display and an easy smile on his lips. While they actually lived on the beach, a bit warmer climate sounded like the perfect get away. A chance to bask in the sun and enjoy each other without the distractions of their friends and city life; even if the city wasn’t terribly large. The small, quiet resort they’d chosen sat in a protected cove of an island with miles of beaches, both busy and peaceful. A few were off the beaten path, providing a calm and restful ambience.

The ocean waves provided a relaxing accompaniment to their unhurried pace as they meandered down the stretch of sand. This beach, the one with their bungalow, was secluded; a couple of families with young children, a few couples enjoying the solitude as they were and one lone group of teenagers engaged in a mostly quiet game of frisbee.

They walked near the water where the aqua colored waves rolled lazily onto shore, the crowns of foam drifting softly over their toes. Seagulls floated nearby on currents in air, cawing loudly, sometimes drifting closer inland hoping for a tasty morsel tossed to them. Out at sea floated a handful of colorful sailboats. A picture perfect day, much the same as the brochure still on the table back home. Just as advertised.

A little way down the strip of sand Jon could see a young mother trying to teach her little boy how to fly a kite and just past the two of them was a single vendor selling drinks, ice cream and shaved ice, the shiny cart shaded by a bright, colorful umbrella.

"Yeah, I'm good." Kaidan reached for his hand and they continued their walk, comfortable in the peaceful setting, no need to fill the silence with words. He knew Kaidan was just checking on him.

Before they'd left their bungalow, Kaidan had stared in astonishment when Jon stepped out of the bathroom without a shirt. He'd quickly hidden his surprise, though. For Jon to go out in public without one was a monumental step.

Of course, it helped having Kaidan by his side offering support. Being on a sparsely populated beach didn’t hurt either. Less people to observe his scars up close, fewer children to terrify. As soon as the latter thought crossed his mind, a kite came crashing down in front of them, the little boy racing towards it frantically as fast as his little legs could go while his mother called out to him. It was as if he never heard her.

Jon froze as the boy skidded to a stop in the sand, right at their feet, at a loss for what to do.

Instinctively, he turned to hide his scars, knowing as soon as the boy's eyes landed on them, he'd run back to his mother, frightened and screaming. Leaving his shirt off had been the absolute worst idea he’d ever had. He’d struggled with it over and over and now wished he would have worn one; his usual long sleeved tee. Being hot and sweaty was preferable to the fear snaking up his body, rooting him to the spot. He held his breath, waiting for disaster to strike.

“Jon...hey, Jon. I’m here; it’s going to be okay.”

Jon didn’t even hear him.

The boy gazed at the crashed kite, a lone tear escaping from the corner of his eye to roll down a chubby cheek, smeared with what looked like chocolate. Dark brown curly hair blew free in the breeze.

The world faded away when the boy gazed up at him with wide brown eyes, full lower lip quivering. Jon was sure any minute he’d begin to wail and the wailing would turn to a howl when he finally saw Jon's scars.

"M-m-my k-k-kite," he stammered in a tear filled voice. He pointed at their feet, in case they hadn't already noticed. But all Jon noticed was the boy's arm, his kite completely forgotten. The arm aiming at the kite was horribly scarred, all the way up to the elbow. The shimmering big brown eyes locked on Jon’s. How do I talk to a child?

Kaidan moved between the two, sitting on the backs of his legs, toes digging into the sand. He smiled at the child, “Let’s check your kite and see how it looks, okay?”

The boy sniffled, wiped a hand under his nose, and nodded. His mother caught up to them just then wrapping her arms protectively around his shoulders. Breathless, she apologized, “I’m so sorry he’s bothered you.” To her son, her voice was soft and gentle but firm, “Levi, you can’t run off like that without me, okay? And you shouldn’t bother these nice gentlemen.”

He twisted, trying to free himself from her protective hold, turning to look up at her, “But my k-k-kite! I h-h-had to c-catch it!” He explained in a tear soaked voice. Levi looked back at Kaidan who held the kite, carefully smoothing it out and untangling the string. It appeared to be intact. “Is it okay? Can I f-fly it again?”

The epitome of patience as always, Kaidan nodded and smiled, gently reassuring him, “I think it’ll fly again. Here you go.” He handed it over, the chubby hands grasping for it with a look of wonder, tears evaporating as if they’d never been. “Thank you!”

The boy’s mother smiled at Kaidan, echoing her son, “Yes, thank you so much.”

She glanced over at Jon with brown eyes the same color as her son’s. Her gaze slid over his scars but without shock or disgust. Before she could turn him away, Levi’s glance landed on them as well. Jon tensed, anticipating the inevitable explosion but to his surprise, it never came.

Levi stepped closer, reaching out. His mother grasped his hand. “Levi!” she reprimanded, “You can’t touch someone without their permission.”

Crestfallen, he looked ready to cry again.

To his surprise, Jon said, “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” By the intake of breath at his side, Kaidan was surprised as well.

But Levi turned the tables on them all. “We have matching scars! Do you wanna touch mine, too?”

The matter-of-fact question rattled him so much, he couldn’t manage to answer. Levi deflated...until Kaidan reached for Jon’s hand, snapping him out of his trance. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, right Jon?”

“Uh...sure,” he spoke with more conviction than he felt.

Reaching out with tentative fingers, ashamed of how badly his hand shook, Jon gently let his fingertips glide over them, losing himself in the touch and feel of someone else’s outward trauma. The scars were marled with raised ridges, thin rivers of pale pink in the sunlight. The boy giggled and Jon snatched his hand away, the spell broken.

Hand still shaking, he started when a warm hand slid around it and squeezed. Kaidan.

The boy giggled, "That tickled!"

Inspired by the courage of the small boy before him, Jon sat in the sand so he could be on the same level. "You wanted to touch mine, too, right?"

Levi nodded, extending his hand but then pausing and looking up at his mother. Realizing the suggestion may have been too forward, Jon looked up at her. She’d been watching them, her son's earlier tears seemed to have found a home in her eyes. Blinking several times, they glistened with unshed tears. She gave her consent to them both with a nod.

Levi needed no further urging, touching Jon’s scars. It still took every ounce of strength he possessed not to flinch or pull away when those tiny fingers traced every inch of scarred skin. So far no hysterics and as Levi continued to explore, Jon felt his fears ebb away, like waves going back out to sea. He lost himself in the wonder of the child before him, filled with bravery and the absence of doubt. No thought to how the outside world would view him. Jon hoped those values remained through his whole life.

"They’re all...ribbly," Levi told him.

"Ribbly, huh?" At the boy's emphatic nod, he chuckled, "I suppose they are."

"Levi, we need to go."

The boy gave a very adult sigh, garnering a chuckle from his mother and Kaidan, before leaving. Following his mother back down the beach, he suddenly turned back to Jon, gave a shy grin and wave, turned back and began to run, tossing a ‘bye’ over his shoulder. Their bodies became smaller until they took a path into the trees and disappeared.

Still trying to wrap his mind around what had happened, he was startled when Kaidan spoke up, "You okay?"

He stood up and brushed the sand off his legs, using the action to get his emotions under control. "Sure, I'm good."

The words were true. Actually, he felt more than good. Never comfortable around people after the mission which had given him the scars and more than a little terrified of their possible reaction, he found himself a little poleaxed by the whole scene. His present fears put into perspective by the naivete of a child. He was smart enough to know moving forward wouldn't be so easy; he still had quite a few giant hurdles to jump over. But it was a start. Doc Chakwas would likely give him one of her knowing smiles when he relayed the story to her.

"Want some shaved ice?"

Sounded wonderful. His throat was dry from stress and the sun hung high up in the sky since they'd left their bungalow. The air was hot, humid, and wet. "Yeah. Blue raspberry if they have it."

Kaidan walked to the vendor while Jon waited, not quite ready to endure more scrutiny of his scars. He came back with two paper cups; blue raspberry for Jon, lemon for him. "Here you go."

Jon took it, spooning out a bite. Cool and refreshing. "Mmmm, perfect."

Kaidan quipped, "The ice or me?"

Not missing a beat, Jon leaned over and kissed him thoroughly, "Why, you, of course."

Kaidan looked at him and laughed, "Your lips are already blue."

"Guess you'll just have to clean them off then."

"Mmmm, I'd enjoy that."

Jon took another bite and licked his lips, making sure they were blue. Kaidan nudged his shoulder, causing them both to stumble and nearly drop their paper cups. He felt happy and content even as exhaustion crept over him from the encounter with Levi. A good outcome but he hadn't noticed how on edge he'd been throughout it all.

"Ready to head back? We’re on island time now. We can nap if we want to."

It was almost scary how Kaidan could read him so easily now. Sneaking a sideways look, Jon couldn't tell if Kaidan meant he wanted to take one as well, though he didn't look tired. In fact, he looked like he could spend the rest of the day running around the island. It almost wasn't fair...except the nap was calling him and Jon was powerless to resist its pull.

"Yeah, a nap sounds good."

He barely remembered his head hitting the pillow.

Jon awoke to gauzy curtains swaying gently in a warm breeze coming in from the beach. Their bungalow sat close by, the glass doors to the bedroom taking advantage of the beautiful sunsets and warm, westerly zephyrs. Unwilling to move, he remained in bed, content to enjoy the view out the windows.

But then the bed dipped behind him and he turned to find an even better view; Kaidan must have taken a nap as well. The sleepy-eyed, tousled-hair look was infinitely more appealing then what he’d been looking at outside.

"Hey, there." His voice was deep and raspy with the remnants of sleep. Jon could get drunk on that voice.

"Hey. Looks like you napped a bit too."

"Yeah. Read a bit before I followed you down the same rabbit hole." He stretched with a yawn, Jon admiring the play of muscles as they moved under his golden skin, a tad darker after walking in the sun. "I'm going to take a shower, then thought we could take a walk before dinner."

"Shower sounds great but what is it with the constant need to walk? Thought we were here to relax," he grumbled.

"Oh come on, it’ll be a nice evening stroll. Help you work up an appetite.”

Voice muffled against the pillow, he countered with, “I can think of better ways.”

“Oh, so can I but we have plans. Ones I can’t change.”

With a heavy sigh, Jon flopped out of bed and followed him into the bathroom. Not usually the one to instigate sex, he nonetheless tried to take advantage, but Kaidan’s ‘plans’ didn't include shower sex.

And damned if it didn’t have him more than a little curious about what those plans were.

Freshly showered and dressed island style, which for them meant barefoot and shirtless with cargo shorts, Kaidan walked outside, calling back over his shoulder, "Lets go. We can watch the sun set as we walk."

Dazzling white sand, warm from a day in the sun, was soft beneath their feet. The fronds of the palm trees swayed gently against a sky turning golden with the glow of the sun, just beginning its descent towards the horizon.

Kaidan reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together and Jon felt a comfortable peace steal over him for the first time in...well, ever. He gazed at their hands and knew he wouldn’t change his life right now for anything.

Before leaving the resort area, they stopped to purchase a couple of drinks; colorful, frozen, fruity things with umbrellas in them. They even came in a coconut shell. Jon drank his too fast through the straw, getting a brain freeze for his trouble.

He stumbled, Kaidan grasping his hand tight and pulling back, trying ot keep him from falling. Jon looked down, surprised to see seashells in the shape of a heart. “Hey, look Kaidan. D’you see this?”

“A heart made from seashells. Wonder who made it?”

“I don’t know but someone was creative. I hope the tide doesn’t wash it away.”

“It would be a shame, wouldn’t it.”

There was something different in his voice but Jon couldn’t figure out what. Before he had a chance to mull it over, Kaidan pulled him forward. A few meters further and Jon saw a heart drawn in the sand. Surprisingly, it remained untouched by the waves. Inside it had been etched the words - once in a lifetime love.

“Another heart. Someone went to great lengths to let them know they’re loved.”

“Yeah, they sure did. Kinda reminds me of our message bottles, you know?”

Jon gazed at him steadily, “Yeah...I suppose so.”

Could it be Kaidan? No, there hadn’t been time for him to get away and do all this.

They strolled at a relaxed, leisurely pace. Kaidan sipped slowly at his frozen drink while Jon had already finished his.

Out of the blue, he asked, “You ever think about what you want to do with the rest of your life?”

Jon gazed out over the ocean, watching as the sun began to color the underside of the white clouds floating lazily across sky in pastel hues of blue, pink, lavender and orange. The colors reflected in the ocean, all melding together in the current. He took a moment to think about Kaidan’s question. What did he want to do with the rest of his life?

“I...I guess I haven’t, really. Have you?”

“Well, I planned it around a career I thought I’d have the rest of my life. Spent the last thirty plus years focusing on one specific goal. Guess I didn’t really think about or plan beyond it.”

Jon nodded, “I understand. Same thing for me, I suppose.”

“Then, just like this,” he snapped his fingers, “it’s all gone. How do you start over? Where do you go and...with who?”

“With...who?”

“Yeah...with who. I mean, I’ve never had a serious relationship before, guess maybe I’m choosy or...or patient--” Jon snorted and Kaidan bumped him in the shoulder with a quiet chuckle.

“Patient, huh?” The laughter left his voice, “You are patient, Kaidan. Endlessly so.” Almost embarrassed at what he was admitting, his words were quiet, almost lost in the surf nearby, “ I mean, you have been - you are - with me.”

Dusk had begun to fall in earnest and Jon wondered why they hadn’t begun to head back for dinner. Kaidan was quiet, not exactly out of the ordinary, but he seemed unusually introspective tonight.

“I think what I want - something I’ve never truly found - is a deeper relationship with someone I...care about.”

Jon swore his heart stopped for several seconds before it began beating again. Kaidan...was...he cared about someone? Rattled as his thoughts were, the one his mind latched onto was…’not me.’

“You...” his voice cracked on the single syllable and he coughed, tried again, “you care about. So, what you’re trying to say is--”

Kaidan stopped and turned to face him, never letting go of his hand, stopping Jon’s flow of words. He hadn’t noticed they were in a clearing. Tiki torches glowed softly in the dark, the sun finally having tipped over the horizon.

A canopy had been set up over a single dining table set with plates and glasse. Next to it were covered serving dishes, a bucket full of ice to keep a bottle of champagne cold. Lights were twined around the canopy, adding to the glow of the torches. A radio played music softly. The scene was stunning, beautiful and Jon was thoroughly confused.

At least, until he saw a heart drawn in the sand in front of the canopy with the words Love for a lifetime.

He wasn’t sure what was happening, though it became clear rather quickly.

Kaidan went down on one knee, “Jon, I love you with all my heart. After all the time we’ve been together I’ve realized I don’t want to spend the rest of my life without you.” Pulling a ring from the pocket of his shorts, he held it up. “Will you marry me?”

Stunned into silence, he stared at the ring, up at Kaidan, back to the ring. It was incredible: Trimmed in gold on the top and bottom, in the middle was a double row of waves in white.

Mind crowded with thoughts, he knew Kaidan was getting more anxious with every passing second. Why would this man, so...so perfect, want to spend the rest of his life with...him? He was broken. Oh, he loved Kaidan, had realized it months ago, but never expected he’d want to stay and would just move on the day his endless patience finally ran out.

But it hadn't and he was still here, right now...waiting on an answer.

"Hello? Jon?"

He searched the anxious brown eyes, saw nothing but honesty and love.

"Yes, Kaidan. I will."

A song came on and Jon thought the lyrics were perfect:

I'm diving into the deep end

And I'm not scared, I'm not scared

And I've been way over my head

And I'm not scared, I'm not scared, no **

** Daughtry - Deep End

#mshenko #prompt #Stronger Than the Waves verse #theoriginalladya #maxwrites

49 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Whenever I’m Alone With You (Tia/Veronica) - Juno

Summary: Tia and Veronica take an eventful day trip to the seaside. They start the day as friends. Will that be the case by the end of the day?

(A/N: It’s taken me a little while but I’m finally happy with this so here is some Greentia for anyone who wants DRUK stuff. No CWs it’s mostly fluffy with some h/c. I hope you enjoy.)

Brighton was supposed to be well-known for having the best beaches in the UK. Student city? Sure. Queer-friendly? Yes. But the beach? Mostly stones. Stones as far as the eye could see along the coastline.

Disappointing, Tia thought to herself as she leaned against the intricate Victorian iron fence surrounding the beach. I expected white sand and palm trees from the way the uni welcome pack hyped it up. I’ll give it a four out of ten.

Still, the seaside was alright. It almost felt like being back in Clacton. The usual fairground rides, a Ferris wheel, the pier out over the sea littered with people, and seagulls brave enough to steal your wallet let alone your chips.

It was October and for some reason it was sunny and warm this Saturday, and Tia had come to the seaside to relish what would probably be the last warm-ish day of the year. What seemed to be the entire population of East Sussex had also taken that view, and the beach was crowded with people chasing the last strands of summer sun.

Tia preferred to be here on the pavement above the beach, breathing in the salty sea air, and listening to the waves, wondering how something so forceful sounded so peaceful.

“Nice day.”

Veronica’s soft voice behind her served as a reminder that Tia wasn’t alone.

Out of her three new housemates, Veronica hadn’t been Tia’s first choice in wanting someone to spend the day at the seaside with, but Aurora and Ellie had already gone out. They’d only lived in their halls for just over a month, but Aurora and Ellie were already almost joined at the hip, spending all day together when they weren’t in lectures.

There were four of them on their floor of the halls, all women. Tia had instantly bonded with Ellie, who bubbled with fun and was most content when she was making people laugh. It had taken a little longer to get to know Aurora, who was hard as nails but whose loyalty to her friends was endless. And then there was Veronica. Veronica had avoided most of the freshers’ social activities, barely leaving her room, and in doing so, became something of a loner.

She’d asked Veronica to go with her out of politeness, but also out of some vague fascination with her. Tia knew they were friends - if the last month had shown them anything, they were definitely friends - but she didn’t know enough about Veronica to know if it would be a fleeting friendship or a lasting one.

After all, Tia thought to herself as she watched Veronica getting black lipstick all over the cone, we don’t really have much in common on the surface.

“Yeah, it’s a really nice day,” Tia nodded at her finally, taking another lick of the ice cream Veronica had bought her.

The quiet resumed between them; not an uncomfortable sound, Tia noticed, but one that simply didn’t need to be filled with noise. It made a change from Ellie, always game for a laugh, and Aurora, who had an opinion to give on everything. But Tia liked the quiet time they shared. The only sound was the rush of the sea, and Veronica humming some tune that Tia recognised vaguely, but not enough to know.

There was a clatter as Veronica’s parasol dropped to the ground beside her. Veronica smiled apologetically as she leaned to pick it up. Tia knew some people with some - interesting fashion choices, but Veronica was the only person she knew with an actual parasol, black like the rest of her outfit.

“Do you always wear black?” Tia asked.

Veronica’s huff and rehearsed reply said it all. “Yes, I always wear black, I sleep in a coffin, and it’s Halloween every bloody day.”

“I mean - don’t you get really warm in summer?”

Veronica seemed to consider the question. “Not really. The skirt is quite thin material, and -“

“But it’s all black.”

“So?”

“Well, it traps heat,” Tia said.

Veronica looked down at herself, cocking an eyebrow, turning back to look at Tia. “Yeah, I suppose so. At least I look, you know, hot.”

Tia blinked at Veronica, who held her gaze expectantly.

“No, sorry, Vee, that was just crap. That was such a bad dad joke.” Tia shook her head in exasperation. “Honestly! I thought goths were meant to be funnier than that.”

Veronica sighed. “Yeah, well, me too.”

Her contemplative stare out to the sea was evidently meant to be intense, but no one, not even someone as goth as Veronica, could ever look too intense while eating an ice cream.

“Is that why you bought me an ice cream in the first place?” Tia asked, still teasing, trying to coax Veronica to open up a little more. “Were you trying to make up for your dad jokes in advance?”

Veronica managed a smile. “Partly. And - partly to say thanks for sticking up for me last night.”

Last night. Tia cringed internally.

“Yeah, well,” Tia muttered, shuffling uncomfortably. “You were homesick. You didn’t need that.”

Veronica’s stare was fixed on the horizon as she continued. “I … don’t think I realised how homesick I would be.”

“It’s normal, Vee. You’re not - you don’t have to put on a hard front just because you like wearing black; you’re allowed to be emotional too. It’s not like the rest of us haven’t been homesick as well.” Tia gave her a nudge in the shoulder. “You saw me bawling about it, didn’t you?”

——

All it had taken for Tia to get homesick was for that Doja Cat song to come on Tia’s shuffle while she was waiting for the kettle to boil.

It was Thursday morning, the week after lectures started, and Tia was already feeling like shit. The reality that she was here to study had kicked in, and she’d spent half the night awake worrying about her first assignment. But when the song had come on, Tia had been instantly flooded with the memory of her mum attempting that TikTok dance with her, falling about in laughter when she’d failed. That had been enough for Tia to break down, sobbing so hard that she didn’t have the energy to finish making her cup of tea.

Aurora hadn’t come home the previous night, spending the night at Tayce’s halls after Wicked Wednesdays at the union bar, and Ellie’s 8.15 lecture had already started; so Tia knew that when she heard a creaking of the door in the hallway that it would be Veronica.

“What’s up, love?” She’d whispered cautiously, but Tia had just cried harder at her words, so she’d simply rubbed her back and shoulders and made her a brew as Tia had tried to stop crying.

“D’you miss your mum?” Veronica had asked, peering up at her in concern, Tia’s free hand clasped tenderly in both of hers.

“I’m sorry, I’m being stupid,” Tia had managed to mumble through her tears.

“Don’t say that, you’re not being stupid at all,” Veronica had soothed, looping her hand into the crook of Tia’s elbow. “Tell you what, come into my room and we’ll put on a film, eh?”

“I - I have a lecture at 11 -“

“You’re not going anywhere, someone will get you the notes.”

Tia was surprised at how determined Veronica was to take care of her, pulling her into her immaculately tidy room and setting the tablet up with Netflix. She hadn’t expected Veronica’s first choice in a comfort film to be Finding Nemo, or for Veronica to toss the blankets over both of them and curl up next to Tia, handing her tea and the pack of Hobnobs that she’d only bought the day before.

They didn’t really speak at all.

Tia felt herself calm down gradually, laughing and tearing up at the film, passing biscuits back and forth with Veronica, sharing the progression of emotions with her as they came and went.

It was a depth of care that Tia felt to her bones.

Not that the other two girls on their floor would have been bad company. She knew that Aurora would have given her a hug and a peck on the cheek, told her she was amazing and she was smashing it and how much she herself was feeling the pressure of being away from home too. She knew that Ellie would have cracked a few jokes and tried to make her laugh, maybe telling her a funny story of something she’d seen Aurora do, or one of the scores of new friends she’d already made.

They both would have tried to be helpful in the best and most loving way they knew how.

But Tia wouldn’t have been able to take in encouragement from Aurora, and she didn’t want to laugh even if Ellie had succeeded in making her.

Somehow Veronica knew that Tia didn’t need someone to make noise for the sake of noise. She didn’t need hugs. She just needed … company. She just needed someone there to be with her.

“Thanks, Vee,” Tia had said finally, unable to meet Veronica’s eyes. “I - I feel a lot better now.”

“It’s alright,” Veronica had murmured, threading her fingers into Tia’s and squeezing. “Come back any time.”

——

“What made you want to come to Brighton?” Veronica asked, breaking into Tia’s memories.

They had moved to a free spot on the beach itself, sitting on a towel under Veronica’s parasol - seriously, why did she have a parasol? - the heat now starting to break as the evening drew in. Tia was taking a swig from her bottle of water, while Veronica was digging into the sand with her hands, pulling up handfuls and letting the grains slip through her fingers.

Tia shrugged in response. “The course. Being by the coast. Lesbians. The usual.”

“Oh.” Veronica stifled a laugh. “Like me then. The usual.”

The forced nonchalance of her tone made Tia snort with laughter.

“Where are you from again?” Tia asked her.

“Lancashire. Took five hours for my dad to drive me down here last month. Five bloody hours.” Veronica held up five fingers as if she hadn’t given enough emphasis already. “I wanted to come here for a bit of a fresh start, I suppose. No one I know from school went this far south. I thought maybe I’d have - I don’t know. A reinvention. A renaissance, fitting on my History course, eh?”

“Yeah,” Tia nodded.

“But you can’t shake off the old habits,” Veronica muttered darkly.

“What do you mean?”

“People - just thinking I’m stuck-up.” Veronica sighed, digging back into the sand. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

——

The previous night had been tense. Aurora’s friend Tayce had asked about the roommate who never seemed to leave her room, and Aurora had groaned an exaggerated groan, running her hands through her hair.

“I’m so sick of Veronica’s martyr act,” Aurora had declared at the sound of Veronica’s name, her voice ringing in the kitchen and through the open doorway to the hall.

“Don’t be stupid,” Tia had said, nudging Aurora in the ribs. “She’s not a martyr.”

“She is. She’s playing the martyr. I mean, she’s nice when you speak to her,” Aurora had shrugged, “but she doesn’t really want to talk to us, does she? She doesn’t make an effort, it’s always us making the effort with her. Like she’s too good for us. We’re just normal and she’s special just because she likes some bloody moody bands from the eighties.”

Tayce had raised her eyebrows, grinning her usual wolfish grin and sniggering silently behind her hand.

“She doesn’t think she’s special,” Tia had retorted, but Aurora had just rolled her eyes.

“It annoys me. People like her want to be different but they are all the same as each other. They want to conform to show that they don’t conform. How does that make sense? She just wants the attention.”

That was when they’d all heard the door slam.

“Good going, Aurora,” Tia had hissed. “She must have heard you.”

Aurora had chewed her tongue nervously, a flush creeping up her neck, but she stood her ground. “Whatever. I’m not wrong, am I?”

“You are wrong, actually,” Tia had replied, her voice suddenly louder than Aurora’s, “because you just don’t give her the chance. She’s not playing anything. She’s just - I don’t know, shy. And missing her home. And I bet you’re not making it any easier for her to feel like she can come talk to you. Leave her alone.”

Tayce’s sniggers had become too loud to cover up, and she turned to bury her face into Aurora’s shoulder. Aurora, her face now red as a tomato, had chewed her lips and shaken her head in exasperation.

“Whatever.”

With that, she’d swept away to her own room, Tayce on her heels. Tia had hung back, remembering Veronica’s kindness towards her, knowing that she was probably going through it as well. Ellie and Aurora had both had tough days, too. They all had.

Tia had stopped outside Veronica’s room and knocked gently at her door.

“Vee?”

But Veronica didn’t answer initially. Tia knew it was wrong to barge in, but she’d found the door unlocked.

“I’m opening the door - tell me to go - or I’m coming in -“

But Veronica had called “Come in” in the smallest voice, and Tia pushed the door open.

Veronica was curled on her side on the bed, staring at the wall, tracing the paint on it with her finger. When Tia had pushed the door closed and sat on the bed next to Veronica, she could see that her face was red and patchy and her eyes bloodshot.

“Is that really what they all think? That I’m an attention-seeker?”

Her voice had broken as she spoke. She rolled onto her back to face Tia, searching her eyes for honesty, and Tia thought she seemed as angry as she was upset at the way she had been spoken about.

Tia had shaken her head. “I don’t think that. I think -”

I think you’re really lovely.

The words wouldn’t come out, and Tia realised that they went deeper than she’d previously thought. But Veronica’s eyes had softened, and she’d laid her hand on Tia’s, almost as if she’d heard her thoughts. “Thank you.”

