𝖛𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖚𝖆𝖑 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑.

ignore him and don't make conversation, please. unless you like getting stunlocked into what feels like an unskippable dialogue sequence in a video game. you could just say "hi." to him as a simple acknowledgment, but the next you know, he's yapping your ear off with how lowkey different he is.

"ermm i'm kind of a weird kid 🤓🤓🤓 not like the other guys in our classes, you know? i watch weird documentaries and childhood TV shows instead of cool stuff like NBA matches or action films >.< also i don't disrespect women, unlike" gestures to some guys behind him, "them."

the type to embarrass you in class by purposely making it known that he has a crush on you by leaving behind poems on your desk, and even has the audacity to act out the corny main character confrontation scenes from movies when he learns that some -129 IQ guy named maverick is also interested in you. like, relax.... you are not the main character in a coming-of-age movie; you are in college !!

but that's okay, because like he said, errmmmm he's kinda not like other guys, got that 🤓☝️? so please go ahead and start stripping off your panties the moment he shows you his lego collection :)

♡ "guy best friend" scaramouche. alternatively called, "i hate my best friend's boyfriend final boss" scaramouche. but then again, your past boyfriends never lasted long enough for him to be infamously known as that. the type of guy who quite literally plays the longest waiting game and plots for years because he was too much of a pussy to express romantic interest in you back when you first met him and now has to deal with the damned consequences.

he's always by your side, making it known to everyone that the two of you are, in fact, a package deal that should not be separated. even when you're on a supposed date with your current boyfriend, scaramouche will be found proudly third-wheeling as he lags behind a couple of steps. like.... why isn't he home yet? who exactly is the boyfriend here, uhmmm??

you never even question this freakish antic of his because he excuses it as, "looking out for you just in case he tries anything weird," and well, it works. since you view him as a brother figure, isn't that how brother figures usually act? all protective and stuff :000?

and because it gives him the pass to crash in on your dates, scaramouche has no choice but to suck it up and agree with a strained smile. right, right... guy best friend and brother figure.... definitely. yup! he knows his place in your life :) never mind the fact that he'll cry himself to sleep while 'i fell in love with my best friend' blasts on repeat, slowed and reverbed.

still, there's a reason why your boyfriends never last long, and this is because scaramouche acts like that one junji ito comic with how he's whispering in your ear saying, "you could do so much better than that useless guy" and "i'm just saying... if he was the one, you would've felt the spark by now. besides, are you really willing to babysit after a grown ass man like him?" and not to toot his own horn... but it works like a charm every time, heh. he's even there by your side after each argument with your boyfriend, listening intently and agreeing to every point you make against that douche (even if you're objectively in the wrong, because hey, brownie points) and repeatedly chanting 'break up with him' in his head.

he's doing everything but putting in the work to charm you, though. he's out here threatening your boyfriend behind closed doors and spreading malicious rumors about them online to 'protect you' but he can never open up etsy and order you a bouquet of flowers online before asking you out on a date. he just longingly stares at you 50 miles away in hopes that you'll get the signal and finally text him to eat out your pussy or something. :/

definitely tries out the corny move of goading you into having sex with him to "make sure you're prepared once you get laid by someone else!". you always snort and playfully push his head away every time, fully believing that he's just kidding. oh well... back to the waiting game, it is. one day.... >.< !! #1 waiter.

♡ "indie pop gatekeeper" flins. makes indie his entire personality, like oh, you discovered x and y artist through the trending sounds on teyvatok? psh, he's been a fan of theirs ever since they were playing their songs out on public streets. nice try, buster, but you're gonna have to try better than that to outclass an indie appreciater like him 🤓

it extends over to the games he plays. refuses the mainstream games created by billionaire companies because he refuses to support capitalism before turning around to drink sprite and use his samsung phone like, buddy... seethes when the indie games he plays get popular, though. ugh, it's just not the same compared to when only seven people across the globe knew about it!!!! even lives with that 'indie>>>' principle with how he only buys clothes through overpriced local businesses that probably have their items mass produced regardless. lowkey looks down on people who like popular media, subtly rolls his eyes, and huffs quietly. "how typical."

but quickly lowers his gatekeeper tendencies when around you because he absolutely refuses to fumble. quickly chases after you when the lecture ends, dressed in his local business-approved college fit, and asks you to check out this lowkey library that opened up near campus. he's the only student to discover it so far because the location is hidden in a secluded alleyway... so uhm, wanna go? :)

unfortunately, you're not immune to his alt rizz, so you bite. the biggest regret of your life, actually. the walk there is unbearable because the quiet guy who usually sits at the back suddenly transforms into a nonstop talking machine, blabbering about indie this and indie that and how he hatessss pop singers like yun jin from liyue. oh, but don't get him wrong, he supports women!

"only me and the three ants i found under a chocolate chip cookie listen to this band, but since you're kinda (read: incredibly) cute, i don't mind sharing them with you :)" pulls out his earbuds and gives you the other half so he can reenact the inazuman dramas that he secretly watches. "they're kinda indie, so i don't expect you to know them, haha... but i can show you more of their songs if you'd like ! >///<" no, thank you.

by the end of this archon forsaken hangout, you just want to go home and laugh about his loser ass with your roommate, but you're stopped by a hand on your shoulder before you could even bolt out of there.

so, huh.... this was a good hangout (read: date), right? can you, likeee.... type in your number now so you two can have e-sex on snezhcord once you go home? pretty please? ...with cherries on top?

♡ "nonchalant outcast" kinich. yare yare daze... college isn't big enough for a nonchalant cool guy like kinich 🥀🥀🥀 he's a distant cousin of flins with how ostracized they are from their peers, but kinich remains unbothered, something something too busy aura farming by the window seat. he's not bullied per se, he's just the one who detaches himself from the people in his class. some speculate that he acts like that because of a traumatic childhood or has something to do with how he was raised. the truth is far simpler...

he just really, really wants to bag the baddie (you) who sat in front of him during orientation two years ago and happened to overhear you gushing to your friend about "nonchalant men being the best!" and he literally switched up his entire personality since then. now he's in his third year and has shared more than 50% of his classes with you, and yet still no luck... you haven't looked at him twice. he'd approach you if he could, but ugh, first moves weren't in the nonchalant guy instruction manual.

archons above... please let this third year be the college year where he finally advances his romance novel-esque, slow burn trope that he has going on with you... please. like, look! he's too much of a loner to have other friends, isn't that what girls like nowadays? something something isolation and having no worries about him having girl friends so there's no chance of getting jealous? he's literally spiritually prostrating himself at your glorious feet !!!

expections never align with reality, however, because the one time you got paired up with him for a class, he was too busy keeping up the nonchalant guy act that he just came across as a total douchebag who had a tendency to reply with just one (1) word. despite everything... he still fumbled. baddie not acquired :(

♡ "white knight" childe. ladies !! calm down and stop throwing your bras and panties at him the moment he walks out, please !! >////< except the ladies in this case is singular and even then, the world will have to bend in on itself before you begin to contemplate the idea of throwing your underwear at him... sigh :(. oh, but don't get him wrong ! he's not a woman (read: you) defender and protector just to acquire some pussy (he definitely is) !! he's doing this all for the love of the game!

you could be the worst person ever, and white knight childe will still be on the frontlines defending your honor because he feels it in his bones that one of these days he'll finally be given a crumb of pussy 🥹🥹 acts so dramatic about it too, panting and wiping sweat off his forehead as if he just went through a grueling war and won by just a strand of hair when in reality he was just on his monitor all night alternating between jacking off to porn stars that look like you and camping under your instagram comments to drive off any suitors.... capital L Loser.

he camps like crazy, too. replies to guys with, "she doesn't want you bro lmao." "i know where you live." "i'll put you on life support" and he means it. can he stop scaring away your possible roster !!!!

still, this white knight has some uses. he'll unironically beat up some guy who offended you, maybe it's over something minor: a mean comment made in a whisper, an anonymous remark left under the college forum, a simple eyeroll, etc. regardless, that nameless nobody's still getting his shit rocked by childe behind a lecture building. probably records it with his phone propped up on the wall and sends it to you after all is said and done, the kaomojis he adds to his texts don't match the gruesome content, but... eh. who are you to stop him?

apart from physical altercation, he's surprisingly adept at attending to your every whim and need, obediently bowing down with a foxy grin on his face as he asks what you need. doing your essay, perhaps? or do you prefer him making the presentation slides for your ethics class? maybe both? just tell him, he's all yours now and forever :)

though, just so you know.... if you give him even just a blowjob, his work efficiency increases by 300% !! >///< it's not a lie, he swears! you can test it for yourself! sadly, you're too smart to be baited like that </3

♡ "total feminist" ifa. average daily routine of ifa's: wake up and remember how badly women have it, clench fist in anger, and sigh deeply. have breakfast and think about the patriarchy still standing and frown. go to work and mull over how unfair it is that women have to go through periods. post a caption story on teyvatgram about loving women during break and then go back to work. go home, eat dinner, and then lie in bed as he mourns the gender inequality of modern teyvat. repeat this the following day.

wears a "feminist" t-shirt beneath his work scrubs and was so close to getting a tattoo of it, that is, until he meets you and starts using his superficial feminism as a way to charm you. starts reposting hot takes of women which contain takes that are... not hot at all, not even near to boiling point, actually. amps up the instagram story posting agenda and even sneaks in home pictures as he whines about how he wishes he had a girlfriend right now because he would be such a good boyfriend 🥺🥺🥺 !! tries imitating the golden retriever energy that women love, but uhm, he makes it weird. fast.

whenever his good bro ororon visits his clinic, and you happen to be there, best believe that ifa is switching up and starts painting his friend out to be an absolute villain.

you could make a minor mistake, like accidentally going way past the allotted amount of medicine inserted in the syringe, and ororon would laugh at you in good nature. he'd nudge ifa then point at your fumble, and just as you're also about to laugh, ifa frowns and starts dishing out a lecture then and there.

"bro, not cool," he'd chide, shaking his head, "don't you know how much courage it takes to become a vet student and pursue this field, dude? not only is (y/n) trying her best at all times, but she also makes sure that all the saurians in the clinic are comfortable and happy in their own ways. are you even hearing yourself, bro? next time you make fun of her, think about-" yap yap yap.

😭😭😭 it is NOT that deep, ifa !! she's still not picking him, regardless :((( he's so locked into being perceived as the number one women supporter for plus points that he forgoes all common sense. oh well, he can stew in common sense once he's picked as the best man for your wedding with ororon 10 years later because you chose a man with a good sense of humor over the feminist king.

heh.... you know, nice guys finish last anyway. that's exactly why he brought over a tranquilizer gun! :)

♡ "ugly guy" xiao. nobody knows if he's serious or just outright ragebaiting when he starts acting edgy and spewing out things such as, "don't get close to me, i don't want to stain you with my sins" or "i'm too unsightly, it's best you keep your distance" like, uhm, okay.... he cannot be talking with those blessed looks lmfao. and the sin in question is probably gooning too much because what else could he be on about? unless he's talking about an underpaid service worker in yaedonalds, then :( regardless, they take his advice and steer clear from him, another distant cousin to kinich and flins with being a social recluse.

he's always uglyposting, both in conversation and online. casually just slips it in and continues the topic as if he didn't just drop that??? it's hard to discern if self-conscious or otherwise, too. so cryptic and for whatever reason :/ leaves you thinking about it hours after the conversation ended, because what does he mean by that... is he fishing for compliments or??? and you're essentially forced to ruminate on it further because his posts are the first things you see the moment you open social media. cowabummer.

Cali grabs your hand again, dragging you past the creaky boards and bottles of soda. You’d never been on a yacht before, but you could instantly tell the person who owned this was swarmed with cash. The yacht had two decks, and you were sure there was another floor underneath the hull. Despite the vanity, the speakers were blasting a song that did not speak ‘rich and graceful’. People were lounging around the luxury like they’d been there a thousand times. Someone had smashed a bottle of vodka on the deck. You ambled past the broken glass, keeping up with Cali’s steps. She barely even glanced at the sheer extravagance. It made you wonder how often she’d done stuff like this, to the point where richness is normalized for her.

Socially, college wasn’t going too well. It’s already your third year, and your friends are few in number. You know it’s you. You’re too off-putting, too strange.