——

“They’re nice, you know, Aurora and Tayce are,” Tia replied, and Veronica looked up at her. “Just - I don’t know - don’t be scared of them.”

“Aurora’s got some preconceived idea about me because of how I look.”

“Okay, but you do too,” Tia sighed. “You think Aurora and Tayce won’t want to talk to you because they’re the coolcrowd. I get it, I feel like that too sometimes. But Aurora just takes a bit of time to get to know, and trust me, she’s just tough for show; she’s really sweet and caring underneath it all. Like you,” Tia added.

“I guess.” Veronica muttered.

“I mean - you’re right, things don’t just change when you move away, you have to make them change.”

Veronica huffed.

“You know I’m right,” Tia said.

“Yeah, I do. Sorry.” She shrugged dismissively. “Dad always tells me off for being stubborn. Maybe Aurora had a point.”

A seagull landed dangerously near to Veronica, and she kicked out at it. When it didn’t immediately fly away, Tia sat up on her knees and waved a hand, until it scurried away to a safe distance.

“This place is giving me lots of Clacton vibes.” Tia stretched out her legs again. “My mum used to take me there every summer, and it’s the same as here! Some sand, some chips in a cone, seagulls shitting everywhere, a few rides, you get the idea.”

“Rides?” Veronica spun to Tia at that word, her eyes lighting up suddenly. “I didn’t know if you liked rides! Do you want to go on a ride on the pier? Or the Ferris wheel or something? Is there a waltzer? I love the waltzers, oh my God -“

“I don’t know, do I! I’ve only lived here for as long as you have!”

But Tia couldn’t have resisted the spark of joy that came to Veronica’s face if she’d tried, holding back laughter at Veronica’s sudden burst of enthusiasm. She got up and pulled Veronica to her feet, and Veronica hooked a hand through Tia’s arm in what was becoming a wonderfully familiar gesture, to pull her along the seafront towards the pavilion and the amusement arcade.

“Waltzers!” Veronica cried, squeezing Tia’s arm and pointing at the waltzers fifty yards away. She dragged Tia towards them with surprising strength for such a tiny woman.

But Tia was worried. Is this the time to mention I’ve never been on them? That I hate spinning round and round?

“Am I gonna vom?” Tia asked nervously. “I don’t want to vom. Do they spin you?”

“Yeah, they do, but you won’t puke, promise.”

“You sure?” Tia eyed the waltzer, but Veronica nodded earnestly.

“Yeah, I’m sure. My brother gets car sick and he loves the waltzers too, come on, you’ll be fine.”

Partly, Tia was watching the other people in the booths shrieking with delight as they spun in their booths, but mostly, she saw a happy side to Veronica that she hadn’t seen a great deal of, and found she wanted to experience it with her.

Things don’t just change when you move away, you have to make them change.

“Alright, I’m coming on.”

The next three minutes were a blur. A fast, dizzying blur. Tia just remembered screaming until her throat hurt and clinging onto the bar for dear life as she leaned into Veronica, who screeched loud enough to wake the actual dead, the g-force sticking them to each other and the back of the booth like glue.

But it was so fun that Tia wanted to go again.

“Vee,” Tia muttered, as they stepped back off, “I’m covered in your nail marks, hun.” She showed Veronica her forearm, where her nails had dug in, leaving tiny crescent-moon indents in her skin.

Veronica grimaced. “Sorry. Can I make it up to you?”

“Another ice cream?”

“I was thinking of Spoons.” Veronica pointed to the pub on the seafront. “It’s getting too cold here now for ice cream.”

——

The sun had set and the seafront had a definite chill in the air as Tia and Veronica sat together on the terrace outside Spoons. They watched the people around them as they passed, the ride operators for the kids rides as they packed away, and the daytime folk, as a handful of teenagers started to appear, getting on the rides themselves.

The rush of the waves as the tide crept in, and Veronica’s persistent humming, filled the space between them. Veronica had shuffled her chair right next to Tia’s, and the song was irritatingly familiar, but Tia couldn’t quite remember it.

“What is that song you keep humming?” Tia asked Veronica finally.

“Oh - nothing.” Veronica swallowed hard.

“Really?” Tia grinned at her. “Is it The Cure or something?”

“Yeah - yeah, it’s The Cure.” Veronica said quickly. “Disintegration. Great album.”

“It sounds like it,” Tia nodded, secretly hoping she’d never have to be subjected to it. Veronica fell completely silent after that, a little self-conscious, and Tia felt a little uncomfortable for the first time that day.

“That woman’s the fortune teller at the Pavillion,” Tia motioned as she passed, trying to ease the tension. “Tayce got her palm read by her at freshers’ week. She thought Tayce was from Yorkshire! She couldn’t even read her mind and see she’s Welsh!”

“Fortune telling?” Veronica shook her head. “Just a cheap trick, cold reading more like.”

“I can do it! Give me your hand and I’ll show you.”

Tia took Veronica’s nearest hand that lay on the table, and pulled it towards her. Veronica shuffled in even closer, leaning into Tia’s arm. She was much shorter than Tia, her chin only just resting on Tia’s shoulder, and Tia found her warm weight more distracting than she thought she would.

“So,” Tia mused, stroking her thumb slowly down Veronica’s palm, “this line here, that’s your life line, this long one here in the middle of your palm. See it?”

Veronica didn’t speak, but she gave a hum of agreement, her lips perking at the corners into a dreamy smile. Tia caught a hint of the surprisingly light floral perfume she wore, a vague scent of apple from her hair.

“This line here,” Tia mumbled, rapidly losing her train of thought, running a thumb along the palm of Veronica’s hand. “This line, it’s - your life line. I said that already. Erm. It means that you … spend your life … in lines. All sorts of lines. Lines for rides, lines at the shop, Tube lines -“

“Give over.” Veronica sounded almost a little disappointed. She took another swig of her drink, almost draining the glass.

“Your love of lines has been exposed now, Vee. You can’t hide it any longer.”

To her surprise, Veronica was laughing.

“I like that you’ve given me a nickname. No one else does. It’s nice. Feels like …” Her eyes were pensive, and she shrugged, unable to think of a word. “I don’t know. But I like it.”

Veronica’s tone was light and airy, but Tia felt goosebumps spread on her neck and arms at the sound of her voice, and her chest fluttered, filled with sudden butterflies.

This moment felt pivotal, like a turning point.

Are we - catching feelings?

Sure, Veronica was interesting enough, and kind - if a little stubborn - and every time they had been alone together, they seemed to have an instinctual connection that Tia couldn’t explain. But it felt quite fast, and still, Tia wasn’t quite sure what Veronica was feeling for her.

After all, Tia thought to herself, I’m just a maths nerd who makes crap jokes sometimes.

“And this line …” Tia moved her thumb up over Veronica’s palm, “this is the … the Bakerloo line and it means … there is maintenance over the weekend so plan your journey well in advance.”

Veronica nearly choked on the mouthful of her drink, instantly breaking the spell. “That makes no sense at all! Anyway, I’m more interested in this one,” Veronica added, putting down her glass and pointing, “that’s the love line. I know that much. What does that one say?”

“I was just getting to that one. Save the best for last and all.” Tia feigned exasperation as Veronica’s face grew more and more red even under her makeup.

“Your love line is here,” Tia began, looking back at Veronica, staring enraptured at her hand in Tia’s, her smile a mile wide. “And it says that … you … I don’t know, you’re going to meet a tall, beautiful stranger.”

Tia meant that to be casual, but Veronica curled her fingers around the thumb that was still stroking her palm, and gave it a squeeze.

“Alright,” she said softly, “maybe palm reading isn’t all bollocks.”

——

Tia found that she hadn’t wanted Veronica to let go of her hand.

Luckily, Veronica didn’t seem to want to let go, either.

Tia wasn’t the biggest fan of physical contact, and she hadn’t thought Veronica was either, until this evening, as they walked home, hand in hand this time, after the wine was drained. One glass of wine each wasn’t enough to make either of them drunk, but both of them were light and happy, even as they got back to the halls.

“Thanks for asking me to come with you,” Veronica said, her smile lighting up the rest of her face.

“Vee, you don’t have to thank me. You’re … I don’t know.” Tia sighed. “It was a fun day.”

The hallway was quiet and dark. Ellie and Aurora were still out evidently, and in the half-light, Tia was conscious that Veronica still had her hand, a gesture that felt so familiar and so exposed for them both.

Tia cleared her throat. “Alright. Night then.”

Veronica nodded. “Night, Tia.”

Neither of them moved.

Tia hadn’t really noticed before how intense Veronica’s stare was, or how bright blue her eyes were underneath the layers of black eyeliner; but she felt it now even though it was getting dark; and it felt like Veronica was trying to tell her something, drawing her into her eyes.

Wait. This is uni. There’s no going home after a day out. We live here together. We can do what we want.

“I mean -“ Tia shifted from one foot to another. “We don’t have lectures tomorrow, it’s Sunday isn’t it? Or are you tired, do you want to get to sleep?”

“No, I’m not tired - what - what did you have in mind?”

“Finding Dory this time?”

“Can do,” Veronica tilted her head as if pondering the idea. “Yeah. You set up, I’ll take my makeup off.”

Within fifteen minutes they were both in their pyjamas, curled up together in Tia’s bed this time, passing Veronica’s Hobnobs between them. The tablet played Finding Dory, balanced on Tia’s knees. The night had turned colder and Tia had insisted on Veronica bundling under the covers with her.

Tia left her hand out of the covers, in full view, and Veronica took the cue, grabbing her hand and interlacing their fingers. The film didn’t last long before Tia became distracted by Veronica running her thumb over Tia’s knuckles, as if in a dream, not even looking at the screen any more.

As the film came to an end, Tia realised she barely remembered the plot at all. She and Veronica had curled into one another, Tia’s head resting on Veronica’s, still clasping her hand. They didn’t move, Tia feeling their breathing fall into rhythm, until she felt Veronica’s deepening and realised it was pretty late.

“Are you tired, Vee?” Tia whispered.

Veronica hummed, stretching out her legs and yawning. “Yeah, a bit. I should go to bed.”

Tia missed the warmth of Veronica from the bed, the steady weight of her hand, from the moment she’d slipped from under the covers; but she followed her out, getting up to go to the door and lock it.

“Well. Night, Tia.”

Veronica reached to hug Tia, who had to bend to reach her, being a good eight or nine inches taller than Veronica. But when the hug lasted much longer than expected, Tia didn’t complain.

Nor did she find it strange when she felt Veronica’s lips softly graze her cheek, right by her ear. It wasn’t a familiar, friendly kiss. It was curious, testing the waters, wondering if this was really happening.

Tia’s heart fluttered when she returned the kiss, again on Veronica’s cheek, as if to answer the question.

But when Veronica pulled away, her eyes were fearful all of a sudden, and she seemed to lose her nerve, spinning round to make a quick exit, slipping away without another word.

Tia locked the door, now humming the tune that Veronica had been humming all day to herself.

It isn’t The Cure. I know it too. God, what is it?

Tia had to hum a few more bars to herself before she finally recognised it, and started singing the chorus to herself.

‘I wanna ruin our friendship, we should be lovers instead.’

God, Tia thought to herself, not just me then.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #tia kofi #veronica green #tia x veronica #a'whora #tayce #uk2 #lesbian au #college au #fluff #hurt/comfort #juno

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musicprincess1990 · 4 years ago

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Trope duos! 2, 34 please?

2: Bad day turned good; 34: On holiday.

Good Lord, this took forever... I’ve said “I’m sorry” to y’all so much, it’s starting to lose all meaning. Hope this is enough to earn your forgiveness. 🙏

Taken from this prompt list, keep sending me prompts y’all! I tried not to make this TFP-related… I didn’t try hard, but I did try. It just fits so well!

Always

Molly swiped at the remaining tears clinging to her face as she pulled up to the quaint coastal inn. Once parked, she grabbed her hastily-packed bag and checked her reflection one last time. Well, she mused with a sigh, there's not much I can do about that. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she had what she suspected might be a pimple forming on her chin. Lovely, she grimaced, then decided she didn’t care, and with a resolute nod, Molly climbed out of the car and made for the lobby.

The concierge looked up as she entered, and his brows furrowed momentarily in concern. Molly worried he would ask if she was alright—which she was decidedly not—but his features smoothed into a polite smile. “Welcome, miss. Checking in?”

“Yes,” she nodded, approaching the desk. “Molly Hooper.”

He scrolled and clicked a few times on his computer, then asked, “May I have your card, miss?”

Molly set her credit card on the desk, and the concierge swiped and clicked some more, before handing it back to her, along with her key. “We have you in room six. Up the stairs, second door on your left. Enjoy your stay,” he added with another smile.

“Thanks,” she breathed, and quickly made her way up the stairs. Room six was fairly small, but had a decent-sized bed and a private bathroom, and was decorated in a homey cottage style. She dropped her bag unceremoniously by the door, rested her back against it, and slid down to the floor in a boneless heap, smiling for the first time in more than twenty-four hours. At last!

After a few minutes on the floor, not moving, not thinking, just being, Molly got up and crossed over to the bathroom, readying herself for bed. She took a bath, soaking in the hot water for perhaps longer than necessary, then trudged back over to the bed, plopping gracelessly onto it, not even bothering to put on her pyjamas. She was alone, after all... always alone.

No! she told herself sternly. This holiday is not about self pity! With a resolute nod to herself, she curled up in bed, delighting in the feel of the soft, cool sheets against her bare skin. It took only a few minutes for her heart to slow down, her breath along with it, and her mind to surrender to a peaceful sleep.

Molly’s next awareness was the sound of waves crashing and seagulls calling from outside her open window. Odd, she thought. She couldn’t remember it being open before, and she was certain she hadn’t opened it. As she slowly gained more and more consciousness, she became aware of other strange things. Such as the warmth against her back, the weight of something draped over her abdomen, and the soft puff of air against her neck.

Her eyes snapped open, first taking in the ceiling, then turning to her right to see a sleeping Sherlock Holmes lying on top of the covers beside her. He was fully dressed, complete with Belstaff, and smelled a bit like a bog.

“What the hell...?” she whispered.

“Not quite the reaction I’d hoped for,” he said, startling her, before opening one sea green eye to look at her.

Groaning in exasperation, Molly moved to get up, but remembered at the last second that she was nude beneath the blankets. Oh, God...

“Close your eyes,” she grumbled at him, and a wrinkle appeared between his brows. “I’m not dressed, and I refuse to talk to you until I am, so close your eyes and turn your back while I get dressed.”

He rolled his eyes, but obediently closed them, covering them with his hand for good measure. Molly slid out of bed and grabbed the first things she could get her hands on, which turned out to be a pair of skull-pattern knickers and a Doctor Who tee-shirt. She decided to forego a bra and trousers, her curiosity winning over her desire to punish him for showing up unannounced.

“Okay,” she mumbled, sitting on the bed again.

Whatever she’d expected to see in those lovely eyes of his as he removed his hand, it certainly wasn’t the intense remorse and almost reverence in them now. Sherlock sat up, his gaze never straying from her. She felt as if she were under a microscope, and started to fidget with the hem of her tee-shirt.

“I am so sorry, Molly,” he finally said. “I never... it was not my intent to hurt you. Please believe that, if nothing else.”

Molly gnawed on her lip. “Then what was your intent?”

He took a slow breath, releasing it just as slowly. “To save you from yet another psychopath who threatened your life.”

An ice-cold shudder moved down her spine at his words. “What?”

“You’re not actually in danger,” he hurriedly assured her. “I only thought you were, and I had to make you say it to save your life.”

Perhaps she ought to have been upset that the only reason for this emotional upheaval was a perceived threat. Perhaps she should make him miserable, giving him a taste of his own medicine, as it were, not offering her forgiveness until he begged. But she couldn’t do that. She loved him too much, and she knew that, in his own way, Sherlock did care for her. He cared enough to go to desperate lengths to save her, and that, she had to admit, was rather a high compliment.

“I believe you,” she said quietly. “And I forgive you.”

He must have expected the rage she had dismissed, because he sat there gaping, mouth open—buffering, as John called it. “You... just like that?”

Molly frowned at him. “Sorry, did you want me to shout and carry on?”

“No!” he blurted, then scrunched his face up in annoyance at himself. “No, but I thought... I expected...”

With a rush of uncharacteristic boldness, Molly put a hand on his arm. His eyes shot immediately to her hand, but he didn’t flinch, which she decided was a good sign. “Sherlock, I know you. I know what you used to be, and I know who you are now. I know that you would never intentionally hurt the people you care about, and I know that I am one of those people.” She took a breath, steeling herself. “I know you don’t love me the same way I love you, but the way that you love me... it’s enough.”

“No,” he shook his head, and she reared back in surprise. “No, you’re wrong.” He shifted so that his hand held hers. “I’m not... I don’t really... this isn’t my area,” he finally stammered out. “I’ve avoided romantic entanglements for so long, told myself I didn’t want... didn’t need...”

Molly couldn’t remember a time she had seen him so inarticulate. Words came easily to him, powerful words, eloquent words... sometimes hurtful words. But now, he seemed at a loss, and something told her that was important.

When he spoke again, it was almost under his breath. “I’ve been a bloody fool.” His eyes lifted to hers, and his throat worked down a swallow. He was actually nervous. “An absolute idiot to have missed what was right in front of me... what has been there since I met you.”

She anxiously liked her lips, her insides twisting in anticipation, and was it her imagination, or was he moving closer? “What has been there?” she prompted breathlessly.

Now he was definitely moving closer, and the hand that wasn’t holding hers reached up and touched her face. When he was near enough that she could feel his breath on her face, he finally replied in a whisper, “Sentiment.”

And then their lips met. Molly’s entire body trembled, and she gripped him for support. His other hand joined the first, cradling her head, tilting her head to allow him to deepen the kiss. She felt as if she might burst with the sensory overload, and clung to him tighter, a silent plea to not let her go. And it seemed he was more than willing to comply. As her fingers buried themselves in his hair, his arms circled her waist, pulling her as close as possible.

When oxygen finally became a necessity, their lips parted, and Molly gazed in wonder at him. The beautiful blue-green iris was merely a thin ring around a wide, black pupil, and as she slid her hand along his neck, she could feel the frantic pulse in his carotid artery beneath her fingers.

“I love you,” he said abruptly, unbidden, and unashamed. “I’ll say it as many times as you want me to, it’ll always be true.”

She grinned at him, touching his forehead with hers. “Always?”

With a tender smile that she would forever think of as her smile, he replied, “Always.”

(I accidentally posted this before I finished it. Here’s the completed work!)

#sherlolly #sherlolly fanfiction #my writing #sherlolly trope duos #sherlolly prompts #send all the prompts #thank you juldooz!

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maple-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Phytoplankton

Did you know that phytoplankton produce about 80% of the world’s oxygen?

(It feels nice to finally be writing again. I thought it would be fun to try something shorter this time.)

####

No one had told me it was the end of the world. My phone clearly hadn’t heard either, as it rang loud and clear for my 8AM alarm. The lamps in my bedroom didn’t seem to know, flickering to life with their gentle, soft glow. I would never know if the overhead light knew that the world had ended around us since I never turned it on much anyway. It was always too bright, too sharp, and with a hue that made my eyes water.

My house, as it turned out, had no idea that the world had ended, but my cat certainly did. Pepper lay on her side in the middle of the kitchen, stiffness already seizing her cold dead muscles. The basil on the windowsill knew too, wilted and rotten in it’s pot.

Out in the streets, the leaf-stripped trees knew. The birds with their necks hanging limp over the sides of their nests knew. The dead grass knew, the downed dragonflies knew, the husks of beetles knew, the still rabbits that used to nibble at my neighbours garden knew. I hadn’t had the heart to check and see if my neighbour knew too, I didn’t need to know.

The streetlight at the end of my block didn’t know, blinking proudly green against the pink sunrise. The walk symbol flashed for no one, but when it singled red I stopped and waited my turn all the same.

My car probably didn’t know the world had ended, but I didn’t think to check as I headed further and further down the quiet road. A train’s whistle echoed hollow across the mucky bay, littered with the already decomposing corpses of fish, of seals, and maybe even the a humpback whale calf, but I couldn’t tell for certain. It could have been the muddy hull of an overturned boat for all I knew.

The oversaturated signage of the gas station store hadn’t figured out that it didn’t need to glow, and the fridges and freezers didn’t seem to know better themselves. They buzzed, louder than I thought they used to, but then again, it hadn’t ever been quite so quiet here before.

Peeking over the counter the clerk lay crumpled behind the till. He looked familiar, maybe we’d gone to the same high school. I leaned against the counter, propping my cheek on my elbow. What was his name again? Even? Allen? Alex. That was it. Alex Daniels. I hadn’t talked to him in years, but back then he’d always seemed keen to move out, somewhere far away on the other side of the country. Guess that never happened if he was still here. I hadn’t brought my wallet with me, but I doubted that he would stop me from walking out with an armful of bottled iced lattes and pockets stuffed with snacks.

The world must have ended late at night, with so few bodies littering the streets. Well, human anyway. I’d always known in the back of my mind that possums lived in my city, but I’d never seen one until now, splayed out on dried-out, brown grass.

If I hadn’t known better, and if it weren’t for the scattered seagulls, dead fish and crab corpses, I wouldn’t have guessed the waterfront was any different than it had been yesterday. Sitting on the park bench, it would have been nicer if the leaves were still on the trees, but it wasn’t hot enough yet that I particularly missed the shade they brought. Ocean waves lapped gently at the pebbly shore, shuffling the mass of floating bodies, and the newly risen sun sparkled on it’s surface. I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the glare, the other opening one of the cold lattes with a quick twist. It tasted overly sweet, and way too cheap for what they were charging for it back at the store, but hey, I’d never really been picky.

I checked my phone. 10:30AM, 78% battery left. Not that it would be a problem if I could charge it again back home. I took a sip of my drink. In fact, I guess I could charge it wherever I wanted now. Who was there to stop me? I leaned back on the bench, crossing one leg over the other.

I’d always thought the end of the world would be more dramatic, more desperate, more apocalyptic like in the movies. I’d always thought that the end of the world would have included me somehow. Then again, I’ve been wrong about plenty of things before.

But no one had told me that the world ended last night. Just like no one had told the streetlights at the intersections, or the freezers and fridges at the gas station, or the lights in my house. But someone told the trees, and the birds, and the rabbits, the insects and spiders. Someone told Pepper.

Had anyone told the phytoplankton living in the empty seas that it was the end of the world? Did they still float, photosynthesizing at the surface without a care in the world like they did just yesterday? Did they still fear the setting of the sun and the zooplankton that rose from the depths to consume them?

How much air could I breathe in a lifetime? With every inhale, exhale, and unconscious inhale, would it be enough to find out? For now, I would just have to wait, day after day after day. But maybe one day the air might thin and my lungs might start to ache, more and more, day after day after day. I’d know then, if the phytoplankton knew that the world had ended last night.

#writeblr #my writing #short story #fiction #writing #phytoplankton #I may or may not have done this all in one sitting #and idk where this came from #but i was kind of vibing with it #I've been considering branching into shorter writing lately #instead of the super long form #multi chapter stuff i usually do #it's kind of refreshing to do something shorter like this i think #who knows if it's any good #but here it is anyway

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aye-write · 4 years ago

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Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: This is a mammoth chapter (over 5k!) but it wouldn't have felt right ending it at any other point. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! I am hoping to keep up a bimonthly update schedule to give me plenty of time to focus on work and my other novels, so I'm aiming for February 7th as my next update date! Anyway, here we go with chapter one!

*****

Chapter One

Isla Reid stared down at the churning ocean and wondered what would happen if she fell overboard.

It could happen, she reasoned. The railings felt flimsy and only came up to her waist. With no ferry staff nearby and only a handful of other passengers too preoccupied with puffing on cigarettes, or watching their Pokemon, would anyone even notice if she did fall? Someone’s Snubbull careened past and Isla could have sworn she heard it cackle. That was another thought. A collision with a Snubbull could easily launch a full-grown person six or seven feet. At least. More than enough to send her over the railings and down into the roiling ocean below. It wouldn’t be pretty, no, but she would have taken anything over what was coming next.

Over my dead body, her mother declared when Isla gave her the news, will my daughter be going halfway around the world alone. As if she’d conveniently forgotten the past four years Isla had spent working and living independently the moment that inter-regional travel was more than a fragile possibility. Before she knew it, her mother had taken over, sitting at the telephone with the air of a military general and a dog-eared phonebook that hadn’t seen the light of day since Isla was a child. Banging the phone down ten minutes later, her mother announced that if she really must go all the way to Kildo (but you really should reconsider, darling, it’s ever so dangerous!), she would be collected from the ferry by her cousins. Cousins they’d had no contact with in years. Cousins that, if she was being honest, Isla had forgotten even existed.

Isla fixed her gaze forward. The ocean unspooled in every direction, slate-grey water in a haze of mist. The ferry ploughed on, swaying like the rocking of a newborn baby, kicking up fans of white foam. A man hanging over the railings made a funny burping noise as they cleared a large wave. Soba mewled and pushed her head into Isla’s clenched hands until she relaxed them enough to pet her. They were getting closer. And she definitely wasn’t in Johto anymore.

A stir of movement behind her and she was pulled back from her percolating thoughts. A group of men shifted through a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke towards the seats. The youngest, who couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen, had a Pidgey perched on his shoulder and a frown deepening his face.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?” he prompted the older men, glancing up at the leaded sky. “It looks like it’s going to rain. I saw on the news that another storm is coming.”

“Don’t be daft!” a man with a wiry beard laughed. His accent was thick, heavy on the vowels, and took Isla a moment to understand. “We’ll be docked well before any bad weather hits.”

“You hope,” the younger boy muttered, but it was drowned out by laughter. “Dad, I’m serious! Remember I was telling you about ADoomWithAView – that streamer? He said that all these storms and stuff are because the Vitalities are angry with— Dad? Dad! Dad, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Son, you would do well to stop listening to that brainwashing drivel.”

“It’s not brainwashing! I’m serious! Humanity’s dependence on technology is what—”

The rest of the boy’s protests were drowned out by a prolonged blast of the ship’s horn. In the distance, something loomed out of the thinning mist. Land. They were approaching land. Soba squeaked as a ding-dong-ding rang out and a voice, in that same thick accent, crackled over the speakers.

“Good afternoon, passengers, we will soon be arriving in Port Glen. Passengers are reminded that all personal belongings and luggage must be removed from the baggage area, communal spaces, and all outer decks before disembarking. For those disembarking via the gangplank, a reminder that all Pokemon – with the exception of service Pokemon – must be safely stowed in Pokeballs and not released until you are safely onto the harbour. To repeat, we will soon be arriving in Port Glen. Passengers are reminded—”

Isla’s heart tightened in her chest. This was it. They were here.

She let her Furret bump against her hands, Soba’s soft fur instantly soothing. “I guess it’s time to face the unknown, eh?”

“Fur!” Soba squeaked.

Isla waited until nearly everyone else had disappeared down the gangplank before braving it herself. She’d travelled as light as possible, much to her mother’s disdain, but the backpack still felt she like she was hauling around a bag of rocks instead of a few changes of clothes and a laptop. Anxiety prickled over her skin – or was it just the cold? – as she faced her first tentative steps into Kildo.

She was almost disappointed when she looked out onto a perfectly ordinary little port town. Tucked into an alcove of beach, Port Glen’s harbour was filled with people and the dreamy hues of blue and green. The town lay ahead in a generous curve, bordered by a strip of sea that already looked darker, almost black, under the deepening sky. A thin wind roused the hair on the back of her neck.

Her mother had given her a reference photograph of Rhona, the cousin who was supposed to be meeting her. Related by marriage through some obscure aunt, Isla struggled to notice even one iota of family resemblance between them. The woman in the photograph had pale skin and a shock of red curls, but not much else in the way of distinguishing features.

At the bottom of the gangplank, Isla swept her gaze around, desperate for a sign of her chaperone. But there was no-one waiting. And as the last few passengers sidestepped her, heading towards the town, Isla suddenly felt very small and very alone. While she hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of staying, even temporarily, with strangers, being alone in a new place hundreds of miles from home was an entirely different brand of anxiety.

Panicky thoughts looped through Isla’s head. Where was Rhona? Why wasn’t she here? Had she forgotten? Had she somehow missed her? Or maybe she just hadn’t seen her yet. But who was still here? She could see a sailor tying ropes, a child wailing at a dropped ice cream, a woman arguing with a… what even was that?

The Pokemon looked like an ordinary Wingull at first, so much so that she nearly skipped over it, but the longer she looked, the more she saw that was wrong with it. This Pokemon was much rounder, a body like it’d swallowed a bowling ball, and its wings were shorter and rimmed with black, rather than the traditional blue. Isla delved for her battered old Pokedex and lined it up with this new Pokemon.

“Wingull, the Seagull Pokemon. Facing competition from Chibber for natural resources, Wingull have resorted to stealing food from witless tourists instead. As such, it has gained weight over time, as well as a more deceiving nature.”

So it was a Kildonian Wingull! That made sense. Isla was the first to admit that her knowledge of native Kildo Pokemon was lacking – a poor decision in hindsight – but she really should have been able to work out it was a regional variant. A flush deepened her cheeks as she imagined her professor’s scowl.

With no guardian in sight, Isla watched the scene unfolding in front of her. The Kildonian Wingull screeched as it dove at the offending woman at the end of the docks, the sound rippling over the wind. There was something in the woman’s hands, something that the Wingull seemed intent on, certainly enough not to be deterred at the attempts to fend it off. Isla let her bag fall and released Soba from her Pokeball.

“Soba, go and help! Use Quick Attack to chase that Pokemon away!”

Soba bulleted towards the struggling woman, squashing herself flat against the ground like a snake, rising into a fierce, full-body strike when the unsuspecting Wingull’s back was turned. With another ear-splitting screech, the Wingull went down like a sack of potatoes.

By the time Isla caught up, the Wingull was gone, dropping into the water of the harbour with an indignant squawk. The woman it had accosted looked harassed as she tried to piece together a ripped plastic bag brimming with wrapped sandwiches.

“Are you alright?” Isla asked, patting her thigh to call Soba back to her side.

“Oh, I’m fine, chick, but I can’t say the same about my lunch! Those Wingull are a terrible nuisance. These tourists think it’s funny to feed them and then it’s us locals that have to live with them. Oh shoot,” she cursed as one of the sandwiches slipped out of her grasp.

Isla ducked down to retrieve it. “Here, let me help you.”

“Oh, thank you, chick,” the woman said. “I have a spare bag here. Gosh, I can’t thank you enough for stopping to help. Usually when a Wingull gets its sights on your food, it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“They definitely seem a lot more, uh, food-oriented than the ones we have back home!” Isla laughed as she helped drop the sandwiches into the new bag.

“Back home?” the woman’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I thought your accent wasn’t local. You’re Isla, right? I can’t believe I didn’t realise it straight away. You’re the spit of your mum, so you are.”

Isla tried very hard not to mind being compared to her mother, but she took a small comfort in the fact that her waif of a mother would be far more scandalised. Was this woman really her cousin? Rhona, if this was her, was pleasantly round, much bigger than she was in the photograph. And while she was still small compared to Isla, it felt like a comfort to finally see another woman in their family that looked like her. And Rhona was pretty, her red curls pulled into a modest bun and her plump skin pebbledashed with freckles. She met Rhona’s eyes and they filled with warmth. Instantly, Isla felt soothed.

“Yes!” she said, barely able to hide her relief. “I’m Isla. And you’re Mrs—”

“Now, chick, you’ll call me Rhona. We’re family after all.”

“Rhona,” Isla corrected herself shyly. “Thanks ever so for letting me stay.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, dear. Always happy to have visitors! I’m just sorry I’m a bit late, I’d stopped to pick up lunch and that blasted Wingull got a sniff of it. Chased me all the way down from the road end! If it hadn’t been for you and your lovely, uh… what Pokemon is this, dear?”

“This is Soba,” Isla stroked Furret and she purred appreciatively. “She’s a Furret. I’m not sure if you have them here. We’ve been partners for years.”

“She’s gorgeous!” Rhona said. “Don’t leave her alone with my daughter, though, she’s obsessed with all things Pokemon. She might try and adopt her!”

“You have a daughter?” Isla asked, frantically wracking her brain to try and remember if her mother had ever mentioned that.

“Yes, my Skye. She’s thirteen and Pokemon daft. And there’s my son, Blair. He’s the same age as you, give or take. They’re both very much looking forward to meeting you.”

Isla felt like something had just severed her at the chest. Why hadn’t her mother mentioned Rhona had children? Living with one stranger had been a scary enough prospect, now there were two more cousins to contend with?

“Come on, chick, shall we head off?”

As the harbour decking melted into gravel path, Rhona’s questioning amplified – How’s your mum? How has she been getting on? Does she still see Great Aunt Florence? Does she enjoy working for herself? – as if she were trying to make up for ten years of missed conversation. Even though Isla could only give short answers, Rhona still nodded and responded as if she’d just given her the secrets of the universe.

“So, what about you, Isla?” Rhona eventually asked as they turned away from the streets and approached a dirt road, littered with pebbles. “Your Mum said you needed a place to stay for a while, but she was a bit hazy with the details. What brings you all the way to Kildo?”

By the time Isla finished explaining her final year thesis proposal, Rhona oohing and ahhing the whole way through, they were coming up on the Whispering Pines Croft. A weather-beaten cottage sat beneath the shade of a looming forest and sloping hills. Fencing laced through the land like thread through fabric, bordering off sections of patchwork ground in brown and green and the occasional flash of vibrant purple. If Isla squinted hard enough, she could make out a field full of Miltank grazing in the distance. Another field to its left was occupied with the puffy, cotton-wool silhouettes of Wooloo. The whole place smelled of earth and mud, with a tinge of salt, wafting in by the ocean-bound breeze.

Rhona paused to catch her breath. “The Whispering Pines Croft has been in our family for generations. Every generation, we seem to find something new to build.” Indeed, the cottage looked like a mishmash, a Frankenstein’s monster of building expansions. “We do all sorts here. Livestock, farming, everything. The soil isn’t as forgiving as it is in other regions, it’s full of salt from the ocean, but we manage.”

Rhona didn’t take her shoes off when they clomped inside, but Isla slipped hers off, conscious of the mud clinging to the bottom of her soles. She put Soba in her Pokeball for the same reason. Rhona led her through to a kitchen with a low ceiling, steamy with condensation, and thick with the smell of baked apples. Like the house itself, the kitchen had a hodgepodge feel, a cosy mismatch. A proper family place, a life centred around a kitchen table.

“You can throw your stuff anywhere,” Rhona said, but Isla, totally out of her depth and wishing very much she could shrink to half her size to accommodate herself in this tiny, bustling place, just slotted her backpack in the gap by the fridge.

“Can I help you with anything?” Isla asked, the pressure of standing there like a stubbed toe eclipsing every other feeling.

“No, chick, you sit yourself down. You must be tired,” Rhona said as she laid the sandwiches down on the table. “Here, you take first choice, but be warned, if there isn’t an egg and cress left for my mother, she’ll fall out with you.”

Isla’s hand froze. “Your mum lives with you?”

“Yes. She went with my Dad to assisted living for a while, but when he passed, well, it was easier on everyone to have her here. Does her the world of good to be around people and have a little independence,” Rhona said over the clatter of plates. “She’s got more hobbies than I do, in fact! She teaches classes in the old Kildonian language on the weekends too. Keeps her out of mischief.”

“Really?” Isla’s heart leapt to her throat. “The Kildonian language is something I wanted to look into for my report!”

“Well, that’s a happy coincidence then. I’m sure she’ll be happy to go over some of it with you. Oh, hang on a moment,” she said, reaching up to pull a Pokeball from an apron hanging on the kitchen door. “I’m just going to call everyone to the table.”

Isla’s mouthful of cheese salad sandwich almost ended up splattering the table as Rhona tossed the Pokeball to the ground, and the kitchen was invaded by a flurry of grey and red feathers. The Pokemon – whatever it was – came up to Rhona’s hip, had a squat body, long muscular legs, and powerful wings that it beat to great effect as it noticed the stranger. Isla yelped as the Pokemon cocked its head, its movements quick and jerky, like the ticking of a clock.

“Ruchter, calm your feathers,” Rhona said, tapping the Pokemon on its haunches. It clucked and crowed, shaking its head fiercely. “This is Isla. She’ll be staying with us for a bit.”

The Pokemon relaxed, but still fixed Isla with a withering glare. Isla consulted her Pokedex.

“Ruchter, the Farmer Pokemon. The evolved form of Chickter. Able to precisely work tough soil with their talons, Ruchter can cover a small field in minutes. Despite looking old and frail, they are tireless, and can work for hours without a break.”

Rhona ruffled the Pokemon’s tail feathers. “Ruchter, please go and fetch Blair and Skye from the fields.”

The Pokemon was off before Rhona could even finish her sentence, barrelling out the door with all the grace of a drunk Tauros.

Rhona poured tea into a flowery mug and arranged one of the sandwiches on a matching plate. “Isla, I’m just going to pop up with this for my Mum. I’ll be right back. There’s lemonades and sodas in the fridge, so help yourself.” Rhona was halfway up the stairs when she called back, “And if my two come in tracking mud everywhere, make sure they wash their hands before sitting down!”

The tightness in Isla’s chest squeezed harder. Any moment now she was going to be dropped into a meeting with two new mystery cousins. What would they be like? Would they like her? Would they think she was weird, as most people did? The memories of barbed stares resurfaced like a Sharpedo’s fin breaking the water. Strangers, her peers, her friends, even her own family, all of them silently judging her, as she tried to navigate life being both big and invisible.

No, she needed to calm down. Spiralling wouldn’t help. She repeated it like a mantra inside her head. She hadn’t even met them, and she’d already decided they wouldn’t like her. She had to get better at this.

All the same, her stomach stayed knotted and eating felt like the last thing she wanted to do. Though maybe she should wait until her cousins came in anyway, do the polite thing. She paused and went to the fridge instead, opening and draining half a can of fizzy lemonade. The bubbles pulsed through her twisty stomach, prickling like pins and needles.

She heard the voices before she saw their owners, one deep and droning, the other light and lilting. Then the door swung open, Ruchter scrambling inside in a skittering of talons on wooden floor, two people bringing up the rear.

“Skye, take off your shoes! Mam will go mad if you track mud in.”

He hadn’t seen her. Neither of them had. She didn’t know if that felt better or worse. As the two of them tromped towards the sink, she cleared her throat.

The oldest – a young man with long red hair tied in a ponytail – stopped in his tracks. “Oh, hey! You must be Isla? Nice to meet you,” he extended a hand covered in mud only to retract it when he saw Isla staring. “Maybe later, eh? Skye, make room at the sink please.”

“It’s nice to meet you too!” Isla said over the sound of running water. “Blair and Skye, right?”

“That’s us!” Blair shook his hands off at the sink. “Nice to have you here, cousin. It’s quite something having family coming from all the way in Johto, isn’t it, Skye?”

Skye moved like a ghost, silently staring under a canopy of brown fringe. “Do you have Johto Pokemon?”

Isla blinked. “Ah, yes. Just one though.”

“I want to see.”

“Oh,” Isla looked at Blair and then to Ruchter. “Is that okay?”

“Go ahead!” Blair took a savage bite out of a cheese and pickle sandwich. “Let me just put Ruchter out so the two don’t end up in a scrap.”

After Ruchter went haring out to the garden in pursuit of scattered pellets, Isla let Soba bounce out of her Pokeball. Her younger cousin’s eyes lit up.

“She’s so pretty! What is she?”

“She’s a Furret. They evolve from something called a Sentret. They’re kind of common around where I live, I’m afraid,” she added with a nervous chuckle, then wondered why on earth she was apologising.

“What type is she?”

“Normal.”

“Is she strong?”

“She’s not super strong, but we’ve been together for seven years. She knows how to handle herself.”

“What moves does she know?”

“Quick Attack, Fury Swipes, Rest, things like that.”

“What’s her nature?”

“The lady at the Pokemon Centre thinks she’s Bashful, if I remember right.”

“Does she have any TM moves?” And before Isla could answer, Skye kept going. “What’s her favourite Rock flavour? Where did you get her from? Does she—”

“Hey, easy up, Miss Missy,” Blair nudged his sister. “Come on, let Isla relax and eat her lunch. You need to get something in you too. Keep your strength up for the big day.”

Skye rolled her eyes but did as she was told.

“Big day?” Isla asked, desperate for something to fill the silence.

“Skye is going to Aberdrip City in a few days to get her very first Pokemon,” Blair said proudly.

Isla smiled encouragingly but the fact that her younger cousin was a year late in getting her first Pokemon didn’t escape her attention. She decided not to ask as Skye chattered on about Aberdrip City and how she still hadn’t decided which starter she wanted. By the time Rhona came back downstairs, Isla felt fuller and warmer than she had in days.

“I see you guys are getting acquainted,” Rhona smiled, collapsing into the chair next to her daughter and dropping a kiss on her head. “Here, what did you leave me? Ugh, cream cheese and cucumber. I don’t know why they keep it in the multibuy deal, no-one likes it.” She took a bite anyway. “How are you, Isla?”

“I’m good,” Isla said, and she meant it. “Thanks again for having me. It’s a real help.”

“So, what are your plans for Kildo?” Blair asked, nibbling on a crust. “Seeing anywhere nice?”

“I’m here for a research trip,” Isla said. “I’m doing a project on the legend of the Chessmen Pokemon, so really, what I want to do is visit the places that the Chessmen were rumoured to live, and then finish up with the exhibition in Hydrogate City.”

“Hydrogate is a long way to travel,” Blair said seriously. “Especially with all the… complications.”

Rhona shot Blair a fierce look. “Now, Blair, don’t go terrifying the poor lass! There’s nothing wrong, chick. Just a bit of funny weather.”

“And the rest, Mam! There was a landslip near Auchtermelty the other day. They reckon it could take days to clear. It’s totally stopped trade and deliveries; they have to go the long way around. Wee Arthur – that’s Auchtermelty’s Gym Leader, Isla – has been trying to dig it out single handed with his Pokemon but even he had to stop because it was too dangerous.”

“Arabella’s mother says it’s because the Vitalities are unhappy,” Skye interjected.

“Arabella’s mother needs to take a long walk off a short pier,” Blair said, and Skye let out a snort of laughter.

“Blair, watch your mouth,” Rhona said, without looking up.

“Well how stupid can you get?” Blair said. “The Vitalities aren’t to blame for this.”

“Wait, what’s all this about?” Isla asked, confused.

“Just an old legend, chick.” Rhona said. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them, considering you’re interested in the Chessmen tale.”

“Of course she hasn’t,” a voice rasped from the doorway and Isla nearly dropped her can of lemonade. Standing in the door’s alcove was an elderly woman, skin deeply lined, and grey hair styled into a candyfloss-like perm. She was tiny – maybe a whole foot smaller than Blair – but her voice was sharp and crisp like every word held a pointed edge. “Incomers don’t make a habit of learning our secrets,” the woman said, fixing her gaze on Isla. “Then they wouldn’t be secrets, would they?”

“Mum!” Rhona said, her voice tight. “What are you doing up?”

“You think I wouldn’t get up to greet our guest? Especially one who has such a vetted interest in our local legends?”

“Oh, here we go,” Blair stood up. “I think I’m going to get the Miltank in. Looks like a storm on the horizon. Skye, are you coming?”

Isla glanced out the window. The sky had turned granite-grey, swirled with black. When Skye and Blair left, a thin wind send the temperature plummeting. Rhona fiddled with the thermostat and the heating clanged into life, but it didn’t make a difference. Icy fingers had worked their way up Isla’s spine the minute the old woman had spoken.

“Isla, this is my mum, Morag. You can call her Nana Morag though, as my two do.” Rhona said. “Mum, why don’t you tell Isla about the Vitalities while I wash up?”

“Why not?” Nana Morag said, settling herself into the chair that Skye left empty. “The Vitalities legend dates to round about the same time as the Chessmen. Think of the two as intertwined, rather than separate. The Vitalities, made up of Voltean, Burnach, Creakrone, and Liathsong, were said to be able to give – and take – all forms of energy from the world around them. Legend has it that the earliest settlers, who came here centuries ago, were given gifts from the Vitalities that allowed them to heat their homes, harness the ocean, work on the harsh land, and even have some form of electricity hundreds of years before it became common use. Now, the Chessmen, they were different. They were said to control—”

“I know this,” Isla couldn’t help herself. “They’re known as the Progression, Expression, and Protection Pokemon. They gave early Kildonians the means to develop industry, arts, and security.”

The old woman nodded approvingly. “You know your stuff. Very good for an incomer.”

“Mother,” Rhona said warningly.

“You know how the legend ends, yes?” Nana Morag checked. “The Chessmen, enraged with how humans squandered their gifts, tore the region apart and set humanity back hundreds of years. The Chessmen became dormant and the Vitalities were banished, leaving the humans to rebuild alone. Many people believe the Vitalities are responsible for all the natural disasters—”

“They’re not disasters, Mother.”

“—because they’re still furious about being banished all those years ago.”

“Fascinating,” Isla breathed out. “Is there anything else you can tell me about them?”

“I think, for now, we’ll get you sorted in your room, shall we?” Rhona interjected hastily.

“Oh, of course. Thank you,” Isla said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.

As she manoeuvred her backpack out of the gap by the fridge, Nana Morag caught her by the elbow, her thin, bony hand proving a surprisingly strong grip. “I have some books that you might find interesting. I’ll drop them off for you later.”

And then Isla was climbing the creaky old stairs, ready to try and slot herself into this strange new home with these strange new people.

The rest of the day passed slowly, like petals of a flower unfurling in the sun. She met Kenneth, Rhona’s husband, who split his time between the farm and the market in town. He was frighteningly tall, too tall for the cottages’ low ceilings, and he walked with a noticeable hump even when there was enough space. Rhona was a mean cook, serving up a vast pot of bubbling stew, and Isla had to banish all thoughts of whether the meat too was “home-grown” from her head in order to enjoy it.

Tiredness swept in the moment she laid her knife and fork down. The night came in so much faster in Kildo than Johto, and it felt somehow thicker and darker, like she was swaddled in a large black cloak. She was glad when Rhona took one look at her when the family was doing the final storm checks on the farm and sent her straight up to bed.

Maybe it was the fresh air, maybe it was the excitement, maybe it was the long journey, but the second her head hit the pillow, Isla was dead asleep.

Hours slipped by, or maybe it was minutes, until her world was split apart by a huge bang! She sat bolt upright, cocooned in slippery blankets, and it was all she could do not to topple headfirst out of the bed. As the world phased in around her, freezing cold air gusted into the tiny room, causing goosepimples to erupt on her bare skin. The window, left on the latch before she fell asleep, had blown open. The storm had hit.

Slamming the light on, she untangled herself and grappled with the slippery latch. Eventually she shut out the wind. Outside, everything was pitch black like the swirl of spilled ink, and the rain lashed against the house, sounding like bullets. Isla pressed her face to the window, her breath misting the glass. Something bobbed in the distance, a single pin of light, moving through the velvety dark. It looked too small to be Blair or Kenneth. But who else would be out there during a storm?

The light moved closer. Isla scrubbed impatiently at the fogged glass, terrified that if she took her eyes away, even for a moment, it would disappear. It grew, doubling first, then tripling in size, then a crack of lightning split the sky. Isla let out a gasp as her entire room plunged into darkness. The power was out.

The light in the garden was growing brighter.

Or was it really a light? It looked almost solid now. Like a real living thing. Or maybe not a something. Maybe a someone. Something behind the light looked like the silhouette of a child.

It intensified, burning so bright that it seared Isla’s eyes and for a moment, all she saw was white. Then it faded and was gone. The lamp on her bedside table flickered back into life. The winds seemed to calm. The rain simpered to a stop. And Isla was alone, aside from the impression of a pair of wide, childlike eyes burned into the back of her head.

As we have a full Pokedex (130+ Fakemon), we decided to provide more details about each new Pokemon as it's introduced, especially as we may not always be able to give full details for each one. These aren't necessary to enjoy the story but it's here for anyone who is interested. So, here are the dex entries for Kildonian Wingull and Ruchter!

Kildonian Wingull Number: 041 Type: Water/Flying Evolution: Kleptern at Lv25 Abilities: Keen Eye/Pickpocket. HA: Rain Dish Stats: 50/55/30/30/30/75 Dex Description: Facing severe competition from Chibber for natural resources, Wingull have resorted to stealing food from witless tourists instead. As such, it has gained weight over time, but has also gained a more deceiving nature.

Ruchter Number: 090 Type: Flying/Ground Evolution: Evolved from Chickter (Happiness, Male-only) Abilities: Early Bird/Tough Claws. HA: Vital Spirit Stats: 100/125/55/50/55/90 Dex Description: Ruchter, the Farmer Pokemon. The evolved form of Chickter. Able to precisely work tough soil with their talons, Ruchter can cover a small field in minutes. Despite looking old and frail, they are tireless, and can work for hours without a break.”

#Checkmate #Pokemon #Pokemon fanfic #Pokemon fanfiction

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boogiewrites · 5 years ago

Text

His Own Piece of Heaven By The Sea

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Ruth (OFC)

Summary: Ruth, a nurse at Margate, happens to be assigned to a man brought in off the beach with a gunshot wound to the head. With her kind nature and good heart he quickly sees she is exactly as she appears and becomes fond of her. Asking her to be his personal nurse in his seaside mansion in Margate, an unlikely friendship grows. With time, tenderness and patience they grow to become more. (Done to celebrate PB S5 being released in the US. I tagged those that are tagged in my other Alfie fics as well.)

Warnings/Tags: Sexual Content. Slow Burn. Nurse caring for injured Alfie after After season 4. Possible S5 Spoilers. Started as an AU so... Domestic fluff. Fluffy Smut.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Luckily for Alfie Solomons, the Margate hospital was only a few minutes from where he was shot and left for dead. Even if it had been carried out at his own insistence, after waking up sputtering to half a face and a high tide, it was now more trouble than it was worth, it seemed.

He lay in a sanitized room. The window was open, he could hear the seagulls and the breeze outside. He found it curious only half of the room appeared before him, but as a quick regretful touch of his face informed him, he no longer could see out of his left eye. He’d been stitched up and medicated, lots of thoughts swirling about his foggy brain. Some perfectly logical, some not. He stayed in that thin veil for some time at first while he healed. After the fact, he couldn’t recall much, only her. As she was the one constant through it all.

“He got shot in the face, left for dead and LIVED!” he hears whispers from the doorway. He was still a mess, scabs and swelling and a face that was half pieced together. He couldn’t blame anyone for looking but he wished in his lucid moments that they’d leave him the fuck alone.

“Go now. Mind your business. The man needs peace and quiet!” she hissed and the sound of tiny hands slapping against bodies could be heard. He smiles with the side of his mouth it doesn’t hurt to and grunts. “I’m sorry Mr. Solomons. Some people have no manners.” she speaks in a soft voice. This is his first memory of her.

----

He groaned in pain. Whoever was touching him, and whatever they were doing wasn’t right. They had him on enough drugs to keep him sedated but the loud roar of pain that rose from his tired chest made the girl trying to dress his wounds squeak in fear.

“He keeps fighting me! He’s under enough sedation to take down a horse!”

“Well, what are you doing to the poor man?”

“I’m trying to clean his wounds!”

“With this?”

“Yes!”

“You bloody idiot.” she sighs and moves over to Alfie’s side. “I’m sorry, forgive her for she knows not what he does.” she rolls her eyes and gingerly takes off his bandages. She barks orders, and in her familier voice, it felt good to hear. He focuses one eye on her as he sees her lips pursed and blowing to soothe his irritated skin. A kind hand rubbing and patting his chest to keep him still. “I know it hurts, I’m terribly sorry.” she tells and see’s him focusing on er. “Hurt enough to pull you awake, eh? Poor man.” she coos and pushes back his hair. “This will help.”

At first, he winces, the cold a surprise, but soon it numbs and dilutes the medication placed incorrectly. “Mmph.” he snorts in response.

“My, my what a chatterbox today.” she smiles and continues running ice over his face, blowing and cooing all the while. She takes her time, as she always has with him and cools his skin, then applies the correct medication to numb then another to fight infection. With a new dressing, she fluffs his pillow and gives his blanket a good shake before tucking him back in. ”Here you go, love.” she speaks, one hand behind his head, the other placing a bottle of liquid to his lips that he knows means another long rest is coming. “There we are. Soon you won’t need my help with that. I’ll check on you later Alfie. Not that you’ll know.” she chuckles. “But I’ll be there.” she pats his hand and gives him a smile as his eyes roll back and flutter shut.

----------

The longer he stayed and recovered, the closer they became. He quickly became her favorite patient and she, his favorite nurse.

“Ruth!”

“Yes, Alfie?” she asks carrying a tray on food into the room.

“The seagulls are being mighty peculiar today.” he answers with a shake of his head.

“What are they up to today?” she amuses him as she takes away his binoculars and sets them on the bedside table.

“Loud today. Storm coming in perhaps. The fuckers have been fightin’ like mad. They know something we don’t.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that in the least.” she smiles and places a napkin into his shirt collar, the tray in his lap. “Always up to something those birds.”

“You understand, Ruth. That’s why I like you.” he announces approvingly. He was rather entertaining when medicated. Although she hadn’t seen much of him sober yet.

“I managed to snag you another bowl of pudding and a sweet roll.” she distracts him.

“Always spoilin’ me Ruth.” he gives her a wag of his finger. “Have I ever told you about how I had a bakery? We made these rolls ourselves.”

“No, you haven’t. Tell me more.” she sits next to him, her shift over but having nowhere to go she cared about. She sits with a book in her lap and listens to the stories he tells over and over. Ones she could recite from memory if needed. But he sounded happy, was so lively when he told her stories she couldn’t bring herself to tell him no. She rather enjoyed seeing him smile.

-----------

Coming off the medicine, Ruth missed those stories and smiles. Alfie was coming down from his highs, pain, and withdrawal both plaguing him. Learning to function with one eye, the dizziness that came from the force trauma to his head and the depth perception problems. She understood his short temper, but he was still far nicer to her than any other person that helped him. After a particularly nasty day, him falling and being embarrassed, angry about being sick from the medicine and his head throbbing almost visibly, he surprised her.

“He’s asking for you again.”

“Right.” she tidies up and goes to the sounds of a groaning man. She could walk to the path in her sleep now. So many rounds and shifts, days and nights spent there with him. “You called for me?” she responds with the same polite tone.