Cali’s the only person who’s really stuck with you. Throughout this semester, she’s like a spot of sunshine in your life. You value her friendship, so even though going onto a boat out in the middle of the ocean doesn’t really sound like fun to you, you’ll tolerate it for her.

Someone calls out her name. Cali waves, before she’s dragging you over. He’s tall, good-looking. You spot the watch on his hand. Expensive. He is expensive.

“Didn’t think you’d make it.” The stranger looks at her, his eyes crinkle.

She giggles, flicking her curls over her shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I? Oh—“ She turns to acknowledge you, giving your name. You give a shy smile to the man.

“Nito,” he returns, “Nice to meet you.”

His name sounds familiar.

“Oh, isn’t this your—“

“My dad’s,” he corrects, with a secret smile, “I’m just ‘borrowing’ it for a while.”

You try to smile back, hoping he doesn’t realize you find him pretentious.

“Which he does, all the time.” Cali laughs, before wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “This one’s my plus one. Literally the only reason I was able to pass chemistry last semester.”

“The only thing I did was make you study.” You tell her, but you’re smiling at the praise.

“Yeah, and my major thanks you.” She responds. “Anyway, y’all should get to know-each other. I’m gonna be right back.” She tells you. You immediately panic.

“What, where are you—“

“I gotta’ find Ikail, okay? Don’t worry, you’ll be fine by yourself. People here are super nice.” With that, she turns away, already strutting off, completely abandoning you.

You would have offered to go with her, but you know what she and Ikail were going through. Their ninth breakup, you think? You still weren’t too sure of all the details.

When you turn back to Nito, he’s giving a sympathetic smile.

“First time getting ditched?” He asks.

You glance awat. He laughs.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Cali is the type of person to be everywhere, yknow?”

You did know. Cali is a butterfly, hovering from bush to bush, never quite stopping. She thrives off of the social energy, the vibrancy of humans.

“Yeah,” you agree, “she is.”

It’s silent a little more. Finally, you ask.

“So, do you know how to steer?”

“What?”

“The boat,” you say, “the yacht. Do you know how to…drive it?”

“Oh, nah.” He laughs. “Way too complicated, but don’t worry, the guy up there is a pro.” He points to the cockpit. “We’re gonna be fine when we hit the open waters.”

You blink at him.

“What, seasick?”

“It’s not just that,” you say, looking out in the open water. Pitch black. There was no moon up tonight. “Won’t it be…dangerous, going that far out?”

“Not really.” Nito responds. “I mean, who else would be out there but us?” Nito’s smile is still plastered on his face. You’re starting to feel more and more like a puppy who keeps stumbling over their feet.

“You kinda’ remind me of my dad.” He finally says, “he was always so uptight about going out in the ocean at night. He never liked that the pier was so close to Innsmouth.”

“Innsmouth?” You repeat.

“Yeah, it’s some ghost fishing town, a little ways north of here, I think? Heard of it?”

“I think so?” You say, but it’s doubtful. “It sounds a little familiar.”

“Maybe it’s still on the maps.” He shrugs. “But yeah, my dad hates that place. I mean, it creeps me out, but he’s a little dramatic.” That cracks a tiny smile out of you. He notices.

“What about you?” He asks. “Got family?”

You think for a bit. Your mother was long gone. Your father left before you were even born. Uncles and Aunts appeared sporadically throughout your life.

You had a grandmother, but she wasn’t there anymore.

“No one close.” You respond.

He nods. “I get that.”

You fight the urge to bristle. No, he doesn’t. He lives under his daddy's money, showered with watches and luxuries. He doesn’t get it. None of them do.

You stop. You calm yourself down. You shouldn’t get mad at him, or anyone. Nito may be a little spoiled, but he’s a nice kid. He was sitting here, talking to you, even when he didn’t have to be.

There’s movement. You jolt forward, ever so slightly.You catch yourself on the rails.

Oh, the yacht was moving.

It’s subtle, the only reason you stumbled was because you were already unbalanced. You watch as the gap between the pier and the boat get wider and wider. Water sloshes against the hull. The water is black, blacker then the night sky. An empty, endless, void.

Nito glances down at his phone.

“They missed it.” He tells you, referring to his friends. “Guess they’ll just have to wait until we get back.”

You nod, but you have the strangest feeling that those friends of his were the luckier ones.

𓆝

You still hadn’t found Cali.

After twenty minutes of more stilted conversation, you finally managed to break away from Nito. Rather, he broke away from you. He was called over by a few other people, and you weren’t too keen on following.

Instead, you took your time mapping the yacht, walking over to the desk, investigating. It was bigger than you initially thought. Rather, there were plenty of distractions.

It wasn’t really a yacht. It was more like a mini cruise. It was one of the biggest watercrafts you’ve ever been on. There were two separate floors, each having a deck of their own, minus the cockpit. Truly impressive.

The people. They were everywhere. You suddenly remembered why you were so adverse to parties and clubs. It was so loud. The music boomed and rumbled the deck. Somebody was screaming their head off. It made you want to find Cali even faster, keeping close to someone you’re familiar with might be your only way of getting through this night. Besides, the only reason you’re even here is because of her.

Something catches your eye, distracting your search.

Two people are lounging right by the deck. A girl and a boy, talking secretly to each other. You watch as she stares up at him with a growing smile on her face. He’s getting closer too, slowly leaning over, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

It’s so intimate. You shouldn’t be looking, but you can’t help yourself. It’s so natural the way they mend with each other.

You can’t understand it. You’ve never experienced anything like that before. Love, relationships, and sexual human contact have always been foreign to you. You couldn’t imagine doing something like that, being vulnerable with someone.

Life was just…existence. You never made many friends, nor did you hang out with very many people. You went to classes, and then you went home. You always felt different compared to other people. And yet, like other humans, you craved that feeling of connection. Somewhere to belong.

You’re swallowing back your envy, letting it sit in the back of your stomach like it always did.

A familiar trickle of laughter catches your attention.

Cali’s giggles filter through the warm air. Her voice sends waves of relief up your spine. You just needed a tiny bit of familiarity right now.

She’s nestled in the middle of a group of people–her friends. They’re all lounging around the deck, chatting amongst each other. She’s sitting on Ikail’s lap, arms loosely curled around his neck.

You feel awkward just lingering there. She hasn’t spotted you yet, but you find the will to cement your heart. Cali insisted on everyone being nice. You trusted her.

“Fuck Simeon.” One of her friends groans. “He’s the type of professor who never gives A’s. Good luck with him, babe.”

Cali is tossing her head back in an exaggerated groan. “Great, I’m screwed then. I don’t know anyone who’s taking him next semester.”

Ikail nudges her shoulders. “Hey, where did your friend go? You two came together, right?”

She shrugs. “No idea. Left Nito with babysitting duty.”

You can feel your heart sink, but you’re willing yourself to ignore it. It was a joke. Friends make jokes, right?

“Dude.” One of her friends chides. “You can’t just bring a newbie in and ditch! That’s like so shitty!” From the way he laughs, you know it isn’t sincere.

“They’ll both be fine…maybe,” Cali says. “I dunno’ I just didn’t wanna leave the poor thing all cooped up in the dorms…sorta’ felt like leaving behind a puppy or something.”

You stop listening after that. You retreat further back into the yacht, ignoring the laughter and Cali’s muted words of “Still stan though!”. You can feel tears well up in the corners of your eyes as you push by the swarming bodies and rumbling music.

It was so loud, everything was too much. You just want quiet.

Somehow, you find your way below deck. People become less and less. Nobody cares about you, ignoring the way your hands are buried into your face, and you think you prefer that. You don’t want anyone to notice you, not as the way you are.

Eventually, you stumble into someplace quiet and dark and dim. You breathe in. You breathe out

As your ever loyal friend, loneliness responds. She creeps up your shoulders, draping across your skin. The tears drip down more freely within the arms of her embrace.

Cali was right. You aren’t anything more than a puppy, mindlessly following at her heels, begging for a crumb of attention to war with the loneliness. If anything, you were a blubbering fish, that keeps following the school, only to realize your fins are too slow to keep up.

You should be grateful she even gave you the time of day. Why were you so upset when all she said was the truth?

You curl up in a ball, your light only a dim artificial flicker. The music upstairs is nothing but a distant rumble. The sounds of the ocean drown it out.

When you were younger, you loved the water.

You loved swimming. You loved feeling the cold chill shoot straight up your spine. You’d dive down just enough to feel your ears pop, until your lungs started to burn for air. You loved the animals. You loved the dragonflies zipping about the green cattails. You loved watching the frogs hop hop hop across lily pads. You loved seeing turtle heads bob up and down the current.

You loved the water, but you loved your grandmother more.

Every summer, you would go into the rural countryside to visit her. She was on your maternal side. She was a frail thing. You never once saw her without that wheelchair or the large blanket that covered her legs. She lived alone in that large mansion right by the lake. You never met your grandfather.

You only ever saw her once a year, and yet, she was the only one who could ever bring you out of the water.

“Fish!” You heard her call for you. “Fish! Where are you?”

You peek out from the lake, catching your grandmother’s wheelchair just by the bank. She hadn’t seen you yet. You were young, mischievous. You can feel your heartbeat quicken as you creep close, careful not to let her spot you until you want her to.

“Boo!” You yell, popping up right below her.

She smiles, her face beautifully aged.

You frown. “You weren’t scared.” You huff.

“Why would I be afraid of my little Fish?” She asked. “Come, come. Lunch is almost ready.”

Reluctantly, you stand up from the lake, letting her drape you in the towel she brought before she leads you back inside. She smiles even more at your silent tantrum.

“You remind me of when I was younger.” She tells you, face adorned with adoration.

“Do I?” You ask. She hums.

“I’d like to give you a gift, little Fish.”

You gape, eyes large and wide and excited.

“A gift?” You repeat, wildly looking around her wheelchair. “Where?”

She laughs. “Patience.” She tells you. “Soon. I have a feeling you’ll like it.”

You wake up with a start.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been asleep. How long even were you out for? Hours, judging by the crust you feel in your eyes, the slight drool on your bottom lip.

Remnants of your dream filter in and out. That was really odd. You hadn’t dreamt of your grandmother in months.

But were they dreams or memories?

Something just then catches your attention.

It wasn’t something. Rather, it was the absence of something.

The music was gone.

You couldn’t hear anything. No music, no footsteps, no voices.

You pushed your feet up. Had the yacht returned to the pier again? Had everyone left already? It was far more realistic to assume everyone was passed out drunk. But the silence still confuses you.

You can’t explain it, but the silence is different from anything you’ve ever experienced. Off. It’s more like a pause than an actual absence. Like the calm before the storm.

It’s so dark. It’s the only thought you have as you start to climb back on deck. You can hear the creaking of the wood as the waves crash against the ship.

When you get on deck, the only light you have is the moon. It casts a sickly glow against your skin. Just a couple of hours ago, the yacht was filled with sound and color and light. Now, it’s dark and dim–a ghost town.

But not abandoned.

They were there…just…standing.

You recognized some of their faces. The party goers. Some were Cali’s friends. You even spotted Ikail somewhere in the crowd. They were all crowded around the edge of the deck, just waiting there, facing the water. Still.

You glance at their faces. Nothing. Every emotion was wiped clear. They barely even blinked.

Were they all high? Some type of drug you’d be too much of a coward to take anyway? You can’t look at their faces for too long. Something about it unnerved you. Instead, you hesitantly tapped a girl on her shoulder.

“Hey,” You whisper. “Are…are you okay?”

That’s how you miss it. It’s so quiet. A hum that slowly grows louder and louder.

She doesn’t respond. You shake her, trying to wake her up from her trance.

“Hey.” You try to say as seriously as you can. “Seriously…this isn’t funny.”

The hum reverberates in your ears. You feel like a fly is buzzing right by your face, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t swat it away.

She’s moving then. You watch her take one foot forward, then another.

She falls off the boat.

You barely hear the splash before another one joins her. Then another. The hum is shaking the yacht, almost bursting your eardrums as more and more continue to fall. Instinct is taking over. You reach out to grab clothes and hands and legs all to keep them from just…following. But it does nothing. They slip out of your grip like eels.

You don’t know what’s going on. You can’t understand it, and the hum is making it too hard to even think.

But you recognize Cali’s yellow sundress.

You’re grabbing her arm before you can even think, stopping her from jumping to her death.

“Cali.” You beg your friend, the only person who ever got close enough to betray you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

She hesitates, like she’s snapping out of it. When she turns to you, her eyes are glimmering with tears.