“I did, yeah.” he nods then turn to look at her. “I’ll be out of here soon.”

“That’s what I’ve been told. I know you feel poorly but you are doing better,” she adds supportively. “It’s good that you’ll be leaving. Means you’re on the last stretch of recovery.”

“Do you want me to go, Ruth?”

The question catches her off guard. “I want you to get better.” she states plainly.

“Now I do want the fuck out of here, yeah? But I don’t wanna GO per se.”

“I’m afraid I'm not following.”

“I want to hire you. To come live with me. Be my personal nurse. You’re the only one worth a damn. The only one I trust. The only one that doesn’t look at me like…” he stops himself and sighs. “Would you be interested?”

“You flatter me as always Alfie,” she replies with a smile and her hand to her chest. “But I work here, I have rent I can’t just-”

“I’ll pay ya double what you make now. No rent, I’ve got plenty of rooms. You can help me, yeah? I don’t want to deal with this shit alone. I’ll only admit that to you. This fuckin’... the sight and vertigo and all 'is… shit that goes along with getting shot in the fuckin’ face. I can do it alone, but I don’t wanna, love. I’m finished with makin’ things harder on myself. And you help me, right? You have since I got here.”

“I have. I was the first assigned to you.”

“And the only one that’s stayed.” he lets out a little chuckle that turns into a cough.

“Yes.” she nods and smiles. “I’ve never done in home care.”

“You’re a good nurse. The best I’ve seen here. And you don’t annoy the shit out of me. You’re perfect for it.”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting his out of uncertainty.

“Ya gonna make me beg, love? Or is it more money you’d like?”

“Neither.” she laughs and gently pats his hand. “I accept. You’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse.”

“That’s what I was known for.” he grins.

“I can see why.”

“You go tell that boss of yours that don’t appreciate you enough to fuck off now. You’re gonna come with me.”

“I’ll tell them in my own way if you don’t mind.” she giggles.

“If you insist.”

---------

Ruth, in her simple cotton dress, walks closely behind Alfie as he slowly makes his way with his cane into his Margate home. She hadn’t known what to expect, but a mansion hadn’t been it. Aged and covered in ivy, the walls covered with specimens and art and each piece more interesting than the last, she had to focus on him to not become distracted. She’s careful to follow him on his side he can see on, ready to help him stay steady should he need her. He tromps his way into a cozy and lived-in room, plush chairs and a set of doors that overlooked the ocean. She gingerly helps him sit in the largest chair and doesn’t judge his pained sounds as he does so.

“Your place is lovely, Mr. Solomons.” she remarks, taking his hat and coat from him.

“Who the fuck is Mr. Solomons? Don’t call me ‘at. Call me Alfie.”

“My apologies. Since I was working I wanted to be formal.”

“No need for such. We’re old friends already, Ruth.” he grunts and resituates himself.

“Yes, sir.”

“None of that either.” he shakes his finger at her and she nods obediently.

“Yes...mate?” she suggests with a face that shows her rapid reaching for an alternative and it makes his laugh turn into a cough.

“We’ll work on it.” he chuckles.

“Where should I put your things?”

“There’s a closet by the door, hang ‘em there.” he nods in the direction of which he speaks.

With a quick bow, she leaves and returns promptly. “What would you like of me, Alfie? Some tea perhaps? I can get used to the kitchen.” she offers with hands clasped in front of her. So reserved, he thought to himself.

“Nah, you can go ahead and fetch ya things. Your room is the last on the left hallway, love. I’ll just be here.”

“Alfie, with all due respect let me at least make you comfortable before I go. That is my job afterall.”

“I’ll be fine, you don’t live that faraway. I did make it this far in life without you ya know.” he jokes.

“May I speak honestly?”

“It is what I prefer, yeah.” he turns his head and narrows his eyes at her.

“I do not want you falling or getting hurt while I'm here. I will feel personally responsible as it is my job to care for you and I take my job very seriously. You are... a bit stubborn and I don’t want your tenacity to give you a set back you will later regret and I will be left to mend something that could have been avoided.”

“Well that is...honest.” he shrugs.

“So as per my expertise, I would like to make you tea, perhaps a toastie or something to keep your energy up before tea. I’ll give you something to take the edge off, you’ve done a lot of traveling today and don’t need to exert yourself. I’ll settle you down with a book and some binoculars to watch the sea like you enjoy, eh?”

“A toastie?” he lets out a deep laugh that moves his stomach. “Haven’t had one of those since I was a lad. Sure. Tea does sound lovely after that char they serve in the hospital. Trust you can find the leaves on ya own?”

“Certainly so.” she nods with that same polite smile. “Here’s your binoculars...and a pillow in case you require it.” She moves about the space as if she knows it already. He notices what an observant person she must be. “Be back in just a moment, sir-Alfie.”

“Now SIR Alfie does have a good ring to it.” he teases and laughs, reaching for the binoculars as she opens the doors before leaving to familiarize herself.

“Don’t poke fun of me Alfie. I’m adjusting to this informality.” he hears the laughter in her voice covering the offense taken.

“I’d never, love.” he says with dramatic offense taken. “What sort of man do you think I am?”

“The kind that gets his tea poisoned for being an arse.” she snaps back with a playful smile he hadn’t seen before.

“HA!” he throws his head back, forgetting for a moment in the exchange that he was injured before cursing and mumbling, “Bloody room needs to be still.”

“And THAT is why you need me, Alfie. Behave yourself.” she sighs with a shake of her head as his brow furrowed hard in concentration.

“Yeah, yeah. Make me feel worse about it why don’t ya?”

He hears the sounds of another person in the house. Something he wasn’t entirely accustomed to. The tinks and shuffles of water and china go unnoticed as he focuses on steadying his head.

“Has the room stopped spinning for you to enjoy this?” she asks, standing with a steaming cup of tea and a saucer in her hands.

“Ya quiet as a mouse there.” he gruffs with one eye opening and giving her a once over.

“Not my intention,” she says with her trademark polite delivery. “Here you go. Still hot.”

“Mmph.” a grunt as he sits up straight and sees the swirls escaping the liquid. She stands patient and still as he puckers his lips and blows. He gives her a moment of eye contact before taking a noisy sip. He waits a minute, a slow head nod then a noisy smack of his lips. “Made the right choice hirin’ you dinnit I?” he states with a turn of his good eye her way. “That’s a good brew there, love.”

“Thank you. I pride myself on it. Been making tea since I could pour it myself.”

“You can tell. Good, that.” he adds with another slow sip. “What else are ya good at Ruth?” his tone sounded more like a challenge than a casual question.

“I suppose you’ll find out, won't you?” she answers back quickly and curtly. A small almost bend his way before moving back to the kitchen to impress him with a snack.

------------- He awakes with a twitching nose and the pain that the motion sends immediately through his head. The pain is ugly but the smell that caused it is lovely. The sun was already moving up into the sky and he groans and manages to sit up in his bed without too much nauseated feeling. He’d overslept which normally would be very much unlike him but his sleep schedule since being shot was erratic at best.

“Oh, you’re up already!” he hears the familiar voice chirp. “I’ve brought you breakfast.” she proudly declares, carrying a tray and sitting it on a table away from the bed. “How are we this afternoon?”

“What bloody time is it?” he grumbles as she approaches and checks his forehead with the back of her hand.

“Half past eleven.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.”

“The medicine makes you sleep, Alfie. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’d rather you be resting than unable to.” her voice remains instructive but polite. “Here’s your tray.” she places the shelf to eat off of over his lap and begins to arrange the food. “We have porridge and honey. Tea with the same. Good healing properties in it, yeah?” she keeps her polite smile and watches him flinch as he moves his face. “Doesn’t require chewing. And I’d like you to start having food in you before you take your pain medication from now on. So we’ll start here and see how this goes.”

“Ya gonna do the dressin'?” he asks with a tired eye exposed.

“After your medicine has had time to dull the pain. No use in making you suffer more than you already have to.”

He watches her move about with light fingers and a pleasant face. “Why ya wearin’ that?” he asks with now focused eyes. He was referring to the new uniform she was wearing.

“My old uniform was the property of the hospital. I thought since I was still working it would be proper to get myself one.”

"Ya didn’t have to.” he offers.

“It’s no problem.” she lied. She’d had to buy the uniform second hand because she couldn’t afford a new one of her own. Of course with the new pay and lack of rent she’d be able to afford one soon. “The black will help hide any stains and the apron is always useful.” she offers and sits on the edge of the bed. “Now stop fussing and eat.” she directs with a gentle pat to his foot as she holds the paper in her hands.

“What’s that?” he motions with a spoon full of porridge.

“This morning’s paper. I thought you might like to read it.”

“If I wanted a fuckin’ headache, yeah.”

“That’s why I’m still here.” he retorts. “I can read it for you while you eat. Save your eyes.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But would you like me to?”

“Mmmph.” he nods and begins to nibble away at the flavorful lumps in the bowl.

He was glad she could read so well, he’d had maids that couldn’t before but she was a nurse putting on the hat of a maid as well. He had to remind himself that. He uses his one good eye to look her over while she’s distracted. It was still in his nature to use anything available to his advantage. He’d already been able to surmise that she grew up poor, if she wasn’t still, from the food she served. This new uniform, clearly worn was another sign of this theory. It was a touch too short, clearly tailored for a shorter and smaller woman. The sleeves rolled up and the petticoat fluffing out at the edges that hit at her knees, the undone top button that wouldn’t clasp were all signs of support for his growing back story about her he was concocting in his head.

After he’d eaten his fill, an amount that was approved of by her and a good sign of returning health, she’d proclaimed, he takes his various tonics and medications that begin to make the edges of his vision a bit blurry. He pays attention to her now, his hands clasped in front of him, staring at her as she reads to him. “Would you like me to skip the arrests?” she asks.

“No, it’s a favorite part.” he gives her a smile.

“Very well…” she begins, posture straight and head moving animatedly as she read off the charges.

It was the drugs that made him feel so comfortable with her. But it didn’t stop it from feeling good nonetheless, no matter the official cause. “You have a lovely speaking voice, yeah?”

She blinks with surprise and turns her head his way.

“Bet children love it when you read to them, eh?”

“They usually fall asleep.” she replies with eyes that moved around in thought.

“You ever read poetry? Shakespeare and the like?”

“I am familiar with the works. Never thought it much use to read it to children in the hospital.”

“Mmmph.” he nods. “Perhaps one afternoon we’ll do that. I think your voice would lend a certain lyrical lilt to it.”

“Thank you.” she says politely as she closes the paper. “I do believe it’s time to change that dressing and clean you up. Officially start the day, yeah? The seagulls are probably lonesome without you looking at them.” she jokes.

“I’m a very busy man.” he nods in agreement. “Someones gotta keep an eye out on those bloody birds. Can’t trust em.” he hears her soft chuckle and keeps his hardened face in place, as is his way. Especially when his reactions tended to make her laugh.

-------

“Alfie?” He hears Ruth enter the room, announcing herself as his blind side was facing the doorway.

“Ello. Look at this ship that’s come in today. Never seen one so big.” He motions with his hand to approach him as he holds one eye of the binoculars up to his face. “Lots of cargo ships today.” He muses while Ruth peers out to the sea to entertain him. She couldn’t care less about ships. “Must be for the turning of the season coming. Needin' supplies and that.”

“Yes, I felt the chill incoming this morning.” She agrees with a nod and hands the spectacles back. “I have a question… or rather a concern I need to discuss with you.”

“Alright, go on.” He pats the seat next to him and she obediently sits.

“Tomorrow is Friday.”

“Mmm that it is.” He nods.

“That means Shabbat.” She states obviously as he seemed to not be following.

“Can ya make Challah?” He inquires.

“Yes, no problem at all. But there is the issue of me working.”

“Ah. I see. Yes.”

“I had been considering ways to still observe but not be away.”

“I could be fine for a day on me own, love. Ya don’t have to worry like ya do.”

She didn’t want to argue even though she disagreed.

“You can go off and do whatever it is you like.” After a pause and silence on her end, he turns to look at her. “What?”

She lets out a small frustrated noise. “I don’t really… have anywhere else to go.” She gives a small shrug. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Oh.” He blurts out, surprised at the answer. “Well, that’s also fine, innit?”

“I thought perhaps I skip cleaning on Shabbat. I can not wear the uniform you know? We can work together for tea and I can lounge a bit instead of keeping busy.”

“You know… some company would be nice.” He wouldn’t dig into her lack of social life today. The poor thing seemed embarassed. “I can help with the bread or at least supervise. Be useful somehow.”

“That would be wonderful. We could listen to one of the radio programs perhaps? Or I could read something besides the paper to you as you suggested?”

“Full of good ideas you are Ruth, dear. We can be a couple of mates bein' lazy. Have our wine and leisure as God requests.” He speaks with his hands, an animated delivery that told her he was adjusting well to the less intense medication.

“That sounds lovely. I’d like that very much.”

“Then that is precisely what we shall do, love.” He declares with a pointed finger.

And it was.

A lovely indulgent afternoon to close out their first week together. Wine and conversation. His snoozing through the afternoon as she prepared dinner. He told her stories and she read poetry about the sea to him. She continued to care for him but in her simple cotton dress this time. Her usual conservative hairstyle replaced with a loose fall of hair around her shoulders. A total opposite to the severe bun she had sported. He sees Ruth for the first time and not Nurse Ruth. She shares stories of patients and they laugh. She tells him of past Shabbats with her mum, and he shares some of his own. A mutual bonding on the loss of their mothers. They talk well into the night and only end the revelry when his medication renders him useless. It would be a special time for both of them to share and an instigator for their budding romance.

——————————

“The rest of you needs seeing to Alfie.” She insists. Knowing of his skin condition and back pain. “If you just let me assist you I can get it all in one go and it would be so much easier on me.” She stands with a hand on her hip as he stands with an undone shirt in the doorway of his bathroom.

“It’s a man’s business all his own in the bath. I don’t need your help to wash. Just on the ol face. I don’t want you all...exposed to this.” He motions to his body.

“You act like I’ve never seen a naked man before Alfie. I’m a NURSE. This is what I DO.” She maintains with open hands that chop down to the beat of her words.

“Ya tryin to get at me bits is what ya doin!” He replies dramatically and she sighs and puts her hand to her face.

“Alfie I swear-“

“Ehh. Only teasin bout that don’t get ya knickers in a bunch.” He groans and moves slowly toward the tub.

“You can use one of the wash cloths to cover up if it makes you feel better. But you never came off as shy before.”

“I’ll take ya up on that.” He makes his usual sounds of discomfort as he takes off his shirt. “Now turn and I’ll get in. Having an audience makes me bashful.” He jokes as she rolls her eyes and lets out a chuckle.

“I can’t have you getting dizzy and cracking your head open. I won’t apologize for watching out for you.”

“So you keep saying.” his voice shows his mild annoyance with her caring nature. But he was healing well he had to admit. She hears his clothes hitting the floor and water sloshing about. “Hotter than hell but fuck me that feels good on the ol joints” he grunts. “Come on in then ya stubborn bird.” He sighs out as she’s at the ready with her case of medicines for him.

“This makes this a lot easier on me. I appreciate your cooperation, truly.” She states with no sarcasm as she lines the bottles up and rolls up her sleeves.

“Only reason I’m agreeing to it.” He answers with lips planted together and readying for the bandage to be removed for what could be the last time.

“You have healed up so nicely.” She remarks softly as she studies the now stitchless face, only scabs left to fall off. Some already have done so with dark lines now showing the marks left from the open wound.

“Tell that to me fuckin eye.” He responds defensively.

She suppressed a sigh of frustration. He truly had come so far. He could’ve died of infection or any number of things by this point. “The sight left but the healing it’s done is remarkable all the same. The pigments gone but being able to keep at the eye at all is a teatmabe to your bodies ability to heal.” She uses a cloth to wipe gently at his face.

“You’ll say it’s a miracle I’m here at all next.” He complains.

“I won’t.” She snaps back. “Even though it is.”

He hums sarcastically.

“I feel comfortable not covering it anymore. Get some air and sun on it. Do you good.”

“Can’t wait to unleash this on the world.”

“You’ll be even more intimidating than you already are. With your personality, I’d think you’d find that more useful than a negative.”

“Got a point there.”

“Besides, the integrity of your face is still intact. All symmetrical and that. Your beard is almost grown back in on this side. Just scar and an eye that could pass for an opal. Adds character. And you are a character for certain.” She chuckles. “You aren’t disfigured. In my humble opinion still pleasant to look at. Most that get shot in the face can’t say they still kept their looks.”

“Looks?” He turns with a brow raised. “Are you complimentin' me?”

Her eyes blink fast and she looks away. In her attempts to cheer him up perhaps she’d been TOO honest. “I am.” She nods and begins rubbing oil between her hands. “Now give us this mop of hair.” She changes the subject and leans over to get her fingers into his scalp.

He’s rendered useless. As her nails rake away and wake up his scalp with a tingle. “Fuck that is good, innit?”

She smiles contently as his eyes roll back and he shuts them. “Get your blood flow going and heal up any spots. Very good for you” She says softly as he grunts. She washes his hair, an intimate thing she makes comfortable, the medicine she’d poured onto his face and hair washing into the bath water. “You can give yourself a wash while I put these away and then I’ll cover the spots on your trunk.”

“Trunk? The fuck you on about?”

She chuckles again and shakes her head. “That’s nurse for torso.” She explains.

“I was wondering if you’d sewed me up wrong for a minute there.” His response draws another laugh as she turns her back and closes bottles and wipes them down. “‘Spose you could’ve been takin bout my nethers.”

This brings a further laugh from her. “Nethers.” She chuckles. “That Alfie for genitals?”

“Since you’re a lady I wasn’t gonna say cock.”

She lets out a snorting laugh, shoulders shaking with it as he gives her a smile she doesn’t see. “But alas, here we are.” A happy sort of tone that shows her amusement and lack of offense pleases him in many ways. “Since when do you watch your language?” She sass’s.

“Since I got me arse and bollocks out I suppose.” She covers her face for another round of laughter and he joins in.

“You’re a character, Alfie Solomons. Never met a man like you before.”

“I’ll take what back handed compliments I can love.” He genuinely agrees.

“Not back handed. You are interesting. Unique. That’s what character means.”

“Quit bein’ so sweet and get over here, you’ll make it hard for me to be a grouchy bastard.” He grunts and stands, hand still holding the wash cloth over himself as she turns to get an eye full of dripping wet man in the tub. She was going to ask him to rise up a bit to get to the spots but… this worked too. See gulps and he catches it, a flush of confidence he couldn't help comes over him.

She works in silence, focusing with a furrowed brow she rarely had. She was fighting to not look anywhere she didn’t have to. Her fingers worked into his scaly spots, soaking up the good mixture of healing ointments and losing their redness already. He was dotteda long his shoulders and back, some on his chest and she was thankful there weren't any on his legs to be seen. She remained professional in action but her thoughts were moving in a wholly different direction.

“There you are. Finished.” she declares with a nod, not meeting his eyes and speaking curtly. She looks him over, not being very skilled at being subtle or sneaky as he stands and stares at her. A bit of flex of power as he saw her jaw tighten and lashes flutter.

“You gonna oogle me or hand me towel, pet?” he coos out and she is visible bothered. A quick jump and rush to grab what he asked.

“I wasn’t- I didn’t-”

“Hush, love I'm only teasin’.” he grins, draping the towel around his hips. “But I do believe I can handle the rest meself.” a smirk that gave away his delight at getting flustered is plain on his face but she dare not meet it.

“Course, course.” she mutters out and quickly turns and hurriedly gathers her things.

She goes to her room and finishes putting the bottles into her bag for later. She rubs the back of her neck and looks around at nothing in particular as her eyes remain nonblinking and wide. She was a professional, what was wrong with her? She shakes her head and the image of his broad body remains. Wide shoulders and strong, stocky legs that were made for… well, things she hadn’t experienced in a long while. The time without the intimacy of a man being felt hot in her face and elsewhere. She had heard him referred to as Captain, he was a military man, which would explain the strength there. She looks at herself, suddenly self-conscious with hands to her soft stomach and hips. She supposes it’s a good sign he looked so… healthy. It was in part to her good care and support and she took pride in that. But another feeling that was called sin was bubbling up beneath the surface for his recovery was becoming more and more apparent. ----------------

Time passes and the true nature of themselves reveals itself. Alfie being stubborn and grumpy, although she couldn’t entirely blame him. And her proving hard working and insistent. The banter between them became easy, the routines in place and their roles clear. It was a relationship that both of them felt they didn’t have to work too hard at. Over the weeks they’d grown comfortable with one another, and it was starting to show.

It was one of the last warm days of fall, the cool air getting chillier by the degree every night and feeling it into every morning. Alfie was very aware of winters coming in his bones. An ache in his joints he dreaded every year with the changing of the seasons. But at least he now had someone with soft hands and warm heart to rub oil into the hurting bits. He wasn’t sure what helped more at this point, the oil and massage or the woman who was doing it.

They walked side by side, Ruth dutifully holding his arm out of habit by this point. But he didn’t mind it all that much. She had a little blue dress, one of the many shades of the sea they walked alongside. Both barefoot and Alfie with his pants rolled up his calves, his typical white shirt and waist-coat loose on the breezy and pleasantly cool day. When the sun would peek through the clouds a warmth would spread across their skin, sparkles on the water shone as they walked, their footprints disappearing behind them in the tide.

“Come in a little further, get the cold water lapping about your legs! Get the blood going!” she requests with a hand laced into his, giving it a timid tug in her direction.

“It’s bloody cold, love.”

“It’s not THAT bad Alfie. It wakes up the senses. Keeps you on your feet!” she gleefully announces as she lets his hand go and lets her dress get wet in the waves.

“Last time that water touched me I woke up with a hole in me fuckin face so forgive me for not being as enthusiastic as you.”

“You love the sea Alfie.” she scolds. “You sit up there on that balcony all day every day and watch it and everything in it. You hold no ill will towards it. Don’t make excuses. You can always just say no politely and I’ll listen.” she lectures as she splashes about, the tips of her hair getting damp and a sheen across her face from the splash the sea was waving against her. She looked happy. An innocent at play he thought.

“You’re welcome to it, love.” he contributes with a nod, watching her intently as the waves lapped around his calves.

“Fine, have it your way.” she submits as a wave almost knocks her over, a laugh arising from her shaking chest. “The doctors say this is good for the heart.” she informs without an inkling as to the soft look on his face, eye barely squinting in the dim sunlight.

“Yeah. I’d agree it’s that, innit?” he replies quietly, watching this lovely little siren spin and splash about. He wondered if it was old age making him soft, or if it was, in fact, just her. Perhaps a bit of both. How was a hardened man like him supposed to withstand a persistent assault at his heart by a woman so wholesome? She saw the world so differently, then he did. He couldn’t help but find her mind intriguing. He was already looking forward to wine and conversation with her that evening. Wine was the only way he’d found to open her up a bit, and each week he chipped away at her professionalism. One day he hoped to find something to give him some indication as to whether her kind and caring nature was just that, or if it was a sign of something more when it came to him.

——-

“Alfie, are you awake? I could use some assistance!” Ruth calls out, arms full of packages from the market. As she made her way through the house and into the kitchen.

“Do you think all I bloody do is sleep?”

“I can only work with what my own observations tell me.” she smarts back and he smiles.

“Don’t like it when ya get smart on me like that.”

“Then don’t ask silly questions, dear.” she ties back her hair as she moves past him to go fetch another set of bags from the car.

-----

They work well together in the kitchen. Both their upbringings working in tandem to create meals that both liked. He was a much better cook than she’d expected. She wasn’t used to men taking such interest in it, especially the baking. But she’d never had a better Challah than one that was kneaded by him.

“Did ya get the kosher eggs, love?”

“Of course I did.” she replies placing them next to him as he did a check of the ingredients needed.

“And the candles?”

“They’re crucial, of course, I remembered them you worrywart. I bought the fruit yesterday and the fall compote is in the icebox. The chicken is marinating, I have your favorite vegetables as requested and the broth is beginning to simmer. So onto the matzo balls.” she claps her hands together and readjusts her sleeves up her arm.

“You got the good schmaltz for it?”

“Yes, Alfie. Only the best for such a meal.”

“Good girl.” he praises as he moves about the kitchen with her, a slight hug from the side and a kiss to the head that made her blush at the approval. “These meals are so much easier with you here Ruth. Barely gotta do a thing.”

“Just keep making the best bread I’ve ever eaten and I’ll be more than happy to oblige you with the rest of the meal.” she says with a broad and happy smile.

“You flatter me.” he speaks softly as he dumps out the dough. He places his rings into a small dish she’d brought into the kitchen for that singular purpose. The kneading brought him back to his early days in the kitchen with his mum, the days he instructed the bakers at the shop. All happy memories that were being cast in shadow by the new ones he was forming with Ruth. But all she really could pay attention to the was the strength and endurance of his experienced hands plying the flesh-like dough. She put on records and lit candles, set the table with the last of the flowers from the garden. She had given the home a soft touch, a feminine one it lacked. It was still entirely his own, his things, how he wanted them, she never forced herself in. But her presence did seem to make things a bit more palatable. Especially on the bad days.

— They’d drank their wine, a bit over indulgent but no harm done. Sitting on opposite ends of a fainting couch and listening to the sea beat onto the shore outside the window. The fire roared away, Ruth shivered despite being under a blanket. She despised the cold, she always froze in the winter and without a fireplace in her bedroom she was already getting a bit chilled at night.

But in the shadow of the fire, warm and fuzzy on wine and seeing a snoozing Alfie it was far from her mind. She watched him with his harmless exterior, sat back and snoring lightly in his chair. He looked peaceful and rather adorable she would admit to herself. Lips pooched out with a chin pushed back into his neck, all snuggled into his beard on his chest. She sat with her elbow on the arm of the chair, chin in her hand and stared, took all of him in without judgement. She barely noticed the scars anymore honestly. She hadn’t known him without them. They seemed to suit him almost. A grumpy bear of a man she mused. The bear's nose twitched and awoke with a grunt.

“Mmph. What time is it?” he mutters.

“You’ve only been out for a little while.” she answers with a sweet voice that calls his attention. He sees her propped up and comfortable, a content smile not hidden on her face as she continued to observe him.

“Ya watchin’ me sleep?” he blurts out without any grace.

“Suppose I was. You look so peaceful.”

“Was dreamin’ ‘bout you.” he admits.

“Really? What about?”

“We were on a balcony. ‘Spose that one outside my room. It was cold and dark.”

“Least it wasn’t a nightmare.” she adds supportively.

“Far from it.” he grumbles, not giving away the other details of the dream of a warmth between them and their affections shown physically.

“Must’ve been nice. You looked happy.”

“Mmph.” he didn't want to give away any more than he already had. “Why didn’t you wake me? Or go to bed yaself?”

“You looked happy. Like I said. Didn’t want to bother you.”

He nods in acknowledgement. “That why ya lookin’ at me like that then?”

“I was just thinking.” she sighs out.

“‘Bout?”

“You.”

“Are you inclined to share your observations?”

“When you sleep you remind me of a bear.” she answers with a smile, her head tilted against the back of the chair.

“Ah.” he thumbs his nose. “A fierce beast indeed.”

“I should clarify I meant a stuffed bear.” she grins.

“What sort of stuffy would look like ‘is eh?” he retorts. Not exactly defensive, but not entirely not either.

“A well loved one.”