“...Help.” She’s begging, but she’s getting stronger and stronger as the hum continues. You’re losing your grip. “Please help.”

She yanks her hand away and then jumps.

There’s no screaming. You think that’s the worst part. No one is screaming or dying or drowning. There’s just a splash of corpses hitting the water. And then, you’re all alone.

The hum stops. There’s silence again.

You can’t even breathe. You can’t even scream. People just died in front of you and you didn’t do a damn thing. Mass suicide, the word pops in your head, but it doesn’t feel right because Cali’s eyes were glimmering with unshed fear. It was like someone was forcing her body to do that.

You don’t know why you did it. Morbid curiosity. Like watching the remnants of a car crash, seeing the blood splatter all over the pavement, and still not being able to look away. You lean forward, expecting to see bodies drifting on the surface, the dead staring right back at you.

Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing in the pitch black waters. It’s as though the sea had swallowed up every remnant. As though it never happened at all.

You knew better. You knew what happened. You knew what you saw. You knew–

There’s a head. And then, another.

At first, you think some people survived. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you’re about to wave and yell when you stop because you realize they aren’t human.

Human eyes don’t glow like that.

Two purples. Two blues. Both pairs fixed on you.

The hum starts again. You don’t move.

And then they start to screech.

It’s loud and disorienting. You’re fumbling back tripping on your feet, and you move further and further away from the railings. Shelter, it’s the only thing you can think of. You need to find shelter. You need to get away from the sound because you know they’re trying to call you somehow.

You’re ducking below deck, falling over the stairs, and creaking floors as the screeching continues. Another joins in. You’re barreling past empty barricks and into the corner you crept out of. You’re slamming the door shut, locking it behind you because you can swear you hear thumping and scraping as you clamp your hands against your ears.

“Leave me alone.” You beg. “Please, please, please leave me alone.”

Nothing listens. You don’t know whether you fell asleep or passed out.

𓆝

When you open your eyes again, it’s morning.

Sunlight is streaming from the sole window you have. You’d fallen asleep crying. You’d been doing that a lot lately.

You don’t blame yourself. Considering what you just went through, it’s enough that you kept your sanity.

It’s almost mocking how peaceful everything looks the second you step out of your sanctuary and onto the deck. The sun has already risen high into the sky, it must be closer to late morning than early. It’s bright, with the sun shining cheerfully above you, without a care in the world. The sunlight warms your skin. There are barely a few cloudy whisps in the sky. Around you, the sea is friendlier compared to the night before. She moves around like a giggling temptress, but you know better than to trust those waters.

There was no sign of shore in front of you. Behind you. To the left. Or to the right.

You walk until you hit the railings, looking as far as you can. Not even a glimpse of land. You were floating on a boat, in the middle of nowhere.

People had to be looking for you, right? A whole bunch of college kids can’t just disappear without people looking for them. Parents must have already been notified. The Coast Guard must already be trying to track you down.

But even if anyone found you…how could you describe what the hell even happened?

There’s a chirp. You glance down at the water.

A face stares up at you.

It’s not as scary out in the day. You peer down at it, just as it studies you. You only caught a glimpse of it last light, but the details shimmer in the sunlight. Its hair was white, almost translucent, barely contrasting against pale skin. The glimmering blue eyes resembled more like jewels than the glowing monstrosities from last night.

When you search for its counterpart, you spot it almost immediately. It wasn’t trying to hide, but it was lower in the water, purple eyes trained on you. It’s hair was more natural, a deep dyed black that was long, drifting and swirling around like black ink. It’s eyes were sharper, but the jaded amythysts were just as brilliant.

They would look human if it were not for the fins tucked right behind their ears, giving them away immediately. The etherealness is only something inhuman that would carry with it.

The blue-eyed one opens his mouth. That familiar screech you heard last night echoes, but it’s drowned by the vibrance of the day.

You flinch, wary, but you aren’t as frightened.

You figured it out last night, at the same time as they did. Whatever power they used was entirely useless on you.

Rage. You know it’s from your adrenaline, coursing through you, having no way of escaping so it’s sinking into your veins, your lungs, burning your insides.

It’s the only retaliation you have.

You raise one middle finger into the air. You make sure they know you’re speaking to them.

“Fuck you.” You hiss, nothing more than an animal yourself. “Go fuck yourself.”

The purple-eyed one sinks lower into the water.

But the blue-eyed one smiles.

𓆝

The spider startles your grandmother.

It’s not a very big thing. Small and dark, skittering along the floor. It scares her all the more. You catch the last seconds of her attack. The arachnid stood no chance against her foot.

She sighs when it’s nothing but a dark splotch against the floor. You frown.

“Wasn’t that bad?” You ask her.

“Hm?” She tilts her head. You point at the remnants of the spider.

“That,” you say, “wasn’t killing it bad?”

She observes the mark for a bit before shaking her head. “No,” she tells you, “it’s not bad. The spider wasn’t like us. So it’s okay to kill it.”

She smiles, reaching over to grip your shoulder. You can smell her floral perfume.

“Did you feel bad for it?” She asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

You felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

She nods. “That’s okay, Fish.”

“You don’t have to feel bad for things that aren’t like us.”

𓆝

Communication is key.

You needed a phone. A pager. A walkie-talkie. Anything that can get you back into contact with the mainland.

The idea of a radio doesn’t even pop up in your mind until you’re ransacking the cabinets below deck.

There are three accessible floors of the yacht. The lower deck, the deck itself, and then the upper deck. That’s where the cockpit was, as well as the controls, and hopefully a radio.

Nito had told you about the cockpit when you first boarded. He tried his best to entertain you, telling you about his dad and other things.

He didn’t seem all that close with his dad. You wonder how his father would feel about his estranged son killing himself.

Nito was pretentious, but he wasn’t a bad person. He didn’t deserve to die. And Cali. In the end, she turned out to be a pretty shitty friend, but she never deserved to die either. Neither did anyone else on this boat of nightmares.

It was those…things. You don’t know what to call them. Mermaids? Sirens? Stuff that was only supposed to exist in mythology. And now, they’re circling you, drifting around like sharks.

It doesn’t matter, none of that matters.

The cockpit is unlocked and left wide open. You already have a feeling about what happened to the guy who was supposed to drive. You don’t think about it. Towards the side, there’s a radio, as well as a steering wheel. You beeline to the controls.

There were so many buttons and levers. When you prodded around for a manual, you couldn’t find it, but you doubted that would help you. You wouldn’t be able to learn this nearly fast enough.

Instead, you linger over the steering wheel. The engine was turned off. Okay. Easy enough. It takes a few minutes, but turning it on was as easy as pressing that red button.

You push. Nothing happens.

You push again.

There’s a blinking light that catches your attention. The gas tank.

“It’s…it’s empty?” You mutter, smashing the button over and over again. “No, no, no, please. No.”

Nothing. You were dead in the water.

Hope was slipping, but it hasn’t escaped you yet. You scramble over to the radio. You’ve heard that radios rely on a different power source compared to the rest of the boat. You switch channel after channel, flipping each lever multiple times before moving onto the next. Dreaded silence awaits you.

You don’t know how long you've been sitting there, mindlessly pushing buttons and levers, hoping to at least hear some static. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. You give up just when hope resembles you: thrown out into the current and left floating away.

Standing there in the cabin room feels like wading in poison, so you leave. You stumble down the stairs, back into the cheerily bright day. It’s almost torture seeing the sun shine so brightly. You hated it. You were trapped on a fancy boat with no one to turn to and no way to get back to shore.

You’ve always been lonely, so you should be used to this.

But this, the sheer fear of isolation. You’ve never felt like this before. You’ve never felt so scared before.

“-Go fuck yourself.”

You don’t expect the voice. It startles you out of your spiraling thoughts. You follow where you heard it coming from. It leads you off the boat. You lean over the railing.

The blue-eyed creature is below you.

“Go fuck yourself.” He repeats.

You stare at him, so perplexed that you don’t even register what he said.

“…you can talk?” You ask.

In response, the creature smiles. His mouth is filled with sharp, pointy teeth.

“You can talk!” He chirps.

Ah, you get it. He was repeating what you were telling him. Like a parrot. He didn’t understand.

If you weren’t on the brink of hysteria, you might have found it hilarious that this was the universe’s way of essentially flipping you off.

Still, that ability of theirs. It was unsettling. He’d only heard you say that phrase once, and he’d repeated it perfectly. That ability to mimic was uncanny. It must be how they lure creatures down into the depths, convincing them that they were one of the same.

But the hum is even more terrifying.

You feel remember Cali’s fear in her eyes when her gaze locked on you. She had died terrified.

These things, whatever they were, had the ability to lure and ensare.

….but for whatever reason, you are spared.

The purple-eyed one is surfacing, floating right beside the other one. Now, it’s two against one. You stare down at them, waiting. They look unflinchingly back.

They couldn’t get you. They can’t climb onto the boat; if they could, they would’ve done so already. You were safe for now.

But you can’t leave. There’s no radio or fuel.

For now, you are at a stalemate with these creatures.

When you observe the purple-eyed one, he looks strangely satisfied.

He knows you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

𓆝

Escape is impossible, so you play a different game.

You wait.

Again, a group of college kids going missing is bound to attract some attention. The parents, the police, and, eventually, the Coast Guard. People are bound to come looking for you.

You just don’t know if they’ll like the answers.

You still have no idea how you can explain all this. Mass hysteria caused by creatures who weren’t supposed to exist, where only you were left behind?

Why you? You know you’ll get this question. You can already feel it linger on your skin like molten lava, burning your flesh in its ire.

Why you? Why were you the only one left behind? Why were you the only one unaffected? They gnaw at your heart, because you don’t know the answer.

You don’t know why you were spared. You weren’t special of any kind. You were normal.

If anything, you were under normal.

You didn’t have friends. You didn’t have family either. Nobody would miss you if you were to suddenly disappear into the murky depths. No one would mourn you. There wouldn’t even be a funeral.

And yet, you still lived on while countless others, others who had lives of value, were taken. You lived. Even when all you’ve tasted these few years was loneliness, you still wanted to keep living.

You think of Cali’s face. The fear in her eyes. She didn’t deserve that. None of them did.

You try to feel sympathy.

You can’t.

𓆝

Despite the yacht’s size, there aren’t many resources.

There’s alcohol. Lots of it. You aren’t a fan of the sight or the smell and you have half a mind to just toss them overboard. There’s a half-eaten sandwich you have too much pride to consume; there’s also pizza, which you gobble up rather quickly.

Thankfully, there is running water, but considering you are stranded, you don’t know how long that will last. Apart from that, there are a few cans of beans and other non-perishables. There are a few bottles of Coke and Pepsi that remain unopened–saved for a rainy day.

You don’t know how long you’d be stuck out here, so you gather all your items close and hoard them away.

There’s a rather interesting find when you try scoping out the cockpit again. You hadn’t noticed it on your first run, too preoccupied by your desperation for escape. It catches your eye this time, however.

The metal glints in the sunlight. You rotate the crossbow once. Then twice. You test the throttle, lightly tapping on the lever.

You keep it close. Safety on, but you keep it with you.

You know your biggest danger out here isn’t dehydration, nor is it hunger.

The creatures have still not left the yacht.

You rarely peek out, but you can hear them. They want to be heard. You can hear the splashing of fins and hands. There’s clitters and chirps that sound eerily human. There’s also voices. They have this annoying habit of repeating phrases they heard you say. As though they’re trying to pretend they’re human, trying to lure you out of safety.

You don’t get why they bother to stick around. You clearly aren’t an easy meal. Why aren’t they leaving you alone to go find easier prey? Their lure doesn’t work on you.

Or maybe. It isn’t the kill they were eager for. Maybe it’s the hunt itself. The kill was just a sweet reward.

It’s a terrifying thought: an animal replicating something so human.

That’s why you don’t interact with them, despite your safety being so high up. That’s why you don’t mock them any further than you already have.

You don’t want them to be even more motivated to get you.

Still, you don’t expect the things.

The fish is still alive when you notice it. It’s flopping around the deck, its gills opening and closing. You’re confused by it’s appearance because the yacht is feet higher than the waters’ surface. Still, you take pity on the poor thing and toss it overboard.

It’s flung back just a few minutes later. Partially injured.

The cogs are starting to turn. You don’t know what it means, but you want no part in it. You fling the fish back.

The next time the fish returns, it’s dead.

This time, you don’t just toss the fish back overboard. You study it. It’d been killed rather quickly, a single slice across its neck by something sharp. Was this a warning? A foreshadowing of your own fate?

Or is this their way of trying to feed you? Fattening up their prey so they get a hearty meal.

Regardless of the answer, one thing was made very clear: the fish was an offering of some kind.

You cannot accept it.

For the first time in hours, you face them. They’re lingering by the ship, watching your every movement as you hover over the railing. You dangle the fish in the air before you drop it back into the water.

“No,” you say as firmly as you can.

Despite their humanoid structure and nature, you treat them as animals. Dangerous animals. You maintain eye contact, you make slow movements so you don’t instigate them.

“No?” the blue-eyed one repeats. You’ve noticed he’s far more vocal than the other one.

The other one is happier with just watching. Always watching. He’s far more unsettling than his counterpart.

“I don’t want it.” You say, but it comes out as a waver. “So leave me alone.”

He’s not human, but the blue-eyed one is so expressive. You can see the way he purses his lips like he’s thinking, mulling your answer over.

There’s no more fish after that, so you think they get the message.

You’re proven wrong a few hours later.

The first one is pretty innocuous. It’s the splintered remains of a seashell. You’re quick to sweep it up and toss it back but then another keeps coming, and then another, and then another.

The first was a large, spiraled conch shell, aged with green algae. When you toss it back, it’s replaced by a smaller clamshell, pearly white and tinged with a blushed pink. Then another. Then another.

There are other things too. Sea glass of all colors is tossed onto the deck. More fish are tossed up, at one point, so is a whole urchin.

Eventually, they settle on more human-made items.

Waterlogged watches, dead phones with cracked screens. You can just imagine them swimming across the seafloor, snagging anything shiny and firm underneath their grasp.

Some things make you hesitate. The jade comb looked well-loved and coveted. The delicate necklace that made you wonder how it survived thrashing about against the strong current.

“Stop it.” You say, regardless, pushing them off board. The items fall right beside the blue-eyed one. He doesn’t make a move to catch them.

“Don’t want?” He guess.

That’s another thing you don’t like about these creatures. They learn way too fast. You’d only spoken a few sentences to them, and yet they’re already starting to assign meaning to the words. It’d be fascinating if the dread wasn’t pooling in your belly.

He titters when you don’t respond. You’re about to leave when you hear a new voice.

“What want?”

You freeze. It’s the other one. The always silent one. Always watching.

He tilts his head. He doesn’t repeat himself.

“Leave me alone.” You say. It’s barely a whisper.

He doesn’t respond.

When the sun dips below the sea, you can hear their screeching start all over again. You take your refuge from the darkness, descending below deck. You sleep in one of the beds, keeping the crossbow beside you at all times. That’s how your first day at sea ends.

More days pass. You try to establish a routine. You try to feign monotony so your brain can pretend everything is under control. You clean things that don’t need to be cleaned. You read books you have no interest in. There’s a calender in one of the upper cabin’s. You use it to keep track of the days, it’s something you do to keep yourself sane. Sometimes you simply sit up in the cockpit, admiring the way the sun reflects off the calm waves. You search the skies for any sign of rescue.

Sometimes, you find yourself watching them.

You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help it. You promise yourself it’s just a peek, but these creatures have fascinated humanity for centuries, and to see myth turn into reality is something not even your fear can overcome.

They linger around the yacht but the brief seconds they lose their focus on you are the moments you cherish. You’re able to watch them freely, without the wariness of something staring right back.

The black-haired one is longer than the other one. His skin is dark, not like he has more melanin, rather in a way where it looks like stone has touched his skin. It’s a grayish color, adding to his uncanniness. From the brief glimpses of his tail, you can see that it’s slender, more lithe. Like an eel, almost. The way he moves across the water, sending tiny ripples through the waves, careful not to disturb, it’s almost like a snake.

The white-haired one is larger, bulkier. He looks like the moon blessed him. His skin and hair and scales all look like silk–as though you could see right through them, right into his bleeding heart. His white scales glimmer and flare out. He travels through the water as though he wants the whole ocean to see him. You’re reminded of the grace a betta fish has.

But, they have those moments. The more you watch them, the more you see.

You’ll spot them in the water as they gently circle each other, tails and fins turning around and around, both enraptured in a dance only they knew the movements to. It’s so easy to see from the way they look at each other. This was something more than friendship, more than companionship.

Mates. The word etches itself into your mind the more you look onward. Bound together, forever.

In those moments, that same bit of loneliness starts up again, consuming you whole. You never watch the end of their dances. You can’t bring yourself to.

The offerings continue. More shiny things whose value is useless this far out to sea. More shells. More sealife that had the misfortune to come across those creatures.

In one particular instance, a large octopus nearly hits you on the face as it comes crashing onto the deck. You remember screaming so loudly, you must have broken the sound barrier as you shoved it off the deck with a broom, back into the ocean.

You know it was a gift from Blue because of the way he laughed. You had half a mind to jump down there and teach him a lesson, but Purple was already on it. He dunked his mate’s head underwater, scolding him with a chittering hiss.

Blue learned his lesson. No more poor sea life found its way onto your deck after that.

As much as you were reluctant to admit it, you were slowly starting to know these creatures.

Blue was a lot more outgoing. He was a lot more eager to test out your language, trying you lure you to the railings with phrases like “Come here! Come here!” (he must have heard you saying that from the time you tried to coax a seagull). He resembled a puppy with the way his face always seemed to brighten every time you made an appearance. Yes, he was a puppy, if said puppy was larger than you and could kill you within a moment’s notice.

Purple preferred to stay in the background, but he never strayed too far. He was less likely to speak, far more willing to talk in his native tongue, only his mate could understand. He also very rarely interacts with you directly, but you like that he’s willing to berate Blue if he goes too far: whether it’s a gentle tug back and a hiss, or a far more violent brawl.

They fight. They hiss. They bite. It never looks malicious, and it’s more of a correction than anything else. It still scares you, making you scuttle back when they start drawing blood.

These days, the fighting doesn’t seem to be as intense. You often wonder if it’s because of you.

At night, they start the screeching, and you use that as your cue to descend below the deck, ready to sleep the night away. You’re not as scared of it as you once were. At this point, you were starting to differentiate the differences within their sounds. The hum was something they used for prey. But the screech…actually, you still weren’t sure, but it wasn’t for food.

Even though you’re reluctant to admit it, you’re getting used to them. That’s dangerous.

It meant you were lowering your guard, forgetting that these were apex predators.

It happened on the tenth day.

When morning arrived, you went upstairs and saw your usual sights: the deck littered with coins and shells.

As always, you collect each one and throw it back overboard. The yelp makes you peek over. Blue is hovering above the water, gripping his head with his hand. Ah, you must have accidentally hit him.

“Don’t be so close to the boat, then.” You chide him before gesturing to Purple. “Why can’t you act more like your mate?”

Blue gives a saddened trill. He sounds more offended than hurt, if anything.

So far, all the ‘gifts’ have been given by Blue. Purple hasn’t given anything yet, at least from what you can tell. He seems more than content to let his mate toss whatever trash he can find. You’re glad for it; it’s not like you want double the amount of stuff to clean up.

“Don't want, too?” He asks, holding the shell you threw back.

“No.” You say, firm as ever. “I don’t want anything you throw up here.”

He seems to ponder your words.

“No…throw?” You repeat. You glance down at him, wondering if he’s finally starting to get it.

“Yeah.” You agree. “No throw.”

He pushes himself back towards his mate. Blue switches back to his own language, tittering about with Purple. You can’t make out what they’re saying, but Purple doesn’t seem too happy.

You ignore them. You have your own problems to focus on.

It’s been more than a week, and yet no help has arrived. Supplies were getting low. You’re not sure how much longer running water would last. You’re getting desperate enough that you’re half debating on burning the yacht down to send some kind of signal. You’re not a big fan of causing an ecological disaster, but at this point, you’re willing to do anything.

You want to get back home. You want to get back to your boring life. A life where no one cared for you and no one was looking for you.

But why?

Genuinely, what’s waiting for you back on land? You have no friends. No family. You’re a speck of human, lost in a crowd of millions.

You don’t matter there.

But it’s the only thing you ever knew. A bird that has gotten so used to its cage.

You’d do anything to get back because you don’t know what’s waiting on the other side.

You’ll just have to do better, you tell yourself. People think you’re weird, you’ll make them see past that. You’ll make friends. You’ll create lifelong bonds. You’ll be better.

You just want to survive.

Hours pass with that resolve. Something odd is happening below the yacht. Blue has yet to throw anything since his last interaction with you. There’s no chittering or calls for your attention. And yet, they’re still there. Hovering around. Every time you peek over the railings, you catch the two in mid-discussion, faces serious.

You will force yourself to ignore it. You ignore them and the growing pit in your stomach.

𓆝

There are a few times when your grandmother gets quiet. Gone is her cheery persona. She sits by the window, overlooking the lake. You sit right next to her on the floor, leaning up against her wheelchair.

“Why are you so sad?” You ask her one day.

She cracks a smile at that, glancing down at your small figure.

“I’m homesick.” She responds.

You don’t understand that. You glance around at her house, the mansion that was given to her by her late husband, acres and acres of land.

“But we are home.” You insist.

She shakes her head.

“No, Fish.” She tells you. “It’s not home. Home is far away.”

You don’t understand, you peer up at her.

“If you miss home, then why did you come here?”

You think she might berate you for asking that, but she doesn’t. Instead, she laughs.

“Because…I wanted to. I followed him onto the sand. And now…” She trails off, you wait her her to say something more. She doesn’t.

“When I go home, will you come with me?” She suddenly asks.

You smile up at her. There’s no hesitation.

“Yes!” You declare. “When are we going?”

She laughs, pinching your cheek.

“Patience, Fish.” She tells you with adoration. “I’ll go first, but you choose if you want to follow.”

𓆝

You walk up to the sound of metal collapsing.

Your heart’s racing as you bolt upright, wide awake. You’re barely thinking as you shuck off the blankets as you hear another scrap of metal, then another, then another.

You stumble out of the cabin, nearly tripping over your own two feet. Something catches your foot. The crossbow.

You’re grabbing it without a second thought, hoisting it up on your shoulder.

It’s a blood moon tonight. The water, the deck, and the yacht are all bathed in red. The water looks especially violent, thrashing about, hitting the boat in more volatile ways. The sea is angry. She is hungry and vicious.

You think you know what she wants.

Another metallic screech. The lack of light makes it hard to see where it’s coming from. The sound echoes across the water, making it sound like it’s happening in all directions.

Hordes of them. You can almost imagine your tiny boat being surrounded by hordes with sharp teeth and claws, and scales. The delicate metal in the yacht was being flicked away like paper. Your boat, made of cards, instantly collapses underneath you.

You’d be torn apart limb from limb from limb from limb until there’s nothing left.

You can’t check the water, you’re too scared to see if you’re right.

You don’t have to wait long.

A single hand shoots up from the edge. Then another.

And then something massive is hauling itself up.

You can’t hear your heartbeat anymore. You can’t hear the waves. Everything went silent.

Even underneath the dim light of the moon, he is gorgeous. His white hair has been tinged by the red light. His pale skin glimmers. His fins flare out and then retract all over again.

When he smiles, the song of death plays.

“Come here.” He tells you.

Your hands tighten on the crossbow. He’s dragging himself closer.

Realistically, you could outrun him. If your feet hadn’t given up completely, you could have fled down below the deck, locking yourself away.

And yet, you don’t. You can’t.

“Stay back.” You’re telling him, only managing to take one step back, then another.

You feel like you’re in a dream, no matter how far you want to run, you’re movements are bogged down by fog.

“Stay back.” You’re pleading.

“No hurt.” He tells you, words soft and calm.

He’s not listening. He keeps smiling, coming closer and closer. There’s something clutched in his hand.

He’s not listening when you point the crossbow at him with shaky hands.

“Stay back.”

He’s not listening, not until you pull the trigger.

Your hearing comes back. The sounds of the waves, the creaking of the boat.

The dripping of blood, splat splat splat on the deck.

His head tilts downward, angling his head to gaze at the harpoon lodged in his lower belly.

“Ah…” he trails off, looking at it. “...hurt.”