The smile she gives him makes him stop adjusting his posture and give her a gaze back. He looks her over for a moment, the wine leaving her relaxed with no sign of embarrassment in her body language.

“You look soft, comfortable. Your head down like your stuffing has been hugged about the neck so many times it’s lost its support. You’re worn and well-loved, threadbare in places. Some seams have split and you’ve lost an eye from your adventures but you’re still the same bear.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He hadn’t heard her speak in such a way before. He knew her for her positive outlook but she sounded so… soft and dare he imagines loving with her poetic observations.

“But we’ve given you a good scrub, cleaned you up. Sewed up the seams and given you a lovely new pearl button for an eye. You’ll be good for years to come.” she practically coos, her head shaking backing and forth in support of her statement.

“You… are drunk.” he states.

“Oh pish posh Alfie, what if I am?” she raspberries her lips.

“Would explain this monologue you’re on about.”

“You are though. Drunk or not I’d mean it. I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant it as a compliment.”

“Didn’t say I was offended did I? Far from it.”

“Good.” she states and snuggles into the blanket around her shoulders. “Because you should see yourself that way.”

“Might take a bit more than kind words to change me own mind, love.”

“I’ve got them. I’ll keep trying.” she tires.

“Pearl button.” he chuckles.

“It shines in the firelight like an opal. Colors.” she yawns with smacking lips and closed eyes. “Or the moon in a cloudy sky.” she begins to murmur, sleep beginning to find her by force. “Lovely, really.” she barely whispers.

“Oh, darlin’.” he breathes out, watching the little mouse lose her fight with wine and sleep. “You’re too good to a man like me,” he declares before sitting up and moving her way. He doesn't have the heart to disturb her, only closing up the doors and placing the blanket he had over him onto her as well, giving an extra pillow for her to snuggle up to when she inevitable made the descent to laying horizontal. “Sweet little thing,” he murmurs, pushing back her hair from her face. “Don't take more than one eye to see how lovely you are Ruth.” he smiles softly and adjusts the cover around her. “Night, love.” he places a kiss to her head and she gently stirs, a little muffled hum from the touch. That’s what he’d go to bed tonight thinking about, that soft face spilling out honest words about how she truly saw him. He hoped his dream from before would return, he had lots of ideas for how to finish it now. ——

The cold had set in for the season, a crisp wind against the panes as the fire inside roared away. He supposes his compromised body, busy healing him from the shot was too preoccupied and hadn’t managed to keep up with its usual form of defense against the illness that made its way around this time of year. Ruth held herself responsible even though Alfie told her not to be ridiculous. He hadn’t left the house, he shouldn’t have had any way to get sick. She must’ve brought it in from the market she guesses. With her guilt heavy, and even if she wasn’t, her care of him always went above and beyond what was expected.

“We have just broth this time. Don’t want to upset your tummy further.”

“Tummy the medical term?” he still gives a sarcastic response despite his head hanging over the bed and the remnants of breakfast in the bucket below him.

“I’ll call it what I like.” she speaks with confidence as she wipes down his face with a cloth to clear his beard. “You need to stop being so mouthy and relax.”

“All the times I’ve been told that in my life...”

“You’d think you would’ve learned to listen by now.” she gives his cheek a gentle pat as she tucks the blankets in around him. “Take a few sips and wait. Then if you keep it down within the hour we’ll try some tea.

“Ugh.” he groans, his head spinning and for the first time not from the injury. He was just plain sick. Some stomach something that made him hot and cold and sleep like the dead. “I don’t want to eat a 'fing.”

“That means you’re still sick and you need the energy. So do as I say, please.”

She was stern but kind, reminded him of his mum a bit. She never shied away from the gross bits, whisking the tray away as soon as she saw his face turn and she knew he was going to be sick. She cleaned him up and bathed him to sweat out the sickness. He was so exhausted he didn’t have it in him to even tease her about seeing him naked. This told her he was especially sick. So when the hour got late and he was nowhere near where she’d like him to be in recovery, she stoked the fire and changed into her pajamas, setting everything he could possibly need by the bed.

“You’re burning up, love.” she whispered with a hand to his forehead. He only nods in agreement. “I’m going to stay with you tonight. Is that okay?”

“MMph?” a questioning glance shot her way.

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“You 'fink I’m gonna die?”

“No, I don’t think you’re going to die.” she chuckles and smoothes back his hair. “But I want to keep an eye on you nonetheless. You poor thing. I know you feel miserable.”

“Aye.” he moans.

“Do you mind me asking something personal?”

“What?” he gruffs out, sat back into the stacked pillows with a frown.

“When you were little... what did your mum do when you were sick?”

“Have me sleep with her. Do that lovely fing you women do with the fingers in the hair.” he grunts at the exhaustion he feels trying to reach his hand up to ruffle his own.

“Then I’ll do that then, yeah?” she suggests.

“Not a baby.”

“Tonight you are.” she smiles, crawling into the bed next to him. She makes herself a little nest and situates. “Would you like laying on my lap? A lot of people prefer it. That or on the chest, heartbeat is soothing, but I’m afraid I don’t want you that close to my face.”

“Don’t blame you.” he groans and moves slowly, to roll onto her legs.

“Curl up a bit, sometimes that helps with the stomach cramps.” she rubs his back, damp from sweat soaked through his pajamas as she lets him nestle up against her. Another sign he was very sick was his lack of defense of the idea. Men did love to be comforted in a maternal way when they were ill. She’d learned that quickly in her years as a nurse. This man wasn’t any different, it seemed. “That’s a good boy, now.” she feels a yawn coming on, fingers carding through the damp strands as she feels him rest his weight on her. “You aren’t accustomed to getting so ill are you?”

“No.” he laments.

“Your system has been through it as of late, hasn’t it? Healing you up so well it forgot to man the gates.” she lets out a soft laugh and his eyes are already shut. “Poor darling.” She whispers with a sweet lilt that gives him a moment of strength to wrap his arm over her legs. “Rest now, love, you’ve earned it. I’ll be here.” She continues to stroke through his hair as a snore quickly rises from his full lips.

He awoke without the usual ache in his body he’d grown accustomed to. Tiredness that was very much there, but the pain was dull and far away. He feels his head move with a soft rise and fall, realizing he was on Ruth’s stomach and he was feeling her breathing. He knew she was asleep by the steady rhythm it kept and it made him want to rejoin her. He felt the weight of her hand on his back and the other with an open book against the bed. By the small amount of light in the sky, he could determine she’d tried to stay awake and failed, but he had succeeded in getting an almost full night's rest for the first time that week. It must’ve been the fever breaking his rational mind thought, but he also concluded that the affection surely didn’t hurt his chances of recuperation either. —-

With frost heavy on the windowpane that night, Ruth kept adding more wood to the fire in the lounge to try to combat the freezing temperatures.

“Gonna have to move back inland to chop me own trees if ya keep feedin' it in such a way.”

“I’m sorry I’m just... freezing.” She whines with a sigh, pulling up her socks and tucking her feet beneath her on the chair that had been designated as hers unofficially over the weeks she’d been living there.

He looks to see her jumper layered over an undershirt, long johns and her big socks pulled up to her knees with her boots still on. “You’ve got more on than I do, ya still cold?”

“I’m always cold.” She mumbles. “Nights are worse.”

“Ya have a proper coat? A wool jumper instead of that knit one?”

“No.” A voice that was small and clearly embarrassed.

“Do I not pay ya enough to buy the things you need?” His tone wasn’t one of judgment which she was relieved by, but she still felt suddenly inadequate under his gaze.

“You do, you’re very gracious I just... I've been saving it.”

“Ah.” He nods, still looking her over. He wanted to ask her for what, but he supposed it wasn’t any of his business. But his curiosity and her silence got the better of him. “May I ask for what?”

“Just... life.” She shrugs. “For a place of my own one day. Being an unmarried woman I need to be able to support myself at any given moment if need be. Things happen. I like to be prepared.” She sheepishly answers.

“Well, that’s smart of ya innit.” He approves. “How about we go out tomorrow and I buy you a new coat? Get ya some good winter protection since you’re such a small thing. Won’t have ya freezin' in my house.”

“That’s very kind of you but it’s not necessary. I’d considered taking up knitting. I could make some things for myself.”

“You need something better quality than you could pull together. Not to be rude, love. It’s a good hobby to have but the weather by the sea demands more.”

“It is so much colder than it is inland. The wind bites to your bones.”

“That it does. So we’ll go. You aren’t spendin' your money on something like... fuckin gamblin' or what not, ya bein smart, so I don’t mind to step in. Consider it a gift for your excellent work.”

“You don’t have to-“

“Hush now Ruth. You don’t reject gifts now do ya. I know you were raised better than that.” He teases.

“Thank you. It’s very generous.” She finally accepts and pulls a duvet over her shoulders.

Her chattering begins to be noticeable to him. His injured side still hearing her sniffling and shifting as the night carried on even if he could not see it. “How have you been makin' it through the night without a fire if you’re already so cold?” He inquires without looking her way.

“I haven’t been really. I’ve had a hot water bottle and a warmed iron in my bed, sleeping in my clothes and that.”

“Unacceptable.” He grumbles. “You should’ve said something, pet.”

“I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“You have never been a bother and you could never be, Ruth. Anything you need you just ask. Promise me.”

“Yes, Alfie” she agrees hesitantly.

“Good girl, now c’mere” he instructs, raising the blanket thrown over his lap. “Use the 'ol sharin' body heat in the meantime.”

“Are you su-“

“Get over here Ruth. Your teeth will grind down to nothing with the chattering they’re doing over there by the window.” He orders with more conviction, another motion of his hand to beckon her closer.

She sighs but begins to move, a nod of agreement, because he was right.

“Won’t have you catchin' a cold when a simple intervention of body heat will help remedy the situation.”

She brings her blanket around her shoulders, dragging behind her on the carpet as she shuffled towards him. Wordlessly she sits next to him as he pats the cushion, direction to sit close.

With only the crackle of the fire, he puts an arm over her shoulders, tucking the blanket now shared as he pulls her legs into his lap.

“Get these feet warmed up, eh?” He mutters, unlacing her boots as she watches him with curious eyes. The delicate movements of his fingers catch her off guard by the attention they demand of the firelight shining off his rings. “Beneath the legs. Toes under here, there ya are.” He mumbles while tucking her feet under his thigh to warm her. “Don’t be shy, we’ve had a cuddle before.” He chuckles as he pays her back. Her little body, in comparison to his, curls up against him. “Lookit is nose, red as a beet yeah? Can’t have that.” He takes her nose and places his palm over it and makes her laugh. “You are freezin' love, my goodness.” He remarks softly, rhetorically. “There now. Better?” He asks with genuine concern as he runs her back over the blanket.

“Yes actually.” She admits quietly. “You’re very warm.”

“Aye. Good it’s going to use then, yeah?” He looks back to the book he’d been reading. She feels a bit limited, being in such a confined space with him. She was on his blind side but that didn’t stop him noticing she was staring. “ You’ve seen me every day, love, what could there possibly be to look at you haven’t seen before?”

She gives him a grin. “I haven’t had to be so close in some time now. You’re still doing very well. Swelling is gone.” Her fingers trace over his scars that run from the line of his beard to his temples. “Healed up nicely. Hardly any displacement. Scars will always be there but a small price for what you’ve been through.”

“Thanks to you.” His way of accepting the compliment.

“I think you had a bit to do with it.” She lets out a soft chuckle. “I think you wear it well. Not just anyone could make this sort of look work for them.”

“Not that I’ve had a choice.”

“You certainly do.”

“How so? Can’t exactly choose what I look like.”

“No, but you have a very strong face, Alfie.”

“That’s a way to say ugly and still be polite.”

She laughs and her forehead pressed into his collar bone for a moment. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never say such a thing as it would be a lie.”

“Backtracking now are we?” He turns to show his good eye and an amused but teasing face.

“No!” She laughs and snuggles a bit closer to get his warmth.

“Hush and snuggle up ya little ice lolli.”

“Strong means exactly that. Strong.” She rests her head on his shoulder with his permission. Hair nuzzling against the scars they spoke of. “Masculine, you know. Hard brow, pronounced nose and jaw. And all symmetrical.” She yawns. “ Most can’t say that without getting shot.” She lets out a soft laugh.

“What did you break? You’re being too nice again.”

She lets out another giggle and it makes him smile.

“You know I would’ve come running and crying if I had.”

“True.” He agrees.

“You have an intense air about you. Suits the whole… look. That’s all.”

“Then thank you, Ruth, love.”

“Welcome.” She sighs with a smack of her lips.

She falls quiet, gentle breathing against his chest he doesn’t mind in the least. As much of a surprise to him as anyone else.

“Ya asleep?”

“Mmmph. Warm. Comfy.” She mumbles.

“Then let's go to bed, yeah? At least until we can fix the cold in your room.”

“Together?”

“Yeah, love, I’ll keep ya warm. Let me be of use to ya somehow. For what all you’ve done for me.”

“No use in arguing with you. Won’t win.” She answers with a sly smile that makes him laugh.

“Kind and smart. Gonna have to hold onto you aren’t I?”

His response causes a warm happy hum in her throat that makes him lean in to kiss her head before he wraps her up and takes her in his arms to carry her.

“Don’t strain yourself.” She tells him, waking up and wrapping her arms around his neck instinctually.

“I know me limits.” He grumbles back defensively. “Don’t worry, you just keep warm.” He adds more softly as he carries her down the hall.

With a well-fed fire and a comfortable position found in his bed, Alfie and his little mouse burrow up, her without her usual wall of hesitation as she hungrily pulls herself towards him, so relieved at the promise of a night not freezing alone.

As she had done before, watching over and being of service to him, he returns the favor night after night. Watching over her and the total abandon on her face as she slept. She looked so innocent in his arms, dark hair and lashes that lay stark against her skin. Besides their buzzed conversations, these nights were a close second in his favorite way to spend his time. He felt useful to her. Like he could entertain he could ever repay her for the help she’d given him. Laying with the strong but fragile-looking woman in his arms gave him something carnal he missed. He felt like a man for the first time in a long while. He hadn’t known if he’d ever feel such a way after being shot. He thought women may run in fear of him, left to pay for any kindness or intimacy with them. But one had appeared that made his chest warm, his belly full and his mind occupied. She’d been a comfort from the beginning, but he was suspecting he was becoming one for her as well.

--------

Alfie hadn’t had very many visitors since coming home and it’d been months. Very few people seemed to know he was even alive from what Ruth gathered. The only people that visited him seemed to be Jewish businessmen she’d never seen before. Most were Orthodox and very polite but they spoke suspiciously quietly while they met with Alfie.

She greeted them all enthusiastically making tea or bringing biscuits as Alfie suggested and this time was no different. She’d even put on her maid uniform even though she was more than a bit cold in it. But unlike times before, they spoke louder, as did Alfie, sounding a bit distressed. She was doing her work, scrubbing at the entryway where they had tracked in mud from their trip to the market.

She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it just happened she was in proximity with her work. She hadn’t meant to listen and hear things she shouldn’t have, but she did. Now she knew who Alfie Solomons was, and him being shot now made sense.

That evening Alfie, as is in his way, already knows she’s heard him. He could tell from the moment she took away the tray from tea. The lack of eye contact, the almost sad but cautious expression. None of it was lost on him.

After supper, he knows there’s a conversation that needs to be had. He knew no better way to approach it than head-on.

“I know you heard what me 'n those men were talkin' 'bout today.” She says nothing and keeps knitting. “I’m not angry, you can look at me, Ruth.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“I didn’t assume as much but thank you for clarifying.” He answers calmly.

“I was working on the floor. The mess from going to the market and the wet and that.”

“Mmm.” He nods. He says nothing having learned it is better to let people talk themselves instead of probing in most cases.

“I’m not… in trouble am I?” She asks with big eyes.

“Not if you can keep a secret.”

“I’ve not told anyone that you’re here either.” she adds quickly.

“Good. Then no problem, yeah?”

She gives a sharp nod.

“But I would like to know. For my own selfish reasons, what you think now. Because you aren’t lookin' at me the same.

“It was a shock at first. But upon reflection it made sense. The big house, money, the guns” she recognizes. “You’re very well-spoken and read. Clearly a man of intelligence. You can be very intimidating at times and it seems natural. I thought perhaps it was just your turn but it seems it’s learned for… work purposes.”

“You’re very observant, Ruth. Very clever.”

“Thank you.”

“All those things are true. I won’t deny them to you because you deserve the truth. But I am retired now. I don’t do that sort of work now. I put in my time and it’s given me the means to have this sort of life. Now I can sit back and use the reputation, yeah, the power that comes with such a name and life lived.”

She nods bashfully again.

“Will this be a problem?” He questions after a moment of silence between them.

“Am I… I’m not in danger am I?” She asks with the same honest eyes as earlier.

“Oh pet.” He sighs out, reaching out and taking her down turned chin into his hand. “ I would never put you in danger. Do you understand? You’re far too important.”

“Okay.” A soft solution that cues him to move his hand to hold hers.

“Do you think less of me now?” An upfront inquiry she hadn't expected.

She takes a moment to consider her answer. She didn’t feel threatened or scared of him. He admires her ability to slow down and consider her words before speaking. It was a skill many lacked. “No.” She shakes her head. “You have been nothing but kind to me. Grumpy sure but that’s a personality trait and not the core of a persons being. You’ve been generous and thoughtful. As I see it you’ve done no wrong to me, and that is all I can base my judgments on. Who youwere before doesn’t seem to be who you are now. I believe people can change. You’re a good man to me. One of the best I’ve known and I suppose it makes no difference how you made your life.”

“That is a relief. And so thoughtfully spoken.” He gives her hand a squeeze.

“I know some think me naive. As my kind nature can be mistaken."

“You are not naive. You’re very smart. Have a lovely, clever wit about you. You’re a good woman. You have a good heart. I admire that about you.” He lets go of her hand and sits to look at her, meeting her eyes intensely. “What I want to know now, is do you want to continue to live here with me? Now that you know?”

She doesn’t consider it as long as he expected which makes him let out a relieved sigh. “I do. I trust you. And trust your word. I feel safe here... with you. Safer now still than I did living alone.”

“It does make me happy to hear such news.”

“But Alfie…” She begins. “You know, and I only bring it up because you did first. But you are aware you no longer... need me, right? Save the housework I haven’t had to be your nurse in a few weeks now. I’m no longer needed for the purpose I was hired for.”

“You are not needed for that purpose, no.” He shakes his head. “But you do not wish to go?”

“I do like it here. And you. But, I hate to put my foot in my mouth to ruin a good thing but I’m still being paid for things I’m no longer doing.”

“Mmph. That would seem to be the case yeah.” He nods, looking into the fire. “Perhaps I hadn’t brought it up because I don’t want you to leave.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t.” He shakes his head. “I like you, Ruth. And I can count on one hand the people I’ve liked in my life. I’d choose you to stay here. With me. I wouldn't charge you rent. And I do like how you keep a house. And cook. And… many other things about you.” He pauses. “But I would like to know. Do you like me? Would you want to stay?”

“Am I… reading too much into this being a loaded question?”

“I’m not proposing anything indecent. Not asking anything of you. I genuinely enjoy you. You as a person. And I don’t want you to leave. Your company would be missed. Greatly.”

“You want me to live with you? Not as an employee? Am I… understanding you?”

“Yes.”

“If not as an employee then...as what?”

“You’re a good woman Ruth and I don’t want to insinuate or offend. I do enjoy our friendship. But I believe there is the possibility of more there. And I would be willing to help you out, as we could help each other out, by living together and giving that a chance. No professional lines crossed, and if you find you do not want to stay I would never keep you against your will. But I believe you might feel the same way. If I am so bold to suggest.”

“You are bold.” He can’t get a solid read on her expression as it holds many things. “But you are… also correct.”

“Would you like to take a chance then, Ruth love?” He takes her hand again. “I know a man like me has no business asking this of a woman like you. One as lovely and smart with so much to offer but if I didn’t I know I’d spend the rest of my life alone and regretting it.”

“A man like you has every right to ask such a thing of me.” She lets out a soft huff of a laugh to being flattered.

“Nothing has to change. Business as usual and no funny business on my behalf. I can behave. Despite rumors.”

She gives him a smile. One that reassured him of her answer. “I would like that. We remove the confines of professionalism. No taboos just, two very good friends… exploring the possibility of more. Organically.”

“You put it in such an easily understood way, dear.”

“I can agree to that.” She nods with a nod of confidence.

“Then it’s settled.”

“So it is.” She beams back. A moment of silence hangs between them. “How about a cuppa before bed? Special brew to celebrate?”

“Always full of good ideas, you are. I’d love that.”

——————-

That night when it's time to go to bed Ruth has regained that same nervous smile she had in the beginning.

“It feels a bit different now, yeah?” She states with a nervous laugh.

“A bit. But it won’t be. Everything moves at your own pace, love. Do you still want to sleep in here?”

“Oh, yes” she very quickly answers much to his relief. “I can admit now it’s far too pleasant sleeping with you to go back to that freezing room. I mean, sharing a bed with you… you know what I mean. Why am I being so particular?” She laughs at herself.

“S’all right.” He speaks comfortingly and as always lifts his arm to accomodate her against him. “You’re rather endearing when you’re nervous.”

“Lucky me.” She snickers. “ I would like... some minor adjustments?” She asks sitting up to meet his face on her elbow.

“Anything you want, darlin'.”

“Just… here.” She scoots closer to move her feet under lhis eg, taking his hand that lay next to him on the bed and resting it on his chest. “And one more thing.” She asks with batting lashes, “Nothing indecent about a goodnight kiss to the cheek right?” She asks before planting one on the scarred side of his face.

“Nothin' a ‘tall. Spoilin’ a man.”

“This is a good start.” She coos with tired eyes, already putting her head to his chest to listen to his breathing and heart. She takes his hand into hers and laces their fingers together. “Goodnight Alfie.” She sighs out. A content and pleased sound.

“That it is, Ruth. That it is.” He closes the night with a kiss to her hair. A new nightly ritual begins.

————-

Their courtship began and despite the fluttering in her stomach she was distinctly aware of now, it didn’t feel like much had changed. There was a certain closeness, an intimacy and tenderness that hadn’t been so blatant before. There were kisses to cheeks as they cooked, holding hands as they sat side by side on the chair in front of the fire at night. Quick strolls around the estate, hand in hand to knock the dust off Alfie's shoes as he put it. He’d started venturing out more as well. Returning home with trinkets and sweets to gift Ruth to show his fondness. She’d never had a man give her gifts, and even the simplest purchase of something she’d needed such as socks or soap, made her blush and feel pampered. They were moving closer to something increasingly serious between one another each day, and they were both waiting for the other to cut the tension.

Their Shabbat is spent together as always, days spent cooking and nights spent leisurely enjoying each other’s company after blessings in the confinement of their home. Ruth had an air of ease about her now that she was being courted and the barrier of being in Alfie's employ was gone. This led to her being over indulgent in wine for the Friday evening, but Alfie didn’t particularly mind.

She went to bed when he had, a late night with a bright moon and stars. She woke up shortly after a brief rest, feeling hot in his embrace. She peels herself from the bed, feet hitting the cold floor and her still buzzed state becoming acutely aware to her. She shuts the door, Alfie grumbling as she left after a kiss to his cheek and a whisper of “I'll be back darling, sleep”.

She made her way with the fog of rest and wine in her eyes as she lit a candle in the hallway. She took a sweet from the glass dome they were housed in and proceeded to stand in front of the glass double doors that outlook the beach. The ocean was still awake, a sparkling blue and gray as it lapped at the sand. There wasn’t a soul out to feel the salt air except for Ruth. Her face was flushed, the breeze welcome and fluttering her dressing gown to ease the side effect of the wine. After many content sighs, lazy blinks that turned the glimmer of moonlight on the water into small seemingly touchable stars she retreats to the confines of the dark and quiet house. She turns on the record player, something she enjoyed when she was drunk, and on occasion when she wasn’t and Alfie wasn’t home. With one door open, a tinkling of the chandelier above her as she spun and sashayed about the room with the bell sleeves of her gown adding a decorative flair to her lonely waltz.

Alfie had slept through plenty of things Ruth had done in the house, including playing music. But perhaps the lack of another body in the bed for too long made him restless, his mind refusing to tune it out.

Ruth was swaying with eyes closed and a content smile as she moved around the dark collection of Alfie's things. Light filtered through the gems on the chandelier and gave the room a smattering of bright spots that moved with the breeze and her raised arms as she felt the music move about her.

She was none the wiser to Alfie standing in the archway watching her. He moved as quiet as a mouse down the hall, suspecting no foul play at the music in the night. He smiled at the swirling woman, being happily surprised by what he found waiting for him. He had grown to enjoy having music on during waking hours, a pleasant distraction and a chosen aesthetic to the day to set whichever mood he fancied. But it seemed Ruth was the one setting the tone that filled the room tonight.

In her light-colored gown, a blue gray in the moonlight, she moved in and out of the beam coming from the open door. Her hair was down and free, waves moving with the fabrics with her small hands orchestrating along. She takes a swift spin to follow the string section, opening her eyes as she stumbles slightly. A happy laugh escapes her before she notices Alfie watching. A small gasp leaves shortly after with wide eyes that admitted guilt to being caught.

“Did the music wake you? I’m so sorry Alfie, my love, I thought I had it low enough that it wouldn’t.” She rushes over apologetically to the machine but a gentle and assertive hand stops her before she can hurriedly remove the needle and most likely scratch the record in the process.

“It did but no apologies needed, love. Your absence was what caused me to venture out more than the noise.” He explains.

“I woke up in a heat and needed some air.” She elaborates.

“That what happens when you drink too much.” He chuckles before giving her chin an affectionate pinch.

“You’re right. As always.” She gives a bashful smile as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Shall I shut this off and return to bed?” She asks with eager eyes and he finds himself sighing at the sight.

“No, no, love. Best not waste this lovely little scene you’ve set, eh?” He suggests as he straightens his posture and moves away from the wall. The candle in the hall was losing its fight against the darkness around it. It made no progress past the corridor and with a lack of fire in the room it was a peaceful display bathed in moonlight.

She looks at him curiously, not sure of the meaning of his words.

“Do you like to dance, Ruth?” He asks with an outstretched hand it takes her a moment to register its purpose.

“Oh yes. I do.” She nods.

“Would you like to now? With me?”

“I’d love that.” She smiles and takes his offered hand, small feet light as they were pulled along into the open space of the room among the rug and parted chairs.

“You’d never mentioned you liked it.” He observes.

“I’ve only done it alone before.”

“Ah. A shy one.” He grins and pulls her to his chest.

“Historically yes.” She laughs and happily takes her place against him. “You know better than anyone I am mostly hesitant to express myself and my wants.”

“Aye.” He nods, chin against her hair as a simple back and forth between them falls in naturally. A slow movement of feet, a swaying of shoulders as they leisurely made their way around the room. “But there is no need to be with me, pet. You’ll never get what you want if you don’t ask.”

“So wise.” She praises softly. “And so handsome. Really not fair.” She begins to giggle and hides her face in his chest.

“You’re still drunk.” He laughs and kisses her head.

“Only a touch. Enough to follow your advice. The wine helps you see. Helps me talk.”

“It can do that, yes.” He watches her face flushed and happy, lift to look at his.

“Sometimes I feel there’s so much in my head I want to say that I can’t choose where to even begin. So I don’t. But I want to.”

“Like what?” He inquires, giving her a chance to share her thoughts.