You drop the crossbow. It clatters by your feet. You’ve killed him. The thumping of your heartbeat is right by your ears.

Just as he pulls it out, you collapse onto the floor.

It’s a sickening sound. The flesh clings to it. There’s a hiss, a scrunch on his face, before he’s pulling it out and tossing it to the other side. There’s so much more blood now. It gushes from his belly. The red grows and grows.

Your vision blurs.

You were crying again.

“Stay back, please stay back.” You beg. “Please leave me alone.”

He’s dying, and yet he still follows. Closer and closer. You clamp your eyes shut when something lightly touches your calf, then thigh, then you. Something wet sinks into your shoulder.

You’re sobbing as something wraps its arms around you.

“No, sad.” His voice is unsure around the words. Imperfect. “No? No, sad.”

If this were death, he was kinder than what you thought he’d be. If this were death, he felt warm on your skin. If this were death, his hair tickled your shoulders.

Your sobs and sniffles die down the more you feel him. He’s pushing you further into his chest. Your clothes are getting soaked by the water and his blood. You’re dwarfed by this creature–A creature of fables and legend.

And then, you can hear him. It’s low, deep in his throat. It’s not the hum. It’s not the screech. It’s a song. A song with no words or rhythm, or lyrics.

He sings to you, softly rocking you back and forth in his arms.

You close your eyes, thinking it’s something she would’ve sung.

𓆝

Hardly anyone comes to her funeral.

You stand with waterlilies bunched in your hands, the ones you handpicked from the lake. You’re the only person there, hovering beside the open casket. She hardly had any family left. The ones who could attend had already left. You were the only one who truly stayed behind.

You study her face, lined with graceful wrinkles, evidence that she had lived. Her eyes are closed, as though she were just sleeping. As though if you were to call for her, she would rise up with a smile and a ‘yes, my little Fish?’

She still called you that, even when you were 18, about to head off to university. She never stopped, not until she was forced to.

Your eyes linger up and down her body. Her dress has been moved. It trails up, ever so slightly. You push it down, making sure it hides her ankles.

Maybe you were just imagining it, but the birthmark on her foot…they almost resemble scales.

You never went near the water again after that.

𓆝

You wake up to sunlight dappled on your cheeks.

It’s barely sunrise. You’ve never been up this early. The sky is splashes of orange and red, and pink. The sea is quiet once again. All you can hear is the rolling crashing of waves.

You’d fallen asleep sitting upright. Your back is leaning against a wall. In front of you, your legs are splayed. A familiar tail is wrapped around them. White, shimmering scales.

Iridescent, the answer comes. Iridescent that borders on blue.

There’s a soft trill above you. He’s already awake, jewel eyes open and breathtaking. Do these things even sleep? You weren’t so sure. And yet, you strangely aren't perturbed by the idea that this creature spent the entire night staring at you.

You’ve never seen him up close before. His face is too perfect to ever resemble humanity. There are sharp, angular lines on his face. The fins at the sides of his face flare and contract, and you wonder if it has to do with his breathing.

You should be afraid. You’ve spent days being afraid of them, but a whole night passed with one of these creatures holding you in their arms. And you were so tired of being afraid.

“Hello.” You say.

“Hello,” Blue repeats, ever eager for communication.

When you reach out, you expect him to flinch. Instead, he leans into your touch, melting into your fingers as you trail them down his face. It’s not human skin, there’s something firmer that gives ever so slightly.

He catches your fingers in his own. They’re larger than yours, with claws and webbed at the base. Still, you let him press your hand back into his cheek, keeping you with him.

It’s the least you could do, considering you shot him last night.

How could you forget? With a start, you check his abdomen. There was so much blood last night, there’s no way he could’ve survived that. How was Blue even alive?

There’s nothing. Not even a scar.

Had you imagined it? That can’t be. There’s dried blood all over the deck, and all over your clothes. How could he heal so quickly?

When you glance back up, he’s trilling and purring, entwining your hands in his.

What do you feel like for him? What do you look like to him?

Blue seems to have a realization of his own. His fingers leave your hands, and he reaches behind him. You remember he was holding something when he first came onto the boat. He pulls back your hand and drops something into your palm.

It’s the shell you threw out last night.

“No throw.” Blue tells you rather proudly.

The shell wobbles in your hand for a moment before it clicks.

He thought you meant you wanted him to give it to you personally, not keep tossing it overboard.

That entire night was all over this? You observe the shell. It’s pretty. A delicate piece of artwork crafted by the sea. It wasn’t worth that much pain and blood.

“I could’ve killed you.” You tell him, unsure if he understands or not.

“Want?” He asks. “Keep? Keep?”

You stare at the shell. You don’t know what it means, but you’re sure you’ve been damned already.

“Yes.” You agree. “I’ll keep.”

He chirps, nestling his face into your neck and you wonder when you started to let these creatures touch you so freely.

There’s another trill. You recognize the voice. Blue does too.

He’s giving a call of his own before he slips away from you, back over the railing. You hear him enter the water with a splash.

Still clutching the shell, you peer over the deck.

Both mates are reunited. It’s a heartwarming sight. Blue is eagerly chattering away, most likely telling Purple what happened last night. From the look of Purple’s souring face, you can tell he isn’t liking any of it. He seems more mad than worried, and you wonder if being shot isn’t that big of a deal to these creatures.

Purple catches your gaze just then. You say nothing. Neither does he.

His eyes soften, ever so slightly.

𓆝

There’s a shift in the coming days.

You no longer avoid the creatures. You don’t hide when they pop up in the water. You don’t immediately block them when they try to make conversation with the limited words they knew. There’s an effort on neutrality on your part.

In turn, they stop pretending they were so helpless.

Apparently, they could always get onto the yacht, but they held back for your sake. Now, that you’re less wary of them, oftentimes Blue and Purple have propped themselves on the deck in the mornings, letting their tails dangle off the boat. You let them be, going about your daily routine.

Now that you’re no longer so afraid of them, Purple seems to be a little more open to communicating with you. He tests out your language, but for whatever reason, it sounds foreign when it leaves his lips. You wonder why they sound so different; maybe within their species, there are subspecies.

You share things with them. Just as they tried to give you gifts of the sea, you, too, try to give gifts of yourself.

There isn’t much food, nevertheless food that’s actually enjoyable. You have to make do with the chips and canned vegetables you find in the pantries and closets. It’s your own challenge to make something palatable for yourself.

That particular morning, you settled on a crumbling reimagining of a sandwich. It was edible, but not the most entertaining. The only thing that kept you going was the granola bar you’d found lingering in one of the cabins. You’d saved it at the end for a treat.

A coo comes from your left. You had a guest.

Two, to be exact. Blue and Purple sit side by side, watching you and your meal. You swallow the last bits of the sandwich, feeling the sludge travel down your throat. So dry, you needed water.

But you can’t bring yourself to leave their mesmerizing stares. Their gaze travels to you and then to your granola bar, still wrapped in plastic. It crinkles in your grip.

You wait, and then you think.

“Want to try?”

Purple only tilts his head. Blue leans forward.

Unwrapping the treat, you take out a piece, the smallest you can, before placing it down on a napkin and slowly inching it towards them. Blue is quick to snatch it up. He practically inhales it, you doubt he even had a taste. From his expression, you can glean that he likes it.

Purple watches his mate idly. Not wanting him to be left out, you do the same motions. He retrieves the bar piece, a lot more suspicious about it than Blue had been. You see him tilt it forward, then back.

Blue decides to take matters into his own hands.

He was so quick. You didn’t know what happened until after Blue gobbled it down, looking immensely pleased. Purple’s eyes narrow to slits.

You don’t notice you were laughing until after the two creatures’ heads snapped in your direction.

Your smile dies down. Their gazes are heavy on your skin, you can’t bring yourself to keep looking.

“Sorry.” You mumble.

Purple makes another rumble again, most likely disgruntled that Blue stole his treat. Feeling for him, you break off another piece. You extend it out, forgetting about the boundary.

His hand grabs your wrist.

You freeze. You don’t even think you’re breathing as he turns your hand over. You can feel his claws lightly rake over your skin, but he’s so gentle that it only tickles.

He’s several degrees cooler than you, the difference is so stark that even you can feel it. There’s no human warmth. It makes you wonder what you must feel like to him.

He’s pulling, and your stiff body follows. For a moment, you think he wants to pull you into the water with him, but then his hand slips from yours.

They’re both gone, disappearing back into the sea. You hear a splash, and when you peek over, you can only see remnants of ripples.

There’s another laugh bubbling out of your throat: shaky, nervous, but filled with life.

𓆝

Over time, you notice the differences between the two creatures. Blue is a lot more adventurous compared to his counterpart. Purple is a lot more adverse towards human things, another reason why he must have been so hesitant earlier.

You wonder why he seemed to linger around you then.

You also let them touch you a lot more. Well, it’s not like you let them. Rather, they allowed themselves access to you. Blue would give quick swipes of his hands, scraping them against the pads of your feet before disappearing into the depths below. Purple would be slower, far more aware of your wavering feelings. He’d be slow and gentle when he reached out, clawed fingers brushing against your own, testing the softness of your skin. You get used to it, eventually. You get used to them eventually.

Your fear lessens. You stop assuming the worst whenever they grab your wrists. They’re much akin to people in some ways. Just as predictable and unpredictable.

You still see them as the beings who killed all those humans. Strangely, the more time you spend with them, the less you think about it. As you spend your days here, drifting on an abandoned boat, your ties of humanity slowly melting away in the current, those deaths oddly feel like a spider being crushed by a slipper.

One thing that hadn’t changed was the screech, much to your chagrin. It always started at the exact same time, when the sun would dip into the sea. By now, the noise was more of an annoyance than the terror you once saw it as.

And loud. Terribly, terribly loud.

“Stop.” You tell them on a night when you feel bold enough to peek over the railing. “Just stop.”

Moonlight glitters over skin and scales. At the sound of your voice, their own dispersed into the sea. They both stare up at you with glowing purple and blue eyes.

“Please?” You ask. “I don’t like it.”

Blue looks confused. Purple seems mildly offended.

“No like?” Blue echoes.

You shake your head. They frown, turning to each other before they start their chatter again.

You aren’t an idiot. Clearly, the screech is meaningful to these creatures. Perhaps, if you were more like them, you’d understand. For now, all that noise does is nearly rupture your eardrums.

“Why don’t you sing something else?” You try, in an effort to appease.

They stop again, peering up at you. You watch as a drop of water trails down from Purple’s hairline, following the curve of his cheek.

“The song you sang that night.” You tell Blue. “Maybe, you could sing that?”

He takes a moment, crystal sapphire glimmering against the water.

He starts first. A second later, Purple joins in. Their voices lull and ebb, just like tiny waves pulling and pushing against the shore. You sit down, catching yourself at the railings, letting your feet dangle over the edge.

There’s no adrenaline pumping inside your ears, your breaths are calm and measured. You can appreciate their voices now. It’s ethereal, there’s no other way to explain it. Their voices are captivating that way, enough to make you want to jump into the sea yourself, chase them until you run out of air. Still, you can’t deny how inhuman they sound. The notes hum and vibrate in a way no human could replicate. The song sinks into your bloodstream. You rest your head on your arms, listening to the beauty.

From that night onwards, you sleep outside, on the edge of the boat. Their songs never stop until you’re off into the land of dreams, far far away from them.

𓆝

One day you fall.

You don’t remember what happened. Gravity was all too fast to snatch you from the boat. You land in the icy water with a splash.

You’re frozen. A part of you was screaming to kick and flail and survive. You can swim. You’ve always been a good swimmer.

But terror was all to quick to grasp onto your muscles, keeping you from moving. It’s been ages since you got into the water. Not since she left.

You’re nothing more than a sentient rock, looking up at the surface, seeing the sun slowly disappear from your view, as your vision gets darker and darker. You helplessly sink.

Deeper.

Deeper.

Fingers touch the back of your calves.

Deeper.

Deeper.

Hands on your waist.

Deeper.

Deeper–

And then you’re gasping and coughing as you explode onto the surface. You reach up desperate for anything to grab onto. He obliges, letting you cling onto his figure like a drenched cat.

You cough wildly. He pats your back. His glossy black hair shimmers in the sun. Inky scales keep you afloat.

You stare at the most human part of him–those purple eyes.

“Thank you.” You tell him. He tilts his head.

He should be drowning you. He should be ripping you apart for committing the sin of being human.

Yet he doesn’t. He just stares. His hands continue to hold you, keeping you above the depths.

As of this moment, he’s showing you more humanity than you’ve ever received from members of your own species.

Your eyes are stinging, but it’s not from the salt water.

“Thank you.” You tell him again, and you think he understands, that time.

Just for a moment.

𓆝

Something happened after that day. You sought them out more, the fear waned and waned.

Soon, you’d forgotten why you were so afraid of these boys entirely.

“That reminds me, I can’t keep calling you guys colors anymore, right?”

You were sitting on the edge of the railing, legs dangling off the side. The sun slowly melted into the sea. The sky turned into warm yellows and crisp oranges.

Blue rested his head on your lap. He’d recently figured out that was one of his favorite resting spots. You don’t think you mind. You prefer him using you as a pillow compared to his earlier fascinations with your legs. He was too touchy for your liking, hands drifting further up than you liked. Once, he touched your upper thigh and you were startled enough to kick him right in the head. Purple had gotten a big laugh out of that.

Speaking of, the other one was seated right next to you. You can feel his presence leaned against your shoulder. His mate purrs from his spot on your lap as you card fingers through his hair, mindful of his fins.

“Do you have names?” Weird, usually you ask that before you get to know someone.

You introduce yourself first. Blue repeats it over and over again, as though he wants to etch it into his memory. Purple leans closer into your warmth. Your clothes are thoroughly soaked at this point, but you were starting to care less and less.

They don’t respond in kind. They probably do have names, but you won’t be able to pronounce them. You tilt your head, looking down at the waters below.

“I’ll call you, Satoru.” You say, “And you can be, Suguru.”

They don’t seem to care about their new names one way or another. You don’t really mind. They were more for your sake than for theirs. Satoru merely sinks into your hands, lamenting in the warmth of it. He whistles something at Suguru. It sounds like a taunt.

When you peek over, Suguru’s lips are pulled in an irritated scowl.

With a swipe of his arm, he pushes Satoru off your lap, into the depths below. Satoru flails, but gravity takes him down all the same. He disappears with a splash. You cover your mouth, trying to stifle your laugh.

“What did he say?” You ask.

He shakes his head, ‘You don’t want to know.’ Comes his silent answer.

Below you, Satoru gives a high-pitched chatter, most likely spewing curses and whines at his mate. Suguru ignores them. You follow suit.

The sun dipped further down into the waves. Soon, they’d start singing to you again, just like every night.

This sight would have been unthinkable less than a week ago.

Had it been a week? You’d honestly stopped counting.

You know you should hate them for what they did. They killed your fellow students and left you stranded on a ship with no way of getting to land. Yet, you don’t. It’s not like this boat is any different from your ‘life’ back ‘home’. You were drifting through life, the same as you were here. Nothing changed except for the setting.

And these two…

“Why?” You ask Suguru. “Why me?”

You’ve been asking yourself the same question for the past few weeks, torturing yourself with it.

The amethyst in his eyes shimmers. Ocean water drips down his skin and iridescent scales. His long black hair swirls around him like ink, spilling along his back, onto the deck. He’s one of the prettiest creatures you’ve ever seen.

You know his hands were made for destruction, and yet, he’s so gentle when he picks up your hand, holding it in his own. You can feel his claws scraping your skin. It tickles. He smiles at your laughter, small and secretive.

“One.” He tries his best to make you understand with his limited vocabulary. “One ours.”

You tilt your head. His mouth opens before it snaps shut again. His hands curl into fists, personifying the frustration he must feel. You understand it. Wanting a distraction, you glance around. The pearls scattered along the deck catch your eye.

Satoru had restarted his favorite pastime. Even after you accepted the shell, he still brought various items found from the depths. You keep the bigger ones: the pretty conch shells that you press against your ear, the glistening pearls, the vintage jewelry. It’s a little ironic that you probably have accumulated thousands of dollars right here on the deck, and yet, there is no true value to them at all.

You pluck one of the treasures up– a golden ring— examining it in your grasp.

“Why haven’t you given me anything yet?” You ask with a teasing lilt in your voice, showcasing your find to Suguru.

He observes it, then you. You allow him to take it from your fingers, carefully balancing the valuable in his palm.

“No choose.” He simply says. He hasn’t chosen anything yet. You don’t know how to feel about his confession.

“Home.” He suddenly tells you. You glance up at him.

“What?”

“Home.” He repeats, when he smiles, you can see the fangs hidden under plush lips. The unspoken danger. “Come see?”

“You want me to see your home?”

He nods. “Under…ocean. Come see?”

You send him a look. “I can’t breathe underwater.”

That’s not the only thing that stops you from jumping into the ocean. It’s them. Playing pretend up in the safety of the ship, where you can run away when things get too scary, is one thing. Willingly letting them pull you into the ocean is another. You’ve seen what they can do. You’ve seen how easily beings shaped like you can bow to beings shaped like them, even when you didn’t.

Suguru frowns. “Safe. Home close.” He insists.

There’s a splash from below. Satoru stares up at you with big eyes. Underneath the water, you can see his claws, still at his sides.

They were dangerous.

And yet, the smile on Satoru’s face when you give the tiniest nod melts something inside of you.

𓆝

The water is calm today. It gently licks your feet as you dangle your body over the boat. It’s not as cold as you thought it’d be. It doesn’t help the flipping of your stomach, however. You know you agreed to this, and yet, you feel like you’ve swallowed rocks, and they’re jostling around in your belly.

They’re already below you, lurking about in the water. Suguru’s closer, while Satoru stays a little further away. Their positions make sense in a way, you don’t trust Satoru to not get over-zealous. Suguru, in a way, is a little more careful.

Like he can sense your nervousness, Suguru is lifting one clawed arm up, barely touching your calf, not pulling, simply waiting. You take a minute, bringing yourself together, before you reach out to hold his hand.

And then, you jump.

You close your eyes just before the plunge. The sea engulfs you. You hear the water rush over your head. For a moment, there’s nothing, and then you break into the surface again.

When you open your eyes, Suguru smiles. You can see his fangs, ever so slightly pressed against plush lips. Another reminder that you’ve left your domain, and leapt into theirs.

Your heartbeat quickens when he leans forward. You don’t think it’s just out of fear anymore.

“Okay?” He’s asking, voice pushing and pulling like the waves you’re surrounded in.

You barely give a nod.

“Okay.” You confirm.

His smile gets a tad bit warmer, before scowling. Satoru ruins the moment, invading your space, pushing himself into your shoulder. His weight pushes you deeper into the water before Suguru shoves him off with a hiss.

You laugh when Satoru moves back, head tilted down like he’s a scolded puppy. In some ways, that’s exactly what he was. To comfort him, you reach over, brushing away the wet hair that clings to his forehead. He melts into your touch.

Suguru gives a whistle. When you turn back, he’s sinking lower into the water, showing his back.

‘Ready?’ He silently asks with his eyes.

As an answer, you reach forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, clinging onto his back. He gives a low rumble when you nestle your face into the crook of his neck.

He moves when you’re properly balanced. Much to your relief, he doesn’t dive immediately under the waves. He keeps both his and your heads above the surface, moving forward. Despite your added weight, it doesn’t seem to hamper his speed in the slightest. Somehow, you feel like he’s being slow for your sake.

Satoru circles you two. You follow him with your eyes as he goes round and around. When you peek down, you spot a school of fish swimming down below. Suguru passes them with ease. You’ve always had an affinity for the water, but not even you could travel as fast or as far as they currently are. They move so fast, the waves almost blur around you.

You figure out their destination a few miles in. There’s a large rock formation, jutting out from above the water. Suguru’s speed slows down.

Satoru moves in front of you. He takes a dramatic gulp of air, puffing up his cheeks. You have to smile at how cute he’s being, but you can read his message.

‘Hold your breath.’

You inhale, feeling the air fill your lungs.

And then, you’re descending.

Water and bubbles swirl around you as Suguru leads you deeper and deeper. Cracking your eyes open, you can see the blurry figure of Satoru, drifting deeper and deeper into the depths.

Out of instinct, you tighten your hold onto Suguru, hoping you aren’t choking him. He doesn’t seem to mind one way or another. You can feel one of his clawed hands find their way to your forearm, holding you in place. It’s an act of comfort, but you don’t feel it the way he intends.

You can hold your breath for a while, but you can already feel your lungs about to burst. The need for air is starting to burn, a demand that’s screaming from your lungs and heart and cells.

Just before you think you’re about to pass out, you surface.

You collapse against wet rock, greedily taking in the air. It still smells like salt and sea. Maybe a little fresher. You must be inside the rock formation, you slowly realize. It was some type of underwater cave.

Not completely underwater, however. There’s a ray of light coming from above. When you look up, there’s a hole right on the ceiling that might have been 30 or so feet above your head.

Along the shore, there’s algae that curbs against the sharp rocks. It wasn’t natural, they had been placed there.

You sit against the wet rock, letting the sun warm your skin. In front of you, the two creatures linger. Always watching.

“Like?” Satoru prods after a while.

You nod. Yeah, you do. It was nice compared to the boat, the stiff metal and wood. Here, you can feel the waves against your feet, the sun filtering through the ceiling. It’s like a mini beach.

“It’s pretty,” you say, “thank you.”

Suguru swims forward at your compliment, extremely pleased. You can practically see him preening, and you huff out a laugh. After a while, they resemble nothing more than peacocks. You close your eyes, leaning back on your hands. Despite being thoroughly soaked, you feel warm.

You can hear them shifting closer and closer. When you open your eyes, Satoru’s in front of you.

Glittering jewel eyes. The brightest blue, almost like you’re staring up at a cloudless sky. The fins on either side of his face were flattened. A bead of water trails down his neck. You watch as it travels along flawless skin.

“Pretty.” Satoru echoes.

You nod, looking down at the crystal-clear water lingering right by your knees. “It’s all really pretty.” Your eyes flick up, looking at his iridescent scales and fins.

“You’re pretty too.” You tell him.

Satoru’s always been the more adventurous out of the two. He pushed forward with no fear. He’s a conqueror, trekking to places you would never dare go to. You know him well enough now to know that he’s impulsive and unpredictable.

Even knowing all that, you couldn’t have ever imagined how warm his lips were.

Despite his strength, his claws, his monstrousness, Satoru is so gentle. His kiss is featherlight, barely touching, as though he’s afraid you’d break if he got any closer. Maybe he’s right to be worried, because you find yourself melting, despite the thudding of your heartbeat. You can hear it loud within your chest, and you wonder if he can hear it too.

He pulls away, and you lean back against the warm rock, regaining your ability to breathe.

“Pretty.” He tells you, eyes glittering with honesty. “Pretty pretty.”

“I…” Your voice feels so far away. “I don’t understand.”

But you do. You always have. You think you just need to hear it.

“Choose you.” Satoru starts, words foreign on his inhuman tongue. “See you. Give gifts. Sing song…choose you.”

You think back to those pearls and shells scattered across the deck, shimmering with whites and soft, blushy pinks. You can still hear the song they sing those nights underneath the gibbous Moon, the way their voices echoed far into the stars, rippled across the ocean, carried by the salt-singed wind.

“Want you.” Satoru continues, eyes glistening with a celestial beauty you could barely even fathom. “Want you as…”

Mate. The word comes suddenly into your brain. It came from some part of you that was hidden away for years and years, shriveled away by the land and the dry shore.

Your eyes tilt over to Suguru. He has yet to speak, and he still won’t. Instead, he’s reaching over, gently pulling you back into the water. You follow, feeling the water ripple around you.

You’re handed over to Satoru. He takes you with a purr, pulling you alongside him. His movements are so graceful, it soothes the racing of your heartbeat. You feel the rhythm that hums through the water. It takes you a moment to recognize his movements. You saw it a couple of times before, back when they were nothing more than beasts, back when you thought they were nothing like you.

It’s that dance. The one you saw Satoru and Suguru do all those times before.

Satoru weaves you around the water, and you, helpless, entranced, bewitched, trail after every dip and turn he does. It feels like hours, but it might have only been a few minutes. Time stops, and seconds are stagnant.

You can feel Suguru’s presence looming behind you. You feel whispers of his breath flickering over your wet skin. There’s a ghost of hands barely touching your being.