“Things… about you… and myself.”

“I have to admit I’m more than curious about your thoughts on the subject.” He teases and makes her smile with a dip of his head her way.

“I don’t even mind your teasing when I get to see you smile like that.” She catches him off guard with her softness as she always does. “You don’t smile often, so it’s like a little treat when you do. And when it’s directed at me…” she lets out a happy hum with a smile that warmed him against the wind whipping against his skin from the outside. “It just… makes a woman melt.” She admits with a soft laugh.

“Then I must admit yours makes me feel the same, love.” He kisses her forehead.

“You make me feel so… warm.” She sighs. “Like a constant hug. Or a big meal. It… feels so good.” She brings a hand up from his chest to rest it against his cheek. “I’ve never…” She stops and her eyes narrow just slightly in thought. “I’ve grown so fond of you, Alfie.” She finally verbalizes.

“And I you.” He keeps his voice soft as to not distract her.

“And you’re so… much. Smart and funny and lovely and so very good to me. And despite your insistence to the contrary, I do find you terribly handsome.”

“This what you’ve wanted to say to me love?” He nuzzles his nose against her head with an almost patronizing smile. As is his way. “Because it seems you’re only speaking my mind, as I feel about you. You kind and beautiful little woman. Clever and hard working. And bless you, finding me easy to look at.” He presses a long kiss to her cheek that makes her stomach flip and a smile that carries across her entire face bloom.

“I do. Because you are. And for that and so many reasons I really do very much care for you. Beyond friendship. Beyond platonic now.”

“Will you stay with me then darlin'? Ease my worries for losin' a treasure like you?”

“Of course. I don’t want to lose you either.” Is her honest and heartfelt response.

“So if I did what I truly wanted… and kissed you you wouldn’t be offended and run?”

“A man like you asking permission lets me know I am in fact exactly where I’m supposed to be. With you. So carry on with what we both want.” Her lips are still smiling as they finally close the space between them.

He was gentle with her. His hand moving from hers and to her head. It was short and chaste, as he didn’t want to offend her with more. She was by nature delicate and easily overwhelmed at times. The kiss’s purpose wasn’t to convince her for more but seal their courtship as official.

Small affectionate pecks follow. As they stand in the chilled room with nothing other than a warm feeling between them.

“I do believe it’s you and not the wine making me dizzy at this point.” She admits with a giggle against his lips.

“Then how about we get you to bed? There are always more kisses to be had whenever you want them. I’d never rush you, my love.”

“I do believe you’re right. I’m feeling a bit tired. And the promise of cozying up to you is more alluring than the breeze and music at this point in the night.”

“Then let’s do just that.”

—————————

Alfie had been put down for a nap as Ruth likes to affectionately tease him. He still suffered from the odd headache from time to time from the injury but a simple low dose of medicine and rest could always take the edge off he needed to function. If that didn’t solve it then Ruth’s humming and oiled fingers massaging his face and scalp could do the trick.

With a sweet kiss and words to leave him to drift into sleep, Ruth takes the time alone to see to the things she had on her to-do list.

Alfie wakes, just slightly groggy and becoming quickly aware of the silence in the house. There was usually some noise with Ruth around, the clinking of dishes or music floating about but his shuffling feet carrying him into the hall led to nothing. Perhaps she’d gone to town, she did say she needed some things for tea. With a shrug he helps himself to water and makes his way back with more open eyes than before. This time he sees the residing place of Ruth, and it was a bit of a shock on the old man.

Ruth had always taken her baths while Alfie napped. With medicine assuring he’d be down for a while she always left the door cracked to hear him call for her if needed. This time was no different.

Alfie heard the plinking of water first, his feet stopping in their tracks as the reflection in the mirror leaves him with a slack jaw after taking in the view. Ruth was exiting the bath, a reflection of soft curves bare to him for the first time. A lump in his throat grows, her toweling off and then turning with falling tendrils of hair wet and springing against the nape of her neck. Ruth was a modest woman, in her beliefs and her dress. Seeing her, and unexpectedly made Alfie behave like any man would, which surprised him. He didn’t consider himself just any man, and here he was with a storky, frozen like a teen seeing a naked woman for the first time. Admittedly it had been some time since he’d been with one. His life before didn’t really lean to him having any romance. He was busy, he was dangerous and he couldn’t risk any distractions. But he was no longer that man. A softness that had grown from wear and Ruth’s influence made him stop and take note of what was being blessed to him with his good eye.

As he sees her weighted breasts and soft stomach and hips disappear behind a towel he comes out of his trance and rubs his face, grunting as he makes his way back to his bed.

Ruth, none the wiser comes and kisses him goodbye. The grumpy and pursed-lip bear that was still in recline. She said she would only be gone a short while, as she needed plenty of time to prep dinner. She had said it many times and come home at almost dusk, so he hadn’t expected today to be any different.

Except she had. She’d wanted to celebrate their future together and attempt the bread he usually makes. Bread took time as he was certain to teach her and she wasn’t about to risk under proving it. Most of the time when she’d medicated him, Alfie would sleep through the afternoon. She would usually go in and check on him, a quick kiss before leaving to prepare for the evening. This was her plan as she moved light-footed down the hallway, but a new sound makes her stop and her eyes search for the source before she reaches his door. Now Ruth wouldn’t call herself nosey as much as cautiously curious, and at first, the sound worried her, heavy breathing, groaning, perhaps her poor darling was having a nightmare. But before she could turn the knob of the door she hears her name. And not called in any sort of way she’d heard before. It was needful, but not in a way that demanded her aid. This breathy call was asking for something different.

She gulps and a flush rises to her cheeks. With a flutter of lash she feels as if she’s been naughty and will be caught in the act of misbehavior. The longer she stays and listens, the less she becomes worried and the more… intrigued she becomes.

Alfie was no stranger to swearing, even in the company of Ruth who hadn’t ever minded as it’s never been directed maliciously at her. But she could hear the push of his stomach muscles, the strain in his neck as he said her name, soft words of encouragement for what she was sure were scandalous acts happening behind his lids in his mind. “Take it, pet.” he moans through gritted teeth, her hand moving to her chest to steady herself. “Fuck me, that’s it, love.” She knew what was happening behind the door, as he was only a man, it didn’t surprise her exactly but what did was her reaction to it. A heat in her face that sent a tingle down her spine that landed right between her legs. Her mind hurriedly imagined what he looked like, legs splayed and hand slowly gripping himself, those soft lips panting and begging things of her. She felt oddly powerful and the way her body reacted so quickly, so thoroughly was the real surprise to her. He wanted her, and in the biblical sense. It was a natural progression of their relationship, and one she had admittedly been considering more as of recent with the late-night snogs and roaming hands. It was a relief for her, she realized. Knowing he wanted her, and badly. It was a thought that followed her around all afternoon and into the evening. All the way to her bed.

With a pause in the cooking, now only waiting for timers to alarm, Ruth in her state of distraction excuses herself. Saying she was going to freshen up before the meal as she’d been out. Alfie doesn’t think much of it, a normal thing for a woman to do.

He waits and decides to peruse in his office, a room beside Ruth’s old bedroom. He was looking for a particular contract he’d been working on, the beginnings of a Ketubah. The sounds that tickle his ears are not as holy as the intention the document represents but they are indeed heavenly.

Ruth, hiding away in her bedroom under the guise of being in the bathroom is tucked away letting her body lead the way her hands move against herself. She’d been distracted and wet all afternoon. Every touch of Alfie's hands to her skin had ran red hot through her. She couldn’t hear a breathy chuckle and not think of her name leaving his wet mouth in much the same sound. She had to give in to what her body was calling out for, but she wasn’t exactly quite ready to reach the final step with Alfie.

In her throws she doesn’t notice the opening of the door through the wall that his study shared with her bedroom, her back resting against it as she sat on her bed with her face in tense concentration. Waves move her body and her voice, growing moans as her fingers circle and stroke. She imagined Alfie and his full lips on her breast as her fingers teased it through her dress. She imagined those firm thighs against hers and he moved in rhythm above her. A breathy and light call of his name escapes her as, in her mind, his lips find her neck.

On the other side of the wall, Alfie was feeling tortured. What a little minx she was. Seeing her naked and now hearing her touching herself proved too much on the man. His blood surged forward like a much younger man, even after sinfully meeting his needs earlier in the day, his cock was gaining more and more attention as her sounds continued.

He pressed his ear to the wall, a hand rubbing himself over his trousers and another in a fist. “Fuck, love.” He sighs out, hearing her whimper out his name.

She continues with her melodic moans until his body aches and can no longer be ignored. As hard a diamond he strokes himself, hearing her just on the other side of the wall, almost feeling her panting breaths.

“Oh my… Alfie yes, please.” She whines and tenses her thighs.

In his mind he gives over, his hand firm and fast and already nearing an end at the rather unorthodox means he was hearing a woman get off. She was a tease and didn’t know it. Trying to contain herself and be decent, take care of herself in private. But it made it even more delicious for him. He knew now she wanted him, and it gave him control. He knew he’d have her now. A proper woman like her didn’t want to fuck just anyone. She wanted to fuck someone she loved and the revelation of it all, between the two of them as they crested with moans and open mouths, was as intense as their orgasms. It was only a matter of time now that the known could remain a secret.

———————

Another Shabbat, another day spent close together. There was food and drink and sweets, an intimate dinner by candlelight that left them both feeling closer than ever.

Their evening is spent snuggled up on the couch. Ruth sat in his lap and read to him as his head rested against her chest, her fingers rubbing through his hair. He loved the sound of her voice. He also loved the feel of it. Something he hadn’t noticed before. The way her chest rose and fell and vibrated his head as she comforted him. She reads poetry he’d heard so many times before, making them both feel sentimental and appreciative of the other. Especially when they were nestled so closely in each other’s arms.

“I’ve never enjoyed anything with another person as much as I love simply being here and reading with you.” She reflects as she kisses his fussed hair.

“And your company is unrivaled.” He gives a smile and a kiss to her chest in agreement.

“You’re my favorite person you know.” She whispers and nuzzles her nose against him.

“And you mine. No one else has ever made me see the world as you have. A spotlight of optimism, a softness that endured against my most hard and stubborn parts. You’ve made me better. More human and somehow more powerful for it. Parts of me long lost were touched by you, love. I do hope you know how special you are to me.”

“I do when you work your silver tongue like that.” She kisses the end of his nose before dipping down to share a lingering slow kiss. His hands were gentle against her, warm as they ran up and down over the blankets. As was her way she pecked away, keeping a certain distance to not lose herself in him with a hand braces to his cheek in his beard lightly.

“It’s only natural to speak of a woman like you in such a way.”

“Charmer.” Her giggles turn into happy sighs against him. “I would never wish for anything bad to happen to you, but being here because of something bad that happened I can’t help but be selfishly grateful for such a thing. I wouldn’t have come to know you this way without it. And I don’t want to be without knowing you now.”

“Having you here now gave it purpose. In a different life, before all this, I couldn’t have been with you. Not with the life I led, the man I was. Not a peaceful sort of existence like we have now. Together.”

“A good reminder of fate knowing better than we do.” She huffs out a laugh as her fingers move over his textured face. “Knowing what we both needed… how to get us there.”

“Don’t sell yourself and your own actions short, love. I wouldn’t be in such a good state without you. Without your mind, body and soul to help heal me.”

“Take your own words and don’t give me all the credit, Alfie. You’ve fought to be here. And I’m thankful for such a stubborn man.” She kisses his forehead and holds him close for a moment. “I have been thinking...”

“Yeah, love?” He takes her hand, seeing the bashful nature return. Making her look at him as she spoke.

“These last weeks, months have been so lovely. With us being together as we are now.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“It’s made me consider a lot of things I hadn’t before. Living with you like this, feeling how I do about you. I want to stay here. With you. Like this. It’s too pleasant a life to pass up. And I… over these past weeks I’ve… Alfie, I do believe that I have fallen in love with you.” She manages to say with a sweet conviction.

She sees softness in his eyes take over. A dark hooded peek into his soul and a light cloudy one move over her face and take her cheek. “I am certain that I love you my little Ruth. And it pleases me beyond those silver-tongued words you admire to hear that you feel the same.”

“Alfie I do love you. It’s a fearsome thing to feel such a way. But it is such lovely torture to be blessed to have.”

“That it is.” He nods and the shine of tears in her eyes touches him, making his chest ache.

She leans in to kiss him, and one without the hesitation of them all before. A full connection, a sharing of breath and hands that held tight to him to match. After rounds of soft lips and teases of tongue she parts to breathe, feeling light-headed. Her closed eyes, forehead pressed to his face give away the emotions building inside her.

“Tell me Ruth my love, would you like to stay forever with me?”

“With you, Yes, always.” She exhales happily.

“Forever can start tonight if you want it love.”

“Yes. We’ve both waited so long already haven’t we?”

“That we have. A lifetime it seems.”

“Then… let us start our new life together, tonight.” Her fingers trace his skin along the inside of his collar. A clear indication of the meaning of her words.

“Is this what you want? Whatever it is I’ll give it to you Ruth. My world is yours now.”

“Yes. I want you. Every bit of you.” She whispers with her nose to his. “Make me yours in every way tonight.”

“You’re asking a lot of an old man there, love.” He smiles and makes her laugh into his cheek.

“Oh, Alfie.” She laughs and sighs, kissing his cheek. “I’ll take whatever you can give me you silly man.”

“That’s my girl.” He grins and kisses her cheek. “That laugh would keep me warm in the dead of winter I believe.” His voice soothing and deep as his nose grazed her jaw.

“You’ve already won me, seduced me. Let me do the same. I can show with actions more than tell with words. Let me tell you how much I love you in my own way.”

“Then no more words, only show.” He promises with a seal of a kiss that presses hard against her, beginning their melting into each other for the night. Tight hands around heads and backs give way to more need than their position allows.

A trail of clothes down the hall, a musical staff’s worth of varying laughs and sighs and moans follow them into the bedroom leaving them bare against the other. The journey to this destination might’ve been slow, but their hands and mouth give away the need they feel with the speed in which they move.

He knew he wasn’t a young man anymore, but she was neither a young woman. He made love to her the best way he knew how, first with his words, now with his body. Arching her back in the soft nest of bed they shared he kisses every point of her he’d dreamed of. Ears and neck to chest and hips. Her whimpering for him the entire way.

She needs him close. Her hands pulling him back up to her as she holds his face, a gasping kiss as she feels the heat of him presses against her stomach, her own hips giving away at how much she wanted to be one with him.

With soft lips attached to her neck, her own panting, he stroked her to a mewling mess. With small hands tense on his back, she begged for him, and he was happy to oblige. With her own wetness, he spreads it along himself between her hot and sensitive lips and over her clit to male her jump with every touch. She held her legs apart, welcoming him in eagerly.

With a tense push and a loud moan, they finally feel the chemistry between them realized. He swears into her shoulder, a hard brow concentrating as he felt her pulse around him, hips already asking more of him.

She moans out for him and God and in those moments moving inside her he felt they were one in the same. If he’d thought himself more than a man before, making this woman who was made of everything entirely good curse as she peaked only solidified the fact. As she shook he held her close, hips grinding together in a friction-filled union that took them both where they’d longed to go together. She was overwhelmed by the fill, the pressure, stretch and push of him. He was overcome by the squeeze, the pulse and the raw need he felt from the heavenly sounds escaping her mouth. They were only for him, and they’d only ever be for him again.

Not a care was given to the aftermath, the wet and mess that comes with lovemaking. They stayed together in it, lips connected and hearts in the same rhythm as they beat together chest to chest. Brief sweet praise, and exchanging of vows to belong to one another before the intensity caught up with them. The slowing of breathing and pulses died down to a whisper, the only heavy breathing that of sighs in their sleep as they held one another through the night. Each other was all that was needed in that big house by the sea. A place Alfie had called a slice of heaven in its picturesque existence.

Alfie had been given a second chance and he knew this. He knew this piece of heaven he’d carved for himself wouldn’t last forever. The day would come when he had to return to the world of mortal men and face his consequences, take a stand. However it played out as history saw fit. But for now, he would relish in this heaven he’d built with this woman. For he had convinced himself long ago he would go to hell. But the future would never again keep him from enjoying the present. His life was in the now, with her, and he planned on living this way as long as he could; in his own earthly heaven he’d built with Ruth, the most angelic woman he’d ever know.

Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

@jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbirdd @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi @marvelgirl7 @they-are-not-just-stories @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes @alitheamateur @gold-trashbag @divadinag

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minhyunluvr · 5 years ago

Text

look | bethought

The students of class 1-A filtered back into the building, hurrying through the halls to get back into the classroom. The same girl who lingered away from the group was now walking silently with Ashido, the latter female rambling animatedly. The former seemed to be absorbed in her thoughts, distress covering her dainty features. You, however, had begun to make yourself comfortable in the teacher's lounge, anticipating the arrival of your teacher.

A few minutes later, a knock sounded.

"(Y/n), who are your parents?" Glancing at the door, you saw Aizawa staring at you suspiciously. His hand rested on the center of the door as he pushed it open, walking further into the room before closing it.

"Did you really need me here to tell you that? Shouldn't it be on my records?" You sighed at his blatant question, resting your hands against your stomach.

"I was wondering why you weren't recommended."

His reply caused you to stumble over your words. "Oh. My father has met up with Endeavor on numerous occasions, and I believe that I used to train with one of his sons when I was younger."

"Hmm... Did you know that your classmate, Todoroki, is one of his children?" Aizawa walked further into the room, making his way over to the coffee machine. Once his words registered, your face turned to one of befuddlement. You had never been much of a social person, so the name didn't ring a bell. None of your classmates had resembled Endeavor, either, so it was even more questionable.

"Description, please?" As he sighed, you stood up and began to move for the door. If his only reason for keeping you out of class was to ask why you weren't recommended, then there was no reason for you to stay after he met your request.

"I'm sure you've seen him. He has red and white hair..." Your hand rested on the door knob, but you made no move to turn it. A large wave of recollection rocked through you, and the feeling of nostalgia you had gotten from staring at him made sense. Todoroki had been you childhood "friend", per say. If that was even what you could call it.

"Yunseo, it's time for training. It's gonna be hard, but you'll be here a lot from now on... I wish I could come with you, but dad's friend doesn't want me to." Woojin smiled down at you, encouragingly patting your back. He gently lifted you out of the car, and slight curiosity picked at the back of your mind. Woojin stepped away, blowing a kiss as he stepped back into the vehicle. A lump formed in your throat as it drove away, Jinho roughly grabbing your hand and dragging you down a walkway toward a traditional Japanese home. A young woman with a dark aura padded outside.

"Take her. I'll go find Todoroki." With that, Jinho let go of your hand and walked past her into the house. Her formerly indifferent persona turned into one of a pleasant mother as she stepped toward you and took your grip.

Kneeling down in front of you, she began introductions. "Hello, Yunseo~! I'm Miss Todoroki, but you can call me Aunt, if you'd like. Do you know why you're here?"

Your eyes lit up at the figure in front of you, curiosity piqued. You shook your head, your approximately four-year-old psyche barely able to formulate detailed sentences.

"Oh, well follow me. I think it's time for you to meet Shouto. His quirk recently manifested, so his hero-training has begun. You'll be joining him." The two of you began to walk through the house, passing multiple rooms before stopping in one that seemed like a gym. A boy with red and white hair sat against the wall with his legs criss-crossed, a stern look resting upon his face. He held his hands out in front of him as if he was trying to summon something. His teeth dug into his bottom lip in a way that made you chuckle. Miss Todoroki's smile grew as he jumped, having not noticed that the two of you had entered the room.

"Oh, hi, mom!" He smiled brightly and waved at the two of you, his head tilted to the side. His face filled with glee as he looked around at the small chucks of ice that where scattered around him. A small patch of black blemished the otherwise clean wall, seeming to be a burn mark. "...Dad left a few minutes ago with another man, so I'm practicing your quirk!"

The woman chuckled lightly at his enthusiasm, letting go of your hand to walk over to the boy. She looked back at you and gestured for you to follow, a smile still gracing her features. Crouching down next to him, she fluttered her fingers, a small gust of cold, whiteness painting the room. Modest gasps of astonishment slipped out of the boy and your lips, wishing for the lady to show you more.

"You know, Shouto, that it isn't my quirk. You're the one who controls it, and the same goes for your fire side. Remember that."

The boy cocked his head to the side once more, a curious pout upon his face. You giggled, a small knot forming in your stomach from excitement. Perhaps you could make your first friend.

Your thoughts were confirmed with her next set of words, and she quickly did introductions between the two of you. You picked up an incomprehensible look hiding behind her grey hues as she looked at Shouto, though it was barely noticeable. It may have come off as dark to one who had known her for long, dark as if she had witnessed something she shouldn't have. Dark in a way that redirects ones own thoughts to the deepest part of the human mind, in a sense. The portion that held life-changing occurrences and memories, where strong emotions such as love and hatred brewed. Your young intellect didn't pay much attention to it, the trivial parts of life not yet a concern.

"(Y/n), you trained with Jinho for a few weeks, right? Do you have a good enough understanding of it to show us?" With the last word, Mrs. Todoroki's thin hands began to run through her son's hair. His faced was filled with content, seemingly glad to experience motherly affection. Thoughts ran rampant throughout your mind at how nice it would be to have a mother-figure in your life, as you had been given up for adoption at birth. Of course, Jinho had never been that great of a parent for the year and a half you had known him. Your smile faltered slightly before you pasted on a cat-like grin and nodded, attempting to forget your momentary sense of glumness.

"Yes, I do! Would you mind if I use you for it, Auntie?"

A look of confusion flashed past the back of her eyes, but her smile stayed glued onto her mature features as she nodded and stood, arms flapping against her sides in glee. 'She looks like a penguin...'

You looked deep into her eyes, but not without picking up the lump in her throat that she promptly swallowed. You pursed your lips at the action before working your magic. She began to blink heavily, signifying the emotional impact that always took place once your quirk latched onto the target. You closed your eyes, imagining a stack of blocks. Once the other two in the let out small gasps, you opened your hues to the world around you and saw that the blocks had, in fact, taken physical form.

The next half hour was filled with you "creating" other objects for their entertainment. Just as your new friend had requested for you to make a stuffed seagull, a tall man with fire licking at his features busted into the room. The mother and son looked at him with fear, Mrs. Todoroki stepping in front of the two of you.

"Fucking hell... you were supposed to be training them, not playing with toys...!" He stepped further into the room and kicked a red foam block at Shouto. "Where the fuck did you even get these?!"

"I made them... with my quirk." You meekly stated, fingers in your lap. You attempted to meet his eyes while answering, but his orbs stared harshly into yours to the point where you had to look away.

"Jinho told me she didn't know how to use it." He gestured at his wife to leave the room, his eyes not leaving you. Once the door clicked shut, he leaned down to grab your arm. You shook slightly, trying not to flinch. He pursed his lips, gesturing with his free hand for you to get up.

"(Y/n), I don't want to hurt you, but if you don't get up I'll have no choice." Taking a deep breath, you scrambled to get your legs underneath you.

And that was when training with the Todorokis began.

Aizawa lightly shook his head at you, sipping his coffee. "You're wasting time just standing there. You seemed to be eager to leave just a moment ago, so do it."

Sucking in a deep breath, you tried to process the events that had been recollected. Blinking a few times, you finished turning the doorknob and made your way back to class 1-A.

A few moments later, you found yourself in your seat, eyes wandering to the boy who was seated next to you. His features were even more attractive up close, and he still looked the same as when you last saw him, albeit older. His scar wasn't bandaged as it had been on your final training session, but then again, why would he keep it like that for years on end? His face was now more masculine, his shoulders had broadened, and his jawline was more defined. Of course, that was just an effect of puberty that happened to everyone, but damn, was he favored by Mother Nature?

"You've been staring at me for the past two minutes straight." His head suddenly turned toward yours, causing you to flush slightly.

It wasn't like you to get flustered this easily, so you quickly regained your composure and answered your old friend. "I just... remembered something. It's about to be lunch, right? Will you meet with me?"

His features slightly twisted into ones of confusion, but they quickly restored their usual stoic position. "How about you just sit by me."

"That's fine as well." You nodded, lips pursing. Now all you had to do was figure out how to tell him.

[m.list]

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #fanfiction #manga #anime #x reader #shouto todoroki #todoroki shouto x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #look

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fangirl-screaming · 4 years ago

Note

25!

25. "don't think, don't hesitate. just write a few lines."

Ahhhhhh okay!! I've never done these types of asks so this may be a bit weird, but here I go!

The calm, summer breeze brushed past her face as she sat on the warm sands of the beach. The soft voice of the waves mixed with the occasional noises of the seagulls flying above. Her boyfriend's strong arms held her as if she was a delicate doll made out of thin ice.

She sighed to herself and rested her head against the boy's chest with a cheesy grin on her face.

She was safe.

#fang answers some stuff #fang writes fanfiction #again im not gonna open a whole new tag just for original stuff lol

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literarytrashcollection · 6 years ago

Text

A Bad Day

AN: This is pretty much just cutie-pie Thor doing his cutie-pie thing.

Thor x Reader

When I met Thor, I was immediately reminded of a gigantic puppy-dog, trying to act tough. Broad arms crossed over a broader chest, golden face settled into what probably would have been considered mean-mugging, but to me, just looked like he was lost in deep thought. Most of the Avengers paid no mind to the secretary all but running their lives. Natasha came to visit every so often and Tony made a point of knowing my name, my favorite food, and how I took my coffee. The rest? I was a background character.

Thor and I took to each other like fish to water. As soon as we were free of the observation of the rest of the Avengers, he seemed to melt. He asked me tons of questions about myself, my time on Midgard, my family. He was enthralled by my sheer mortality. I was clumsy, almost to the point of making Twilight’s Bella look graceful. He thought it hilarious, compared to the catlike grace of Natasha and Wanda.

“Y/N! Are you available for another of our amicable adventures?” Thor asked merrily as he jogged down the hallway to me. I’d just gotten off my shift. It had been a bad day. Tony had gotten in a fight with Pepper, so when he stormed in demanding this and that, my flustered fumbling only made him more angry. I’d had to deal with fifteen separate reporter’s assistants trying to set up interviews with any number of the Avengers, all very aggressive and pushy when I tried to firmly say “no.”

“I had kind of a bad day. I kind of just want to go home and binge watch TV and eat ice cream.” I mumbled, shouldering my purse. I sagged under the weight of it. I felt weak from the sheer amount of verbal abuse I had received that day.

Thor pondered that a moment, his puppy-dog face contorted as he thought about it. “Let me help make your day slightly better.” He finally offered, holding his hand out to me. He was clad in a dark red hoodie and blue jeans, heavy work boots in place of his warrior boots.

“How?” I asked, resting my tiny hand in his massive one. He moved my arm through his and patted the back of my hand on his bicep as he led me out of the tower.

“Worry not, by the end of this night, you will have a much brighter smile upon your face.” He assured me.

Mjolnir appeared in his hand and we were flying through the air, my body trapped against his as we flew. I didn’t know when he wrapped his arm around me, but I could tell from the steel grip around me that he wouldn’t drop me. I still tried to scream but the sound got caught in my throat, and suddenly we were on a cliff, overlooking the sea.

I stumbled away from him once we were securely on the ground, the horizon spinning like a kaleidoscope of sea green and flashes of white from the seagulls milling about for their next meal.