He stops when the water feels like air against your skin, right at the center of the cavern. Below the surface, your feet kick at the water, instinctively trying to reach the sand. Satoru’s arms are secured at your sides, like you’d dissolve into the sea if he dared to loosen his grip. His scales shimmer against the sunbeams. You can’t look away from his brilliant, crystal blue eyes.

“Want you,” Satoru repeats.

Something breaks deep inside of you. A feeling that’s foreign to you starts to bloom.

“Why?”

You’ve asked Suguru this question once, once, when you were high above the ocean and feeling the salty sea blow against your skin. He couldn’t give you a proper answer, not one you could be satisfied with. Why was it you they kept circling around? Why was it you who received such precious gifts? Why you?

Suguru is right behind you, and he leans into your weight. You can hear him sigh into your skin.

Satoru smiles. You can see those fangs again. Lifetimes ago, they would have terrified you, but in this warm cave, underneath the shining light of the sun–

“One of us.” His confession is raw and true. “Ours.”

It’s been a while since you’ve felt like this before. The feeling of belonging. You couldn’t find an inkling of it, not when thousands and millions of your kind surrounded you.

But in this cave, just the two of them are enough to make you finally feel human again.

You don’t know who moves first, but it doesn’t matter. Satoru’s lips are plush and soft; you can taste flickers of ocean waves. He tastes like heaven, something about his presence makes your mind drift up into the clouds, aimless, like a velella dipped in royal blue drifting along the waves.

“One of us.” Suguru echoes, and his voice clicks something into place deep inside of you. When you break away from Satoru’s urging lips, you feel like you can breathe for the first time in decades, like the air isn’t choking you dry anymore. You can feel it then, a tiny piece of Satoru was nestling inside you, keeping you afloat. Something he gave to you, and you accepted.

‘One of us.’ Both of their voices bubble and simmer into your soul.

You don’t realize you’re back on the shore until you feel the rocks underneath your thighs. They’re smooth, and you soon discover they’re lined with soft moss. It was handmade with comfort kept in mind.

You can’t linger on it. Not when you can feel Suguru’s lips on your collarbone, tracing your skin with his razor-sharp teeth. You’re still underneath him, growing limp against his soft hold. You melt at the way they handle you. Always so gentle. They touch you like you’re made of fragile seashells, inches away from breaking. The tiny piece Satoru gave you blooms at their touch.

You let yourself fall in the trance they put you in, your body goes limp in their hold as claws rake over your flimsy clothes, eager to take them off. You gasp when Suguru grasps onto your waist, squeezing. Your back arches, giving Satoru the perfect opportunity to nestle his face into your neck, breathing in your scent.

You freeze when he goes lower, and then lower.

You glance down at him. Pretty blue eyes stare up. He looks almost innocent like this, nestling his face into your cleavage, as though he were oblivious to his own actions. It makes you want to laugh.

You suck on your bottom lip. His gaze follows it—something hot coils in your belly.

‘One of them.’ They promised you.

You slowly peel off your wet shirt. Satoru watches each movement keenly. Suguru is silent behind you. You feel like you’re being hunted, even though you’ve already been caught and it’s too late for an escape.

They’ve always been fascinated by your clothes. Your damp bra is just as captivating. Satoru runs his fingers through the cloth, his claws catching on the patterned threads. You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat thudding in your chest. Blood is pumping through your ears.

Satoru pulls down your bra ever so slightly, fingers graze over your nipple. You shiver under his touch.

“Pretty.” He tells you. “Pretty pretty.”

You feel your face grow hot, and you break eye contact. Like a predator, Satoru leaps onto you, meshing his lips with yours once again. He kneads at your tits, squeezing hard enough that he draws whines and simpers from your mouth. He drinks them all, enjoying his feast.

You don’t realize Suguru’s moved until he’s touching your feet, feeling up the skin of your calves. By this time, you’re barely clothed, just as naked as those two are. The only thing that keeps your dignity intact is your thin shorts. For now.

Suguru’s hands are cool against your thighs, just like the rest of him. It’s only when you’re guiding him along with your shorts, slipping them down your legs, that you remember how different he is to you. He seems to share the feeling because he delicately takes one of your legs, wrapping his fingers around your heel. Suguru watches in quiet fascination as your leg extends and bends until he’s able to wrap it around his shoulder. Your heel hooks behind his back.

You’re wet. Not just from your trip, but from the way Satoru touched you and kissed you–from the way Suguru keeps staring. You two are so different. For a moment, you wonder if women of his species even look the way you do. You wonder if he’s stopping because you look odd to him–if he’s changing his mind.

You’re pulling back, close to pushing him away, but Suguru is having none of it. He attaches to your pussy with his mouth and begins to consume.

It’s already too much. His tongue is long and dextrous, and he’s already digging his way through your gummy walls, eager to suck you dry. You throw your head back, leaning against Satoru for support as Suguru continues to eat you out. Satoru grasps your waist, squeezing the skin. He chirps something foreign to Suguru, the latter sends him a smug glance. It was something obnoxious about you but you can’t care less when Suguru manages to find your clit with a curious lick.

You can’t hide your reactions. You writhe and shudder underneath his touch. You’re grasping onto Suguru’s hair, knotting it into your fists. He barely seems to mind, leaning into your touch with a mouth-watering purr.

You come with an unfiltered scream as your orgasm pulses through you. You’re arching into Satoru, feeling the pleasure roll over your stomach and tits. Suguru isn’t stopping, not at just one. The moment you come down from your high, slipping down to Earth, he’s grabbing your thighs, pulling you back to him, pushing deeper.

He only let’s go when your screams die down to mewls. You watch in exhaustion as rises from his spot between your legs. Satoru catches him mid-way, clashing his lips and teeth with Suguru.

He’s tasting you through his mate, the thought makes your pussy wet all over again. Satoru loves it, he grins down at you with a shiny mouth. He doesn’t say anything, but you can hear his thoughts.

“Shut up.” You tell him. He coos.

They’re switching positions again. You watch, propped up on the mossy floor as Satoru lines himself up between your legs. He licks his lips and you spot his sharp white fangs. Your hole clenches on nothing as he shifts further towards you.

You spot it then, right below his abdomen.

It almost looks alive as it slowly emerges from the slit. It’s long and thick–far thicker than Suguru’s tongue–a flushed pink and completely inhuman. It doesn’t feel human either–far cooler than your heated skin.

You’re too far gone. You need it. You need it as deep it can go inside of you.

Satoru doesn’t need much prompting, fisting his dick in one hand he buries it inside of you, inch by inch.

It’s excruciatingly good. You writhe and wiggle against him, and when Satoru stills you with a firm grasp on your wrist, you fall against Suguru’s shoulder, panting and moaning.

“Easy.” You tell him, breathless, when Satoru gets too excited. “Go easy.”

Satoru only heeds your warning when Suguru punctuates it with a warning hiss. He’s a lot slower after that.

You can tell it’s torture to be gentle, yet he tries anyway. His eyes have narrowed, and he’s tensing his jaw in concentration. You can feel his cock bury itself further inside of you. You’re wet enough to take it all in one motion, but he’s careful of you and your body. You love it when they do that–treat you like you’re made from gentle glass, even when they aren’t used to holding back.

Eventually, Satoru bottoms out as his hips meet yours. You and him gasp for air. He rests his head against your shoulder, kissing your sweaty skin. It takes a moment to get used to his cock. It’s so much cooler than the rest of you. You can’t imagine what your pussy must feel like to him. You must be burning, like a furnace. It must hurt.

But, Satoru always struck you as a masochist.

“Good, good pretty.” Satoru tells you with a breathless voice, trying to convey his feelings as well as he can with his stilted voice. You nod along, understanding in some strange way.

He takes a moment like that, just staying.

And then, he starts to move.

Slowly, at first. He rocks his hips back and forth, as though he’s practicing the movements. It’s almost embarrassing how needy your body is–your pussy trying to suck his dick right back inside. Then, he’s going faster. Then faster.

And then he’s practically humping you like a dog than a fish.

You relish in it, rocking against his movements, wrapping your legs around his waist, keeping him from going too far. Out of sheer desperation, you dig your nails into his back, sure you’re drawing blood. Satoru takes it in stride, fucking into you even faster.

Suguru, never one to be left out, explores your skin. He licks down your collarbone and chest until he reaches your tits. It’s almost instinct when he sucks on your nipple, swirling his tongue around your areola.

You can’t hold off. It’s all so much. And it turns so much worse when Suguru reaches over between you and Satoru to rub your clit.

Your orgasm is inevitable and yet it still takes you by surprise. It fizzes over your body, forcing you to arch your back as you spasm on his cock. Satoru follows the same fate moments later when he gives a garbled moan and something warm fills your battered pussy.

You three lay like that, catching your breaths, not at all eager to move. Eventually, you regain your ability to think again. Satoru’s dick slips from your pussy, leaving behind his cum mixed in with yours.

Lips meet your collarbone. Another is at the base of your neck. Slowly, they work their way up and down your body, relishing you with gentle and much-needed affection. You allow them, melting into their touches as they kiss away whatever bruises and scratches they left on you.

Claws lightly graze your cheek.

“Ok?” Suguru asks, quiet and soft.

“Ok.” You whisper back.

You smile, and when he returns it, you feel full again. But when you lean in to kiss him, Suguru pulls away.

Your smile disappears. His own is softer, this time. He leans forward, careful to miss your lips, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. His damp forehead meets your own.

“No choose.” He tells you again, just like that moment from when you were both up on the ship, but this time you understand.

They chose you, but you hadn’t chosen them, yet.

You were still lingering by the shore–refusing to jump in. You enjoyed the waves push and pull themselves towards you, gently kissing your toes, but you did not follow.

You couldn’t give the sand up. You were still human. Satoru could accept that, which is why that piece of him still rests inside you. Suguru couldn’t.

You can have Satoru because Satoru is okay with just having pieces of you. He’d gladly keep any crumb you left behind for him before you once again disappear into a world he cannot reach.

But Suguru couldn’t bear to touch you if he couldn’t have every part of you as his own. He’d much rather have your memory flicker away into water than share you with the land.

Despite the name you gave Satoru, you understand Suguru more. You don’t think you could bear that either. You could have one or the other, but they can’t have you.

Your silence makes them wane. Satoru coos, pushing for a reaction. You can feel Suguru at your shoulder. Always watching.

“Take me back.”

Satoru’s face falls. You can’t look at either of them.

“Please take me back.”

You can feel them looking at each other. It makes you feel worse.

Suguru nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

“Okay.” He acquiesces.

You asked and they agreed, and yet, they gave you a few more seconds to stay, lingering in the waters of paradise.

𓆝

You asked for a bit more time.

Suguru agreed. Satoru just stared, and you were starting to wonder if it was truly possible to have it all.

They’re still around. You see remnants of their fins disappearing into the water. At night, you can hear the distant melancholy of their song. You don’t sleep outside these nights. It’s colder now.

There’s a clock somewhere slowly ticking to zero. Time is running out. You don’t know how you can tell. Maybe it’s another thing Satoru left with you.

You don’t know a single thing you have left on the shore. You don’t have friends, and you’re being delusional if you think you can make any. You don’t have family, you don’t have ambitions, or any goals. You just go through life because it’s the only think you’ve ever known.

Satoru and Suguru are electric. They fill you with something you’ve never experienced before. You finally feel part of something.

But they’ve killed people. Humans, like you.

You look at your hands. They look normal, but something is brimming just beneath your fingertips.

Were you ever human?

You don’t know. You don’t know anything about anything anymore, and it’s killing you.

You wished she were here.

The boat rocks, jolting you out of your thoughts. You peek out the window. The sun was long gone, and the moon was rising. You wait to hear their song, seeping into the night, calling for you.

Minutes pass. Hours.

There’s nothing. There’s just you drifting along the current.

𓆝

It’d been a while since you’ve dreamed of the lakehouse and the pond.

Everything is just as you remembered. Sunlight reflected over the surface, glittering like diamonds and stars. Deep-green lilies bobbed up and down. Dragonflies flitted back and forth along the shore. The sun warmed your skin.

She was there too, but there’s something different about her. The lines around her eyes and mouth were softer. Her skin looked smoother. Her eyes were bright with young mischief. Instead of being in that wheelchair you used to despise so much, she stares at you from the water.

“Fish?” She tilts her head.

“You’re so beautiful.” That's all you can say.

She laughs, high-pitched and girlish. You love hearing it. She’s so different, but you know it’s her. It can’t be anyone else.