“Y/N, are you alright?” He asked, stepping with me, ready to catch me if I went down.

“Little motion sick.” I laughed, sitting down hard on the grass, my head between my knees. I was thankful for the slacks I’d worn that day, rather than my typical pencil skirt.

He laughed heartily, his whole body leaning back. “Yes, first time flyers are often made ill by it.” He wiped a tear from his eye, like that was the best joke he’d heard in years.

Once his laughing had subsided, he removed the magic from his body with a slam of Mjolnir into the ground. Lightning haloed the ground around him and in a flash he was in his Asgardian armor, complete with the blood red capes billowing in the wind regally.

He hauled me to my feet and while I dusted myself off, he laid his cape out for us to sit on, producing the horn of an animal full of Asgardian mead. He took a mighty swallow then offered it to me, a risk I dared not take. If it got him and the super soldiers drunk, then it would kill me.

“Y/N, might I ask what has soured your day so?” He leaned back on his arms, staring out into the sea as he spoke, voice thickened from the alcohol.

I vented to him. I told him about Tony’s anger and the six different people who called me a frigid bitch or some variation of it and the millions of appointments I had to make for every single different Avenger.

“Tony’s anger will subside. You know he believes the world of you.” Thor assured me with a bump of his shoulder against mine, nearly sending my tumbling to my side. “For all intents and purposes, you keep our lives in order with a smile on your face the whole time.”

“I know.” I sighed. “It was just a lot of anger today. I wanted to throttle some of those reporters though.”

He chuckled. “You would make a fierce warrior, were you not so new to land legs.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s not my fault things keep moving into the way of my feet.”

“And yet, nothing ever seems to move.” He glanced over at me, his face stretched into a big grin. “Here, a punch from you would probably do me no harm at all. Hit me, let out your frustrations.” He stood, offering me his hand again.

“No, Thor. Friends don’t hit each other.” I waved him away, staring very pointedly out to the ocean, where waves were staring to pick up in velocity and aggression. I could see storm clouds brewing on the horizon.

He pondered that, before kneeling down in front of me, his face barely a breath away. “Where I come from,” he murmured, “it is an honor and a privilege to fight alongside the ones you care about. Sparring is meant as friendly practice. This would be no more than that, Lady Y/N.”

I stared at him for a long time, peering into the storm clouds of his eyes, mirroring the ones threatening to ruin our little spot. “I’m not from there.”

“Yet, I would be honored to bring you to my home and introduce you to my world. You would be a welcome member of the Asgardian family.” He said it proudly, like he planned on bringing me home with him, rather than hoped for it.

I huffed and clamored to my feet. “Alright. Teach me how to punch.”

“You do not know how to fight?” He asked, incredulous.

“Thor, do you really think anyone is going to teach me to fight when I can’t even walk in a straight line without accumulating bruises?”

That made him double over in laughter again. “While that is the most hilarious scene I’ve heard of in some time,” he panted, “I truly believe that everyone should know how to defend themselves. You are no exception. Besides that, the physicality of fighting is often beneficial to those with such gracelessness.”

I crossed my arms, waiting for him to be done.

“Okay, okay, I apologize, Lady Y/N.” He knelt down in front of me again, plucking one of my hands and kissing my knuckles lightly. “Let me teach you, and then you can hit me, for the anger of your day and the embarrassment of your clumsiness.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“I expect more punches than just today, I have no intention of easing up on the fun I make of you.” He grinned.

Then he stood behind me. With a hand on my stomach and the middle of my shoulders, he adjusted my posture. His skin against mine sent tingles down my spine. He adjusted my feet by way of my hips, fingers digging in slightly as he watched my feet shuffle around. He stepped around in front of me and helped me form my fists, teaching me the proper way to do it, then he showed me how to extend my arm for a punch. After a few practice hits on the palm of his hand, he spread his arms.

“Hit me, Y/N.”

I studied his hard chest. “Not with the armor on. I’ll break my hand.” The leather of his armor looked tough and unforgiving.

A devilish smirk graced his lips, so different from the pure happiness his smiles usually radiated. He shed his body armor, until he was down to his pants and spread his arms again. I felt heat travel up my neck and through my cheeks. My mouth dried out.

He was fucking stacked. His body seemed to glow against the darkening background of the sea, skin bright and golden. His muscles were defined deliciously, each line crisp and cut like a river from stone. Scars from previous battles marred his skin in a way that told a million stories of his life.

“Are you going to hit me, or just stare all night?” He asked, and suddenly there was a dangerous look in his eyes, daring me to pick the latter.

“And what if I decide to stare?” My voice came out stronger than I anticipated, braver.

His arms felt to his sides and he took a step closer, too close to punch effectively, but close enough to see the lightning illuminating his eyes as power seemed to surge through him. Thunder rumbled out over the sea. “I don’t believe that staring is all that would be done.” His gravelly voice became soft like satin. Warmth seemed to envelope me and all of the anger I had accumulated through the day seemed to melt away.

“Thor, are you saying—” I was interrupted with his mouth on mine. Thunder cracked again and I could hear the ocean raging against itself. Thor’s fingers gripped my shoulders tightly and his lips moved against mine confidently.

He tasted like smoke and ozone and campfire, warm and woodsy and natural. I couldn’t help my hands that slowly crawled over his hips, then his abs, around to the tight expanse of his back. At his recognition of my approval, his hands drifted to my face, my hair, down my sides and back up again.

I broke away first, the air in my lungs dangerously thin. “That’s…” I heaved a massive breath. “That’s not at all what I was expecting out of tonight.”

His arm wound around me, pressing me against him tightly while his free hand moved up to cup my face, thumb brushing my kiss swollen lips. “Nor I, Y/N. But I cannot say I am not pleased with the night’s progression.”

My face warmed up again and I tried to duck my head under his, hide my embarrassment.

“You can still hit me if you like. I understand if it was an unwanted advancement.”

I jerked back. “Unwanted?” His eyes were turned down, face fallen. “Not at all. I enjoyed it quite a bit.” I admitted. His smile returned at that and he all but bent me backwards, kissing me again, this time much deeper. His tongue danced across mine, sending electric sparks through my mouth and the rest of my body, like we’d both dumped Pop Rocks in our mouths before we came together.

We laid out on his capes after we tired of kissing while standing. Mostly, we looked at the stars and he told me all of Asgard and the other Nine Realms. I told him of the constellations I could see and remember, once the storm clouds dissipated. Then we kissed some more, hands roaming over each other lightly.

He flew me back into town well after three in the morning. We stopped on the way home and shared a plate of French fries at some 24 hour diner and he drank coffee while I had a milkshake. He walked me home from there, “daring not waste a single moment” with me.

As I climbed the steps of my apartment, his fingers drifted down my arm, slowly releasing me as I opened the door.

“Lady Y/N, should you ever have a day of such anger again, please allow me to make it better for you again.” He said, his voice small and almost sad.

I turned around and descended the stairs again, all but leaping into his open arms. He held me tight, one hand tangled in my hair while the other pressed me still harder against his body. “Of course, Thor.” I murmured, holding him as tight as my arms would allow.

He released me and pressed a chaste kiss to my lips, then nodded up the stairs. He left with a swat on my ass, my surprised face wasted on an empty stairwell when I whipped around. He was gone.

#thor #thor odinson #thor son of odin #thor x y/n #thor imagine #thor headcanon #Avengers #avengers tower #avengers au #tony stark #Iron Man #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #Black Widow #wanda maximoff #Scarlet Witch #reader insert #thor x reader

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mc-dude · 6 years ago

Text

Ólórë

Ólórë - noun.

a shared dream; a mingling of two fëar in Irmo’s domain.

on ao3

Threadbare cloth flapping in the wind. A child’s cry, quickly stifled by a mother’s hush. The creaking of ice against ice, the tinkling of frozen water over floating shore, the ragged breathing of his people as they huddle for what warmth can be found; familiar sounds, but not a comfort.

They cannot judge hours from days, days from weeks, weeks from months. There is nothing to guide them save the cold light of Varda’s creations, and a candle’s flame cannot survive in the harsh winds of the utmost North. They rest when they cannot go on, and go on when all logic bids them stop, for they must. The mountains grow larger behind: a gate shut closed on the only home they’ve ever known. They cannot go back.

Findekáno shifts uncomfortably, willing his thoughts to settle so he can get the rest he desperately needs. His entire shift he was scouting ahead, his wrists raw from where the rope line pulled tight around him, face red and sore from the ice crystals clawing at his skin. Every muscle aches, every breath coupled with a shiver and a throb of pain in his fur-covered feet. He stares at the ceiling of their tent with pursed lips. The sound of his sister’s snores are soft in his ear. Turukáno shifts restlessly against his back, Arakáno behind him. Itarillë lies between them all, still and silent, as warm as she can be in this desolate place. He tries not to think of the last member of their sleeping group, forever lost beneath the Ice.

Do not think of that now, he pleads to himself, taking a deep breath and forcing his eyes to defocus. Think of anything else, something benign. The scent of bread from the baker down the street from his father’s apartments in Tirion, the cry of a seagull as it flies in from beyond the sea– no, don’t think of the sea– the feel of his horse as he races over the plains of Formenos, the wind in his hair, the warm light of Laurelin flush upon his skin; he whispers to his horse faster, faster and laughs as they speed off across the field. He turns his head, cheeks sore from smiling so wide, a taunt on his lips–

A flash of bright copper catches in the corner of his vision.

The tent snaps back into focus, breath stolen from his lungs. Do not think of him, do not–

“Go to sleep, Finno,” Írissë whispers to him, one eye squinting at him in the dark. Findekáno glares at her; as if it is that simple. He opens his mouth to say so, but Itarillë mumbles between them, shifting in her sleep. Findekáno forces himself still, chastened.

He focuses on the eerie whistling of the wind, the minute rocking of the ice beneath them, and thinks not of anything red, nor of bad decisions once made, or of a trust misplaced.

Exhaustion finally claims him, and he slips into his slumber with a sigh of relief.

Anything to escape the cold, even for a few hours.

–––

When he awakens, it is to the scent of salt mixed with rust. Findekáno slumps, weary and guilt-ridden.

Alqualondë, again. Not even in his dreams can he get a moment’s peace.

He had visited the city many times in his youth, to sit upon the docks and stare out at the sea, to dangle his feet above the waves and wonder of the shores beyond. The Shipwrights were a peaceful people, unconcerned with the politics and ongoings of the nobility, and showed neither favor nor scorn towards a scion of the house of Finwë. Here he had learned to tie knots that would not unravel unless commanded, had caught his first fish with his bare hands, had collected shells on the shore for the sheer delight of it, unburdened and without expectation.

Now its pearled domes are torn asunder, its white walls stained brown with old blood. Bodies litter the docks that he once walked without care or consequence, their raiments soiled with gore. He has no choice but to move forward through the carnage. He knows from experience: if he does not keep moving they will come to him, their bodies rent and mangled, grasping at him with bloodied fingers as they cry out for a mercy he cannot, did not, give.

The once clear blue water is stained a dark red, just visible in the dim light of the stars. The city looks different in their light, without Telperion to reflect upon its splendor. Lonely and diminished, forever tarnished by the evil deeds that took place in its streets, upon its docks and on its shores. The Eldar have nothing but time until the ending of the World, but still he wonders if it will ever recover. He steps over another crumpled body, very carefully not looking at its face; he knows it has none.

With all that his people have lost, he is almost surprised that the death around him still affects him so; but then again, there is very little blood, on the Ice. When his people die, it is not by sword or bow, but the silent gasp of a body sinking under the waves, a strangled scream as they slip into an unforeseen crevasse, a quiet whimper as they shiver their last breath.

The planks creak beneath his feet as he reaches the middle of the dock. In the distance, their golden beaks still glinting in the fading light, swan ships: the pride of the Teleri people, burnt and broken, the blood of their makers stained against the polished wood, and for nothing. There’s a huddled mass at the dock’s end, and he starts forward once again, already hearing the ragged breaths of the slain not far behind.

It’s an elf, he realises as he gets nearer, kneeling on the wood and bent over a dark shadow. Still alive, perhaps: a last survivor to cast their judgement upon him. He will accept it, because he must. He continues forward.

The clouds part for a moment, and the starlight catches on the elf’s hair.

It’s red.

He halts mid-stride, first in shock, and then the anger crashes over him like a half-frozen wave against bare skin.

It’s rare upon the Ice to have any energy to dream at all, any measure of comfort stripped away by piercing winds, gnawed at by endless hunger, crushed beneath the fathomless depths of Ulmo’s domain. To find him here amongst the ruins they created– in the wreckage that he had made, for him– it makes him want to laugh. Or perhaps to scream. Of course, he thinks, with no small amount of hysteria. Of course he’s here.

He doesn’t remember the last time they’ve shared a dream. So much was fractured between their families after Fëanáro, Darkness take him, pointed a sword at his father’s chest. The glow of fires burning on distant shores only served to shatter what little remained.

It cannot be a true mingling of fëa, not a real joining of dreams. His thoughts might have strayed towards him in bitterness and anger before he slept, but Maitimo would have had to have been thinking of him as well before he fell asleep for them to connect like this as they once did, and after everything that’s happened, the notion is almost laughable.

Just his mind, then, reminding him of what he sacrificed his people’s future for: a murderer and a traitor, unfit to carry Finwë’s name.

His feet step lightly over decaying wood, eyes fixed on the shadow of Maitimo’s hunched form. There’s a body besides him, he notes as he approaches. Maitimo’s sword lies by his side, its edge dark with blood. Of course.

An opportunity, he thinks. A reprieve from the endless cycle of unanswered questions, of hours of asking why, why, why? He can take his vengeance here, and prepare for the real vengeance to come. Maitimo will receive no quarter from him, for none does he deserve. He steels himself.

“Nelyo,” he calls, hard and flat.

Maitimo doesn’t move, his head still bowed in some mockery of faux-penance. His shoulders seem thinner in the dimmed starlight, clothes fraying and stained. He says nothing, barely even breathes. The wind ruffles the air between them, silent and unrepentant, and the anger wells up in his throat, choking him with its ferocity.

“Nothing to say to me, even still?” he spits, fists clenching as he forces himself closer. Maitimo flinches back, dropping something to the ground. The body’s hand, he realises, but it’s not just a body: his own face stares skyward, eyes glazed and dark braids stained with blood. He’s so furious he can barely think, even in this dream world he’s conjured. How dare he, how dare he–

“Stop looking at that, you coward, I’m right here!” he shouts, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to turn. Maitimo falls back without a sound, eyes lowered, and finally he can look upon the man for whom he sacrificed so much, who clutched his hands tight with the waves lapping at their feet and whispered a desperate promise into his ear, and who broke that promise not hours later, abandoning him on distant shores for the sake of his father’s madness.

Findekáno stares.

Deep gouges run from eyebrow to jaw, across once enviously-smooth skin, down the contours of his neck. The bone below his right eye is sunken, as if smashed inward by some blunt force, and the skin covering it is marred and burnt. His namesake lies limp and tangled around his face, and his skin is sallow, his face so thin his cheekbones catch on the starlight and give him the appearance of one who is dead. His anger falters.

“Russo?” he asks, not quite believing it. He takes another step forward. Maitimo flinches and clenches his eyes shut. He’s trembling, he realises. Afraid, perhaps, but he’s only ever seen Maitimo fearful once before, in this very spot, fresh Teleri blood on the end of his sword, so he cannot be sure.

Afraid of him, he realises with a sickening lurch.

Good, some small part of him cries out. He has betrayed us all, is this not what he deserves? Quickly the thought is stifled, overtaken by nausea. His knees hit the deck. The body is still there, eerie and unseeing. He ignores it.

“Maitimo,” he calls, horrified, grabbing at his thin wrist and dragging it away from his face. Maitimo tries to draw away, but his movement is slow and overly-cautious. He has not yet met his gaze, still braced as if for impact.

Why would my mind choose to conjure him this way? he wonders, sickened. He is angry, yes, and rightfully so, but this– this is not what he wanted. He doesn’t want to see Maitimo wounded and afraid, emaciated and diminished, covered in grime save for where old tears have washed it away. Bile rises in the back of his throat as he runs his hand down Maitimo’s bone-thin arm. There are scars even here, twisting around puckered flesh, as if lashed and then stabbed.

He’s grateful, then, that it’s not a true shared dream between them. Grateful and horrified, for he did not know his mind was capable of something so hateful and cruel.

“Russo,” he tries again, sliding his palm down to his hand. Maitimo snatches his fingers away, curling them in a tight fist and holding them against his chest. He takes a deep breath, and looks up. The blankness in his eyes almost undoes him.

He doesn’t want to see him like this.

“Findekáno,” he finally acknowledges, voice unfathomably weary, as if the weight of all Arda has settled upon his shoulders. His voice sounds strange and thin, a mere rasp in the quiet sea breeze. Maitimo glances to the body on the dock, and then lets his eyes fall closed once more.

He had wanted– what had he wanted? A fight, he recalls in dismay. To extract his vengeance unhindered by the confines of reality. The water has already been stained red, a little more will not make a difference.

No, he insists, disgusted by himself. I did not want a fight, only an explanation. Not this, not Russandol beaten and defeated, waiting to accept his judgement.

“This is not real,” Findekáno states, insists, voice shaking. It could not be real, it could not–

“Of course not,” Maitimo agrees, eyes still trained on his doppleganger’s body. “You cannot be here. I killed you.”

Findekáno bristles, horror pushed aside. “You did not, however much it might have pleased you,” he retorts. “I am still very much alive.”

“Pleased me,” Maitimo repeats, whispering the words with a frown. His posture is strange, like he’s trying to make himself small. Always he has had to crane his neck skyward to look at Maitimo; it’s unnerving now that he must crouch down to see his face, knees pressed to the water-logged planks. He has to remind himself again that this is not real.

“You do not deny it,” Findekáno states, voice cracking on the end despite his efforts to remain impassive. A thousand years of friendship between them, centuries of easy trust and companionship, despite both their father’s misgivings. Years of huddling close in the last mingling before the new day, whispering doubts and worries in each other’s ears and taking comfort in a shared affection. All that history, tossed away as if worthless.

Had it meant nothing at all?

The wind picks up, rattling the clasps of his braids. Maitimo sways forward under its force, silent. He has never seen anyone look so tired, not even his own father upon the Ice. The circles under his eyes are bruised a dark purple, set so deeply into his skin they appear a permanent feature. How can he imagine him this way, when he has never seen anyone like this before?

What does it matter?

“What has happened to you?” he finally asks, his anger buried under the weight of his own sudden weariness. He is peripherally curious as to the excuse his mind will give. Has Maitimo been betrayed by his followers who have seen Fëanáro’s madness, perhaps? Or captured by his father’s command? What is a fitting punishment, he wonders, for the one who left him behind? What cruel torment has his mind imagined for one who was once closer to him than all others?

“What I deserve,” Maitimo replies at once, automatic and sure. He flexes his fingers with that same confused look on his face. “Will you not take your justice?” he questions, eyes flickering towards his own. “That is how this usually goes.”

Findekáno grows cold. “Are you saying I have done this to you?”

Maitimo laughs, and it’s a vicious sound, cold and hopeless. “Must we continue this farce?” he asks. “I grow weary of your games.”

“This is no game,” Findekáno spits, nails biting painfully into his palms. For him to make light of this situation, for him to laugh in the face of what he has done to him– “What are you saying?”

“I will not indulge you as you take his form, as you speak with his voice, as you try to corrupt his memory,” Maitimo says, voice dark with intent. “I will face Findekáno's judgement in the Halls, not here. Not from you."

"You will face it sooner than you think, for I am not dead," Findekáno snarls, chest tight and eyes hot. "Every day we move closer to Endor's shores. You and your father will pay for your betrayal."

Maitimo sighs, rolling his eyes. "Now we're back to my father again? Have you run out of ideas, creature?"

"Is this a joke to you?" Findekáno shouts, shaking and raw, aching with the need to lash out. Maitimo flinches again, jaw clenched, his arms curled protectively around his stomach. He's hurt, he realises, that was what he was hiding before. There's blood on his tunic, both old and new, and something is off about the placement of his shoulder, as if his collarbone has twisted the wrong way. Findekáno grabs his arm again, too fast for Maitimo to lurch away, and stares at the way his fingers fit around it with ease.

He cannot have imagined this. He has grown hard and cruel, he knows, he knows, but he is not capable of this– not capable of this brutality.

A sound in the water. Hands, grasping out of the depths of the sea. A moan in the night; the sound of a child crying. Findekáno closes his eyes, stomach sinking into the planks below. The truth settles over him like a warm shroud on a hot summer’s night, stifling and without relief.

He is more than capable.

He’s done this before, to those whose names he did not know, whose faces he did not see– just desperate movement in the night and a sword through soft flesh, the gurgling noise of blood spilling from split lips. Is it any better, that he did not call them friend, before? They are dead by his hand, all the same.

The water is red, but it is also thick.

“I did this to you,” he whispers, eyes wet as he slides his hand down over scarred skin. There’s fresh blood trickling down the side of Maitimo’s face. The smell makes him gag.

This is who he has become. He can never repent for what he’s done, for the terror he inflicted on innocents. For drawing Eldar blood on the end of his sword and condemning his people to the Ice. Every one of their deaths is on his hands, on his conscience, on his blade, for it was he who leapt to Maitimo’s aid, unthinking and brash, and his men, loyal and trusting, followed his command without question.

He had wanted vengeance, before, had wanted to make Maitimo feel his own pain, with weapon or fist. When had he become so bloodthirsty? When had his first instinct turned to violence? He has become as cold and empty as the Ice, a mere husk of his former self. He forces himself to look at Maitimo, chest tight with grief.

Maitimo’s eyes are narrowed in suspicion, darting over his face like he’s suddenly not sure who he is. How dare he, that voice inside him insists once again, weakly. He ignores it. He does not recognize himself, either.

“Findekáno did nothing, as you well know,” Maitimo says, hesitating. He’s testing for something, but for what, Findekáno knows not. He swallows, fingers light over the fraying edges of Maitimo’s threadbare tunic. There are welted bruises around his wrists, the skin scraped raw, the wounds blistering.

“It is my dream,” he says, chest tight with guilt. “So it must have been me.”

Weak and cruel, a blight upon his people. What hope have they in their plight? He has damned them all. If it were not for him, Itarillë would still have a mother, and his brother might not be caught half-way between life and death, desperate to fade but unable to leave.

Maitimo pries his hand from his arm, staring at his trembling fingers in confusion. The tips are dull and grey. They had quickly learned Eru’s first are not as invulnerable as once believed, the frost as deadly as any fire. How naïve they had been! His fault. It’s his fault–

“Findekáno,” Maitimo says, voice lilting like a question. His eyes are still pinched around the middle, unreadable in the dark. “You have done nothing to me,” he says slowly, as if explaining some intricacy of his father’s Tengwar to him back in Tirion, overly-enunciated and precise. Findekáno opens his mouth to protest–

“And this is not your dream,” Maitimo finishes, and Findekáno’s heart leaps into his throat.

“It must be,” he insists, looking at Maitimo’s mangled form with horror. It cannot be real. His fingers tighten around Maitimo’s own. “How can it not be, when you are here before me as you are?”

“As I am,” Maitimo mumbles, looking down at himself. He blinks, as if he did not notice the rags he wears, the blood and bruises that stain his skin. Maitimo’s free hand plucks at the tattered remains of the breeches he wears, unseeing. Anxiety starts to well in his chest, then, and doubt.

"What has happened to you, Russo?" he asks again, voice cracking. "You're not actually here, are you?" He turns Maitimo’s fingers over in his hand, noting for the first time the missing fingernails, the bloodied nailbeds. He chokes back bile in his throat. "Tell me this isn't a true mingling," he pleads, heartbeat loud in his ears.

Maitimo stares at the hand in his own, with that pinched look, still. His lips part, to confirm his beliefs, surely–

There's a sound from somewhere in the distance, like footsteps in a hallway. Maitimo goes very still.

“What is it?” Findekáno whispers, glancing behind them, around them, and then above. A star blooms overhead, and then fades into the darkness; the beginning of a cascade, their light disappearing one by one. There’s something in the air, as well: something charged and ominous, like the stillness of the sky before a storm. The hairs on the back of his head stand straight. Goosebumps erupt on his skin.

More footsteps, the scraping of metal against stone, something dragging heavily along the floor. Maitimo glances at him suddenly, startled, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Finno?" he asks, voice as small as he's ever heard it, eyes wide with disbelief. Panic seeps into Findekáno’s lungs, seawater pooling in his throat, choking him. A nightmare, just a nightmare, he assures himself, it cannot be real. The noise grows louder, and Maitimo grabs at him then, desperate fingers twisting into his furs. "Finno," he says again, incredulous and pained, the sound halfway between his name and a sob.

His appearance shifts, then, the gouges on his face growing dark with blood, the burn glossy and peeling. His hair darkens with filth and grime, and what little muscle he had melts from his frame like smoke on the wind. The fingers in his furs turn twisted and bent, and the marks around his wrists begin to weep with blood. Findekáno grasps at him, horrified.

“This is not real," he whispers, brushing the filthy strands back behind a ragged ear and biting his lip at the swath of bruises and scars revealed beneath his fingers. “It cannot be real, it can’t be.”

The sound of chains, of a door opening and Maitimo shudders, sinking his face into his furs with a muffled cry. Findekáno pulls him into his arms, dismayed at how light he feels, how fragile. Something rumbles: thunder in the distance. A storm begins to form out over the sea, wisps of blackened cloud shaped like hands that stretch towards Maitimo’s back. Findekáno curses and drags them backward away from the churning waves that begin to seep over the edge of the dock. The world shifts around him, blurring and twisting, and he stumbles.

"Russo, wait, do not wake–"

Well, well, what is this? A voice in the darkness, filled with malice, and with power.

Maitimo jolts off his chest, eyes wide with fear. The darkness begins to coalesce, pulling towards the middle like– like an eye, lidless and foul.

“Wake up, Finno,” Maitimo pleads, trembling. “Wake up, he cannot find you here, he cannot–”

“I will not leave you,” Findekáno insists, reaching for him once more. Of that much, he is certain: he will not let this darkness have him, will not let him become another body on the docks. It’s not within him to abandon him here, nor anywhere, in truth, for his heart has always been foolish, and no matter how many times it is broken and betrayed, he cannot force it to let Maitimo go.

“You must, you must,” Maitimo says, shoving to his feet and glancing about, desperate. Findekáno hurries after him, adrenaline pumping. There are swords about, he’s sure, maybe even his own, and in this realm of dreaming he is unbound by the means of his mortal hröa. He can fight whatever darkness has come to claim Russandol from him.

A flash of lightning, the rattle of chains.

Something in Maitimo’s face settles, expression going hard. He turns to Findekáno and looks at him for a moment, as if memorizing the contours of his face, and then tugs him into his arms. Findekáno clutches him close, startled. Maitimo’s hand digs into the muscles of his back, the other tangling in his hair, twisting around one of his braids. He hears him inhales once, nose pressed by his ear, and then he tenses, and– shoves him away.

Findekáno stumbles backward with a shout, tripping over his body on the docks, and then he’s falling. The last thing he sees before he hits the water is Maitimo sinking back to his knees, eyes clenched closed in defeat as the dark hands twist around his neck.

–––

He wakes with a gasp, tears frozen on his cheeks.

He does not dream of Russandol again.

#russingon #maedhros #fingon #anyways... here's Pain #writin

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Washed in the Tide of Her Breathing 1/4 (Branjie)--athena2

A/N: Brooke is a lonely lighthouse keeper and Vanessa washes up on her shore. This started off as a tumblr post I sent to Writ, turned into a one-shot idea, and became this mini multi-chaptered fic. I have so enjoyed writing it so far, and I hope you all enjoy reading it! I appreciate any feedback you have! Thank you to Writ for brainstorming this with me, betaing, and for all your encouragement. Title from Cherry Wine by Hozier.

*I do want to add that there will be mentions of past death, anxiety, and depression throughout, so please be cautious.*

On the day Brooke Lynn Hytes was born, the skies opened up and rain screamed down with her. The rain pounded on the roof and rattled the windows as she was wrapped in a white hospital blanket. Wind tore branches from the trees as her legs kicked around. The streets rose with water as she slept in her mother’s arms.

From then on, it seemed significant events in her life always came with a storm.

She was six when her parents didn’t come pick her up from kindergarten. Brooke had stood on the steps, Little Mermaid lunch box in hand, craning her neck to find her parents in the crowd. She stood there as the swarm of kids and parents thinned out, leaving Brooke all alone on the steps. Breathless empty space stretched as vast as the sea in front of her, sun reflecting the bare pavement. She stood there so long one of the teachers took her inside, and Brooke sat in an empty classroom, trembling with fear, until a police officer came to the school and said there had been an accident.

An accident. It was all Brooke heard when anyone tried to talk to her. An accident. An accident was when another girl bumped into her at recess and Brooke scraped her knee. An accident was when she hit into her mother’s vase and the blue glass shards rippled on the floor.

How could her parents not being there anymore be an accident too?

The town flooded for a week after they died, raindrops falling in time with the tears of a confused young girl, struggling to understand why she had to live in a scary old lighthouse with her grandfather, why her mom and dad couldn’t take her to the park or the library anymore.

The day her grandfather picked her up in his green truck, lightning flashed and thunder tore the sky apart but no rain fell as Brooke sat in the backseat, fearfully clutching her stuffed turtle and not saying a word.

When her grandfather died and she inherited the lighthouse, soft raindrops drizzled to the pavement, trickling down windows like silken threads.

When the storm smashes into the windows as Brooke is wrapped in her quilts one night, waves swelling so fierce they’ll throw ships around like toy boats, ocean lapping up against the rocks like a hungry dog, Brooke wonders what’s awaiting her the next day.

—

The rain is still drizzling down when Brooke wakes, the sky a soft pink, like a paintbrush swept across the world, interrupted with streaks of red like broken blood vessels.

Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.

They’re her grandfather’s words, words that were passed down to Brooke. According to old sailor legends, a morning red sky means a bad storm is coming. A storm worse than the one last night, that howled and splattered outside her window?

Brooke isn’t sure she wants to meet a storm worse than that.

Brooke has a certain routine, and today is no exception. It’s Wednesday, which means breakfast at Nina and Shuga’s diner and therapy with Dr. Ganache. She lays out food and water for her cats, scratching Henry’s ears and rubbing Apollo’s back while they eat. She washes down her medications with ice water and pulls on jeans and a green wool sweater.

Her dark blue pickup truck makes the quick journey down the main street of Cape Charles, the smell of salt and ocean calming her, reminding her that it’s okay to be outside, that nothing bad will happen just because she left the house.

The diner stands beside the three-screen movie theatre, its plush velvet seats like home to Brooke. She’d been sitting in the dark and watching stories unfold on the big screen, salty popcorn stuck to her lips, since she was a kid who couldn’t even reach the counter to take her favorite Reese’s Pieces. The damp cobblestone sidewalk is solid beneath her. She used to run down these streets with her grandfather trailing behind her when her feet were much smaller. When everything was much smaller.

The diner door jingles happily. Shuga, in position behind the counter, greets Brooke with a smile and motions for her to take her usual booth in the back corner. Brooke breathes in the rich smell of sweet syrup and sizzling bacon, the safety of those scents and the warmth of the diner’s pale blue decor filling her.

“Sky sure is red this morning,” Nina comments as she pours Brooke’s coffee. “What’s that thing the sailors say? Red sky in morning–”

“Sailor’s warning.” Brooke’s answer is rough and scratches at her throat like gravel. It’s been a few days since she last talked, and her voice is hoarse from disuse as she speaks now, sipping carefully from her steaming coffee.

“Those sailors were so somber,” Nina says, pursing her lips. “Maybe the warning could be a good warning. Maybe something good is gonna happen.”

Brooke disagrees, but she won’t take that hope from Nina. Nina and Shuga are two of the only people in town who don’t whisper about Brooke being crazy, or share in the more outlandish theories that Brooke is a ghost haunting the lighthouse.

Though sometimes Brooke does feel like a ghost, like there’s not even enough of her to hold down a solid human form. Like she might look at herself in the mirror one day and find nothing there. No sign there ever had been something there.

“Maybe,” Brooke tries.

“You having your usual today?” Nina asks. Brooke always gets the same thing, but Nina likes to check with her just in case.

“Yeah.”

Nina smiles. “I’ll have it right out for you, hon.”

Brooke flicks through what their small town dares to call a newspaper, today’s news-worthy feature being seagulls stealing French fries on the beach. A few minutes later Nina sets the glorious stack of apple-cinnamon pancakes and crispy bacon in front of Brooke, with the extra homemade whipped cream Nina started bringing when she noticed how much Brooke liked it.

“Thanks, Nina,” Brooke says, a wave of affection hitting her.

“Of course.”

Brooke eats slowly, savoring each bite of fluffy pancake, each sip of rich coffee. It’s nice to be able to taste it all, to notice the soft patter of rain on the roof, to be comforted by the booth’s cushion. She focuses on each sensation, like Dr. Ganache encourages, and Brooke appreciates it, a far cry from her bad months when she couldn’t feel or notice anything, the world just a mass of gray around her.

Brooke goes to her therapy appointment and regains her voice with what is the most talking she’ll do all week. It had been uncomfortable to her at first, having to talk so much about herself, her parents, her grandfather. Now, it’s almost a relief to let the words spill out, to get all the thoughts out of her head, like releasing a dam bursting with poisoned water.

Brooke busies herself during her afternoon routine, making sure everything is set for tonight. Her mind calms as her hands come alive, wiping down the windows in the lighthouse tower, cleaning the lenses on the light, and checking the ship schedules. A lot of the ships have already canceled their routes. Sailors are a superstitious bunch, and they’d taken the red sky to heart. The light is scheduled to turn on at 4, but she turns it on now because the rain has grown too thick to see around.

Her grandfather said in the old days they would change the oil of the light and trim the wicks down, but it’s electric now. Brooke spent hours each day following him around, watching his rough, callused fingers tidy the tower and study weather reports, keeping logs of ships scheduled to pull in to Cape Charles that night. Everything she knows about keeping the lighthouse is from him, a former sailor.

He would speak in a soft voice about the sea, his time sailing, how it was important to keep the lighthouse because even with navigation services, that light would outshine everything. Each word was soaked with the salt and brine of the sea, waves roaring in Brooke’s ears as he spoke, and Brooke would just listen, her grandfather never making her talk if she didn’t want to. His voice still clings to the brick of the tower walls as ocean clings to sand. Sometimes Brooke can hear it loud and clear and sometimes it’s just a faint whisper, tinged with the fear of forgetting.

The rest of the day is quiet, just the way she likes it. She exchanges her jeans for soft leggings, heats up milk for hot chocolate, and curls up on the couch with a bowl of mac and cheese, the cats, and Jane Austen movies (she’ll fight anyone who says there’s a better adaptation than the 2005 Pride and Prejudice).The storm rains down in a heavenly wrath with no sign of stopping. The wind wails like a woman in fear of the booming thunder.

An alert comes in that the town streets have flooded and all roads are closed until further notice. The sea should be empty tonight, but Brooke leaves the light on anyway. She always does, just in case someone out there needs the light. Just in case someone needs to get home, wherever they are.

She curls up beneath a pile of blankets with the cats at her feet. It’s cozy and warm and yet sleep takes hours to come, the cats whining with each toss and turn. Brooke swears she can hear her name in the howl of the wind and patter of the rain, like the storm is calling to her, but she doesn’t know why.

—

Gray blots out the sun when Brooke wakes, a typical morning in Cape Charles. She takes her meds and is checking on the light when she sees it.

There’s something down by the water, flapping in the wind.

Breath halts in her throat. Just visible through the rain is a fishing net with something–no, someone–tangled in it.

Heart pounding, Brooke throws on her rain boots and coat and enters the cold rain, water bobbing at her ankles, tall frame shivering as the chill seeps through her clothes. The familiarity of the stone path calms her racing heart, laughter of the young Brooke that used to run down this path–another ghost–carried on the winds of memory.

The land beneath her lighthouse isn’t a beach, just a small piece of rocky sand jutting out at the ocean. She used to spend hours by the water, sand sticking to her legs as she built castles that in her mind were stone, not sand, searching for seashells that her grandfather always praised her for finding, and gazing out at the water and pretending to be a sailor like him, commanding her own ship and fighting off pirates.

Brooke lets the memory fight away her fears as she reaches a woman, net tangled around her like tendrils. Brown hair hangs in soaked curtains around her face, torn clothes black with the water weighing them down.

“Fuck,” Brooke mutters, a million questions running through her mind. How the hell did this woman get here? What happened to her?

Brooke scoops up the woman, net and all. She’s tiny nestled in Brooke’s arms, and something tugs in Brooke’s chest, some need to protect this woman, keep her safe. The feeling only grows as she cuts through the net and lays the woman on her couch before standing blankly, helplessly, in the living room.

What the hell is she supposed to do now? She can’t just leave an unconscious woman in her house. If it’s not outright illegal, it’s certainly wrong, but what choice does Brooke have? The roads are flooded and blocked off; no one can get in or out of the town. They’re both stuck here, stuck like a sinking ship.

Brooke’s breath is speeding into erratic hiccups over having someone here. No one has been inside except Brooke and the cats since her grandfather died seven years ago. When Brooke is inside, all the bad things that happen outside, like parents getting in car accidents and grandfathers having heart attacks, can’t happen. Nothing bad happens in the lighthouse. Nothing can hurt her.

It’s why Brooke never returned the voicemail a woman from the local historical society left years ago, asking if she wanted to open the lighthouse for tours a few days a week during summer tourist season. She told herself it was because she doesn’t need the money and because talking on the phone makes her want to throw up (both of which are true), but the real reason was that she didn’t want people in her lighthouse, didn’t want her safety at risk. She doesn’t want intruders, and it’s hard to think of this woman as anything but that, especially when Brooke’s hands start to tremble and sweat runs down her neck as her vision blurs.

Breathe. She practices the counted breathing from therapy, willing her lungs to accept air. In and out, in and out. She reaches for a piece of rope, one of hundreds all over the house, shaky hands rhythmically tying and untying knots until her mind clears and she focuses on what to do next.

There’s a thin cut on the woman’s forehead and bruises dotting her arms. It makes the woman seem oddly fragile, like a teacup, the bruises and cut like chips in her otherwise perfect appearance. Brooke’s stomach clenches as she looks at the injuries. She’s always been squeamish about blood and medical stuff (she still has to close her eyes when she gets a flu shot), but she finds herself not queasy but saddened as she absorbs the rips in the woman’s clothing. What happened to this woman? Are the marks from waves tossing her about, or are they from a human, a cruelty worse than the randomness of nature? Waves have no control, but a person does, and Brooke’s fists tense at the thought of someone deliberately hurting this woman.

She takes a breath. Whatever happened isn’t important now. She needs to help.

Brooke removes the woman’s soaked clothes and dresses her in flannel pajama pants, wool socks, and a soft gray sweatshirt, taking care in being gentle, in causing this woman as little pain as possible, even if she’s unconscious. Brooke can’t do much for the bruises, but she carefully dabs antiseptic on the cut and tapes a square of gauze over it. She breathes a sigh of relief that there’s no other injuries and piles blankets on top of the woman’s small form.

Only when she’s bandaged up, the clean white making things seem a little less scary, does Brooke realize how lucky this woman actually is. She’s been through who knows what, left on rocky sand in a downpour, and there’s barely a mark on her. There should be scrapes and a lot more bruises; a few broken bones would be expected. Hell, if she was carried by the sea, she’s lucky to be alive, and yet the slice on her forehead is little more than a papercut.

The squashy armchair hugs her like a friend, and Brooke is too tired to answer the questions swirling in her mind, too tired to change out of her cold, damp clothes. The woman’s breathing is steady, hypnotic, and sleep tugs Brooke under like a tide.

—

“Where the fuck am I?” a gruff voice shoots Brooke out of sleep.

The woman is sitting up on the couch, wrestling with the mountain of blankets and whipping her head around in confusion.

“Why is this so heavy?” The woman demands, sending Brooke’s weighted blanket to the floor. “And who the hell are you?”

Brooke’s stomach flip-flops, words speeding through her mind but not leaving her mouth. Things were easier when the woman was unconscious, when Brooke knew to bandage her and warm her up, when there was no talking involved. Now, Brooke has no idea what to do. There might be a first aid manual, but there isn’t one on talking to people, much less people who washed up on the shore in a fishing net.

“Um, I’m Brooke,” she says, inching toward the couch. Her fingers twitch for her rope but she resists. “I–I found you. On the shoreline. It’s okay,” she offers weakly, just because it seems like something she should say.

The woman’s dark brows wrinkle in confusion. “Where am I?” She asks, and some of the harshness leaves her voice, replaced with a fear that Brooke wants to soothe. This woman has obviously been through enough already, and Brooke’s heart aches for her. She remembers how scared she was moving in here the first time, how calm and kind her grandfather had been, and steadies her voice to comfort the woman.

“Cape Charles. It’s a tiny town by the ocean. This is my lighthouse. I found you in…in a net.”

The woman lowers her head. “Yeah. I was on a boat across the cape. I went overboard in the storm. I grabbed a life vest and followed the lighthouse. The net musta stuck to me.”

Brooke is silent. The net wasn’t stuck to her, she was trapped in it. There’s other glaring holes in the story–where’s the vest? Why was she sailing in a storm?–and from the way the woman keeps avoiding her eyes, Brooke is sure she knows it. Brooke decides to just let her be. She’s always shied away from confrontation.

“Uh, is there anyone you need to call?”

The woman just shakes her head and Brooke doesn’t want to pry.

“Right, um, the storm’s still going on, and the roads are closed, so–”

“I’m stuck here,” the woman interjects.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. B-but once the roads are okay, you can go back home.”

“What if I don’t want to go back?” she asks.

Brooke pauses. There’s a storm in the woman’s eyes at the question, brown flashing like lightning. She wonders what might have happened to account for the disgust in her eyes, but it’s not her business.

“Then I’ll help you get wherever you want to go.”

A small smile of approval runs across the woman’s face, her features glowing, like Brooke passed some sort of test. Brooke finds herself smiling in return as the woman speaks. “I guess if I’m gonna be in your house you should know my name. I’m Vanessa.”

“Brooke.”

“Yeah, you told me.”

Brooke’s face burns. “Right.”

Vanessa huffs a small laugh. “You think I could shower?”

“Oh, of course.” Brooke leads her down the hall, and it’s nice to have control again, to focus on a task, even one as simple as walking to the bathroom. She points out where to find towels and changes out of her still-cold clothes before getting some for Vanessa.

“Damn, you rob Lush or somethin’?” Vanessa asks when Brooke returns.

Brooke sheepishly looks at the rainbow mountain of bath bombs beside her towels. She buys one every week from A’keria’s boutique in town, partly because A’keria is always nice to her but mostly because Brooke likes sinking into the tub and watching the colors ripple around her.

“You-you can use one if you want,” she offers, setting the clothes by the sink. “There’s an extra toothbrush under the sink too. Here’s the clothes. Sorry, they’ll be a little big.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Vanessa says reassuringly. “Thanks, Brooke.”

“Of course,” Brooke manages, mouth suddenly dry as Vanessa runs a hand through her flowy curls.

Brooke listens to the rain outside with a growing dread. What is she supposed to do with Vanessa in her house until the streets clear? She’s not used to people being there. Even when her grandfather was alive, Brooke would go for walks on the beach or to the movies alone. No one made her feel freer than she did herself.

But then her grandfather died, and Brooke hasn’t had anyone since. Now, it’s almost like her solitude is something she’s stuck in, rather than her choice, and she doesn’t know how to get out of it, doesn’t know how to let someone in. It’s been seven years since she started seeing Dr. Ganache, since she got herself out of that dark place and back into the light, but it still feels like Brooke hasn’t rediscovered her old self or fully formed her new self yet, her edges blurry as she flickers in and out of being.

Her eyes drift the the picture of her grandfather, smiling at her in his big navy coat. He had made her feel safe and comfortable when no one else could, and Brooke vows to try and follow his example with Vanessa.

“Shouldn’t the walls be round if we in a lighthouse?” Vanessa’s booming voice enters the kitchen.

Brooke sees immediately that ‘a little big’ was an understatement. The hem of Brooke’s gray wool sweater brushes Vanessa’s knees, and she’s rolled the sleeves back three or four times to free her hands. It makes her seem smaller, softer, and Brooke’s heart tugs as she’s hit with a sudden image of Vanessa curling into her side, wrapping her arms around Vanessa’s waist, as they cuddle and watch movies. She blinks the thought away.

“This is a cottage attached to the lighthouse,” Brooke explains. “The entrance to the tower is down the hall.”

Vanessa nods and seats herself at the kitchen table. Brooke follows, legs bouncing. She bites her lip, trying to think of absolutely anything to talk about and failing as the silence grows longer.

“I’m kinda hungry,” Vanessa says with a shy grin.

Right. Food. That’s something you offer guests in your house.

It’s almost noon; they might as well have lunch, even if Brooke never had breakfast. “Um, do you like grilled cheese?” It seems a safe enough option. It was what Brooke’s grandfather had made on her first night in the lighthouse, so crispy and gooey that Brooke ate the whole thing even though she hadn’t been hungry all week.

“Hell yeah!”

Brooke smiles as she gets to work, the sizzling of the sandwiches on the griddle filling the kitchen. There’s something about Vanessa, how she’s so unashamedly loud and excited, that puts Brooke at ease, stops her fears over having an intruder.

Vanessa’s grin almost overtakes her face as Brooke sets the plates down.

“So,” Vanessa begins eagerly, “is this place haunted? I thought all lighthouses were haunted.”

“I don’t think so,” Brooke says. “I’m pretty sure my great-great-grandfather died here though.”

Vanessa clicks her tongue in approval. “See? Haunted. He’s probably just waitin’ to pop out of a mirror.”

“It’s not haunted.”

“But it could be.” There’s a mischievous glint in Vanessa’s eyes as she eats her sandwich.

“Well, any place could be haunted,” Brooke argues.

“Yeah, but when you think of haunted, it’s an old house, an old hospital, or an old, scary-ass lighthouse.” Vanessa nods to herself, chin jutting out toward Brooke. Brooke has to admit her argument is pretty solid.

“Do you want this place to be haunted?” Brooke asks.

“Oh, hell no! I don’t want that spooky shit near me!”

Brooke laughs and Vanessa laughs too, and Brooke is wondering if maybe this won’t be so bad. If maybe they’ll be okay for a few days like this. But then the moment ends and Brooke studies the cheese dangling from her bread as the silence fills the kitchen once more, and she thinks she was wrong.

“How long do you think the roads will be closed?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke shrugs. “Depends on the storm. It’s supposed to stop Friday night. If it does, things should be clear by Monday or Tuesday.”

Four days, Brooke thinks. She has to get through at least four days of eating with someone, sharing her TV, having Vanessa wear her clothes. Four days of sharing her space, of someone being there. Four days of Vanessa breathing in the same salty air as her, looking out at the same deep blue water. Would she search the waves for answers, like Brooke did? What kind of questions did Vanessa want the swirling blue to answer?

Brooke is thinking too much. It’s just a few days. A few days, and her life goes back to normal. Vanessa is just some stranded stranger, nothing more.

“Sorry, what?” Brooke asks, heat spreading through her when she notices Vanessa’s lips moving.

Vanessa looks down at her empty plate. “I just–thanks for helping me. For letting me stay here and everything.”

Her words ring with sincerity, and Brooke finds herself trusting Vanessa despite the obvious lie about how she got here. “It’s no problem.”

“Well, thank you.” Vanessa whips her head up, eyes sparkling. “So, can I see the tower?”

—

“This is some real spooky shit.”

Brooke snorts as Vanessa looks up into the tower, old red brick mixed with black metal stairs circling the walls to the top. When Brooke was younger, she used to think looking up into the tower was like looking up from a giant’s mouth, rickety metal steps turning into the giant’s teeth, which she had to climb to get to the light and save the town.

“We can’t both fit on the stairs, so I’ll go first to lead you,” Brooke offers. She always went first with her grandfather, knowing that he was behind her if she fell or got scared. She wonders if she’ll ever have that same trust in someone.

They curve up the walls, steps narrowing as they get higher. Finally, they approach the opening that leads to the observation deck. Brooke pulls herself through, muscles rippling with familiarity. She turns and grabs Vanessa’s hands to help her up.

Brooke stands on the deck, calm at once, the floor-to-ceiling windows circling her and showing off the rainy landscape and deep sea. She turns to show Vanessa and finds her sticking her head through the opening to gaze down into the tower.

“Whoa,” Vanessa breathes. “It’s like one of those collider-scope things.”

“Kaleidoscope?” Brooke asks around a smile.

“Yeah! Come look!”

Brooke shakes her head. “I-I’m afraid of heights.”

“But you’re up here,” Vanessa says in confusion, pulling herself up.

“I can be up here, I can look at the water, but I can’t look down. When I look down, I feel like I’m falling,” Brooke explains.

“I guess that makes sense,” Vanessa agrees. Then she notices the windows and what lies beyond them, and Brooke’s face warms as she watches Vanessa’s eyes light up. “Holy shit, Brooke.”

It’s a view Brooke herself saw for the first time at age six and hasn’t tired of since. A view that makes her fears seem smaller. A view that calms her, makes her feel less alone without her parents by showing her the ocean and the world and all the life inside it. A view that made her cry the first time she came up after her grandfather died, and knew that the view was hers alone now, that she would never share it with him again.

Vanessa is here with her now, and Brooke can’t fight the burst of affection, the gratitude of having her here. Of knowing that she isn’t alone, that someone exists to see this ocean with her.

“It’s beautiful up here,” Vanessa declares, crossing to the windows and staring out at the water.

“Yeah, it is.” Brooke works through her routine as Vanessa stares out the rain-splattered windows, and she can’t help but notice that Vanessa’s face is just as radiant as the sea.

—

Vanessa almost trips over Henry and Apollo when she climbs down the stairs, the cats in their usual spot below the first step. Neither cared to climb the 97 steps to the light, but they waited every afternoon for Brooke to come back down and see them.

“You have cats!” Vanessa squeals, gripping Brooke’s arm to steady herself, her hand warm through the thick wool Brooke’s wearing.

“Yeah. Apollo is the gray and Henry is the brown,” Brooke explains as Vanessa crouches to pet them. “Don’t feel bad if they don’t like you at first. They’re kind of only used to me.”

Yet Apollo nestles his nose right up against Vanessa’s palm without hesitation, and it somehow seems fitting.

—-

Vanessa insists on helping Brooke with dinner, boiling the pasta and sneaking samples of the lemon-garlic sauce Brooke is making, eagerly mixing shrimp and linguine together with the biggest spoon she could find.

“So, um, where are you from?” Brooke asks Vanessa, almost losing her fork in her sweaty grasp. She wishes she had a piece of rope to calm her. Before dinner, Brooke had reviewed some of the topics Dr. Ganache had told her were good starting points for meeting new people, and she’s hoping they’ll be okay for this.

But the look that flits across Vanessa’s face is anything but okay.

“I live about an hour away, in the city. I used to live in Florida, though. Moved up about 10 years ago, after my parents died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Brooke says quietly. “You’re probably sick of hearing that, though,” she adds. Brooke remembers how it was all she heard for weeks after her parents died, all from somber-faced grown-ups she didn’t know.

“Yeah. After a while, you know it’s all people are gonna say, and you kinda stop hearing it.” Vanessa shrugs, then looks into Brooke’s eyes. “Thank you, though. It’s nice of you to say.” She scoops up a piece of shrimp. “How about you? You always live here?”

“In Cape Charles, yeah. Moved into the lighthouse with my grandfather when I was six. My…my parents died too.” Brooke wasn’t planning to tell Vanessa–she’s just here for a few days, and practically a stranger–but something about her has earned Brooke’s trust. Some sort of understanding that Vanessa knows how it feels and won’t pity her.

Vanessa’s face falls. “You’re probably sick of it too, but I am sorry.”

It’s sincere, just like everything Vanessa says, and Brooke doesn’t care what secret she’s hiding, why Vanessa shuts down and abruptly changes the subject when Brooke asks if she sails a lot, in an effort to find out why she was on a boat in a storm. Whatever got her here is clearly a sore subject and Brooke vows not to ask again.

“Do you like hot chocolate? I could make some,” Brooke offers after dinner. It’s another safe option, she’s hoping. Her grandfather’s weapon of choice whenever Brooke was upset. She knows he had been shaken to his core when he would put the mug on her bedside table only for it to go untouched, whipped cream melting into hot liquid before the whole thing went ice-cold, the effort of sitting up, grabbing the mug, and drinking it just too much for Brooke during her bad months.

“Of course I do! Is there a show or somethin’ we could watch, since we’re here for a few days?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke pauses to think. Vanessa seems like someone that likes action, something exciting. “Game of Thrones will take us a few days. I might punch my pillows when we hit the final season, though.”

“Why?”

Brooke grins wickedly. “You’ll see.”

—

It’s not until later that night, after putting fresh sheets on the spare bed (Vanessa throwing herself across the mattress to reach), when Vanessa is in Brooke’s plaid pajamas that she keeps tripping on, sleeves rolled back to her elbows, slurping hot chocolate from a lobster mug, that Brooke sees it. Or, rather, the lack of it.

All Brooke sees are Vanessa’s smooth, unblemished wrists, where there had been mottled blue and purple just this morning.

This can’t be right. Had she imagined the bruises? No, she knows she saw them, can still feel the anger pulsing under her skin at the thought of Vanessa being hurt. But how could they be gone already? Brooke glances at the fresh gauze Vanessa put on her forehead after showering. If Brooke takes it off, will she find perfect, unbroken skin there too?

Her grandfather told her there were all kinds of creatures in the ocean. Most people regarded them as legends, but sitting by the fire, hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, Brooke had believed him.

Is it possible Vanessa is something…more? Not a mermaid; in the stories, they can only walk on earth for a short time. A siren? But sirens are nasty creatures in the legends, luring people to their island for the joy of watching them drown, and Vanessa has been nothing but kind. Maybe Brooke is just trying too hard to make something of nothing, to keep hold of her grandfather’s stories. Maybe she’s trying to find some reason, some excuse, for why she likes Vanessa, actually enjoyed the day with her.

It would be easier if Vanessa has some kind of magic, because at least that would explain why Brooke falls asleep with a smile on her face and Vanessa’s laugh looping in her mind.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #nina west #shuga cain #branjie #lesbian au #lighthouse au #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #washed in the tide of her breathing #athena2 #concrit welcome #tw mentioned past death #submission

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