“Did you like my gifts?” She prods, retreating from the water to sit on the banks.

Your heart flutters. “Were you the one who sent those two?”

She doesn’t answer. You don’t need her to. You draw closer, reaching out to touch her cheek. She’s several degrees cooler than you; your hand must feel like a furnace to her, yet she melts into your touch, letting you feel her cheek, nose, and forehead.

“Are you home?” You ask.

She nods.

“Did you miss me?” She asks.

Your eyes sting. “More than anything.”

She’s still smiling–still so beautiful. Even as the glamour starts to fade, when skin turns into scales, blunt teeth turn into fangs, you never once stopped thinking about her beauty.

“Are you coming home, then?”

You pull back slightly.

“I can’t.” You tell her. “I’m still human.”

She laughs. “Are you?”

You stay silent. She grabs your arm, mindful of her claws, careful not to pierce your skin.

“I understand, Fish.” She tells you kindly. “It’s hard to be sure of anything.” She places something into your palm.

“But it’s even harder to be alone.”

You stare at the pearls: blue and purple.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

She tilts her head and smiles until she shows teeth, before she sinks further and further into the pond.

The last thing you see of her is her iridescent scales disappearing into the depths.

𓆝

The sky is a violent swirl of grays and blues. Thunder dangerously rumbles over the horizon. The ocean was growing tired of waiting.

You step onto the deck. The smell of rain is heavy in the air. Angry clouds obscure the sun.

Despite your decision being made hours ago, you can still feel the anxiety building up in your heart. You’re still scared.

And yet, today, the fear of the unknown is nothing compared to the fear of going back to obscurity.

Neither of the creatures appears. Even the tiny piece Satoru left within you remained silent today. And yet, your heart flutters when you spot something on the deck. A tiny seashell.

It’s not from Satoru. You cement your decision when you curl it into your fist in acceptance.

You take one last breath of air, and then you jump.

You hit the ice-cold water. You squeeze your eyes shut as you sink deeper into the depths.

Deeper.

Deeper.

Fingers touch the back of your calves.

Deeper.

Deeper.

Hands on your waist.

Deeper.

Deeper.

Lips on your mouth.

Something locks in place deep inside of you–

And then you breathe.

𓆝

After weeks of searching, they finally find it.

It was the strangest thing. Every day, the coast guard searched and searched the waters for a lost yacht filled with young adults. They used sonar and top-of-the-line machinery. At one point, even a plane was used, soaring overhead to see if they could spot the vessel from the skies.

Nothing for weeks.

And one day, out of nowhere, a ‘ghost ship’ was reported.

When the retrieval team got on deck, there was nothing. They found no struggle, no panic, no bodies. It’s as if everyone vanished into thin air.

Someone stayed behind longer than the others.

They can see evidence of it all around. Half-eaten chips and cans of unopened food littered the area. A used harpoon was left abandoned. The calendar on the captain’s deck was crossed out with the same marker. 17 days. This survivor had stayed behind for nearly two weeks.

phainon looked so YUMMY in the ending scene like the mask and cloak??? hmmm yes, and he makes even blood look good. wtf ur so real for that tho, but the ending's kinda sad don't you think? he'll be left alone in the palace far away from his people oh-

Maybe it's the way Phainon’s character is brought into the story, but he's this kind-hearted prince who transformed into an imposing ruler. The way his character hardened and developed pulled in your heartstrings. He brings conflict to your emotions, on how you loved his radiant and princely side, but at the same time is swept off your feet by his blinding majesty.

Must be the reason why you loved reading this novel. It seems that the author did a great job of stringing you, the reader, into Phainon's emotions and inner world. It makes you wish for the success of his plans in the story, but it also pains you to see him change as a price.

affected by literal fucking words and pixels, please save me from era nova, why can't i just pick a fav and go??? why do i also have to feel for them like please leave me alone he just wanted to be an appraiser and live normally with his people, why'd they have to do him like that ikr, like noooo phainon my sweet baby :( he succeeded but at what cost? :((((

Phainon ascends to the throne, the end. You saw this coming from a mile away, but actually seeing something that's been a part of your daily life for months finally concluding did hurt you a bit. There's a pang of emptiness, ah, the feeling of finishing a book and never hearing from that world again.

Sucks.

You'll probably get over it and find a new thing to fixate on soon, but for now you'll lament Phainon’s fate and think about the damn novel for a few more hours.

well becoming an emperor so suddenly sounds kinda lonely so if he needs a princess by his side im just here 🙏  girl, you'll die from the court shenanigans alone lol oof yeah u right [are you willing to do that?] fuck yeah lol, all in for PHAINON [heh, come here then] ??? it's 4am rn tho

Don't wanna go out yet. You're supposed to type, but suddenly you felt the most splitting headache you ever had the misfortune to feel. Your vision goes blurry and suddenly, everything's so dark.

★

You woke up to the fluttering of soft…lace?

Opening your eyes, you are faced with the soft swishing of the lacy fabric hanging up on the bedposts. The fabric dancing in the air caresses your face, the gentle touch of lace rouses you further from sleep. Wait, bedposts?

Realizing the anomaly in your room, you stood up. Well, tried to do so. Because your head suddenly feels like it's groaning in pain and so do you.

“Oh no miss! Don't stand up too fast, your head injuries might worsen!”

A brown-haired lady wearing a black dress with white apron suddenly ushers towards you. Her face is frowning, filled with as much worry as her frantic voice has.

White apron… like a maid outfit.

You stilled, brain churning for the last bits of the previous night. For one, you are texting your friend about Era Nova, second is that they asked you to ‘come to them’ at such an ungodly hour, and then… and then what?

“Master! The lady has awoken!”

What happened last night?

Your head suddenly throbs in pain again, it's akin to a migraine that suddenly surprises you when you least expect it. The difference though from an ordinary migraine is that this one seems to carry something.

A lot of things, memories to be exact, actually.

You are the only daughter of the count of this area. You are currently in your estate at Okhema, and that you had a bad fall at… some market?

More and more flooded to your head, some crystal clear memories and some are fuzzy, something bathed in yellowing lights — childhood memories. It doesn't clear itself though, as if it's decided that those are not of importance.

“My daughter… how do you feel?”

A voice interrupts your train of thoughts. There enters a man seemingly in his late forties. He's wearing clothes that seem to be out of a theater play you watched back then. His tall stature exudes elegance, something out of a regency drama.

Where are you exactly?

You didn't speak, mind running in different directions, different explanations and reasonings for whatever absurdity you are currently in as of now. Are you kidnapped? Did you get drunk last night and wandered to a TV set? Why would they play along then if that's the case? Is this a new, untapped-by-science side effect of combined lack of sleep and caffeine overdose?

All of your hypothesis sounds like it was spoken by insanity itself. Why would this happen? Is this real? Dozens of questions floated around your mind until it was cleared away by the same voice.

“My dearest, we have investigated the entirety of Marmoreal market and found no signs of the carriage that hit you. I'm deeply sorry for this news, but don't worry, father is not going to stop looking for…”

Your ‘father’s’ voice droned in and out of your ear, his words seem to be mixing and swirling into your senses.

Except for one.

Marmoreal. Then you also remembered one of the information bits that flooded to your brain, Okhema. You were so distraught earlier that you didn't process the memories itself, the familiar places and names suddenly makes sense, finally tracing back to their origin.

The Era Nova.

Marmoreal is the center of Okhema’s trade, a place where half of the story convenes because Phainon frequents this place so much. The kingdom that hailed him as one of their crown princes is Okhema.

Maybe it was really insanity who penned these events unfolding to you right now.

“Master, excuse my interruption, but my lady seems to be in great pain earlier, she may not be ready for that conversation,” The woman who you first saw when you woke up warily said to the man beside you. In your memories, she is your lady in waiting.

“Right, of course, please take care of her and make sure she rests.” 

The man leaves, the brown haired maid follows, telling you that she's going to fetch you soup and medicine.

Left alone in your thoughts, you only can look outside the window. Behind the branch where two songbirds are perched, singing a duet — lies the Marmoreal Palace, in front of your very own eyes.

Insanity, yes, this must be insanity.

There's no fucking way you just got isekai’d in your favorite novel.

★

Of all the things to read before your isekai trip, it had to be this dramatic thriller of a genre.

You sluggishly stood up after your maid left you with the soup and medicine. You walked towards an ornate mirror, something that looks like it belongs to a museum, not in a home.

With that in mind, you found out two things.

First is that your family is rich. Second is that despite being transmigrated into a fantasy, kingdom-themed novel, you still looked the same.

Yes, unfortunately, no waking up in the body of a pink-haired maiden with flawless skin and plump lips.

At least you're rich, right?

“Man, I wanna know what it feels like to have natural pink hair.” You sighed in front of your mirror. You do look a bit more radiant at least, as if you finally scrounged enough money to contact a dermatologist and do something about your eyebags.

Yes, yes, it might seem like you were just put on a dress for some play but at least your face looks clearer. A win is a win.

Going back, you repeatedly consider your family’s status. Rich and has a stable business? Then it is perfect. An unspoken rule in the isekai world is that, peace comes from not fucking around with the plot. It seems that you're in a lineage of businessmen, not royalty, so there's no reason for you to get tangled up in the bloody ‘court games’ that Era Nova is all about.

Gotta thank the plot for giving you some background on who you are in the story at least. Still, you've opted for pretending that you lost some of your memories, much to your family's horror — so that asking painfully obvious questions in case you forget something isn't too strange.

That, and also because you've seen this in many transmigration novels that you wanted to try it.

You probably should've stuck to something along the lines of romance or slice-of-life novels instead if you knew that this is going to happen.

All feels surreal, you never expected to experience being sent into the world of a novel. You thought isekai is just a fantasy genre you only read.

But alas, you're here now. There's no cameras or crew members revealing you're in a prank, a show, or something. It's been too long for that.

★

Crazy thought, but what if I try finding Phainon?

You suddenly think while you're in the bath, a pair of maids helping you scrub your body. It's been a few days since you got here. You did your best in adjusting, using the memories that were given to you and the books which, luckily, you can understand and read.

It also helps that you're proficient about The Era Nova back in the real world. You've been into forums and posts discussing the plot and the worldbuilding of this work. Save for the more innate traditions and customs, your knowledge about the events and how this kingdom came to be is more than enough for you to navigate in your daily life here.

In fact, you might be too proficient, because your butler let out a stray comment telling you that you have the potential to be a historian in the academy.

Your earlier thought about finding Phainon resurfaced again. Now that you think about it properly, it seems to be the stupidest idea you've made as of now.

No, no! Do not get involved with Phainon, he's the most direct, one-way ticket to the plot.

You didn't think further, instead you relaxed into the bath.

★

Thankfully, you have recovered. You think it's because your brain finally conjured all the memories it needed, hence your headaches had finally stopped.

Your father now also reluctantly lets you go outside again, but he strictly advises you to be careful, a long spiel of reminders and shoving at least two knights with you everywhere you go.

Wow, your family had knights.

Today, you're heading to the Marmoreal Market, where you're supposed to have been run over by a carriage before. You shivered at the thought, although nothing concrete came into mind when you tried remembering it.

Maybe it's mercy, who wants to remember that kind of pain?

Your carriage moves along the cobblestones. Estates, parks, ornate fountains and rows of wooden stalls pass by your window. Straight out of a fairytale kingdom. You couldn't believe your eyes, your heart was pounding. It's real, you're really here.

You only went out to have a closer look at the world you got thrown into. You knew what it's like in the novel, but seeing it in person is a whole ‘nother experience that cannot be replicated.

Today, you're going to investigate, but you guess it wouldn't hurt to explore Okhema too.

★

It's unfortunate that you only have two feet and can only go in a single direction at a time when the Marmoreal Market has a dozen pathways and shops calling your attention.

It's vastly different from the real world, that's for sure.

The colorful tapestries draped into the rooftops of each store weave a grand picture to your eyes. The goods displayed felt magical, even what's supposed to be simple bread sold in the west area looks like it's glazed in gold and the dresses hanging in the southern part all have intricate stitching that make the fabric feel alive.

Your eyes are twinkling in wonder. It felt like you were a kid again in an amusement park, the excitement on each turn of your head palpable. You took advantage of your sizable allowance and picked pastries and trinkets that interest you, those that seem otherworldly that you'll probably never see again once you go back.

Right, what about going back to the real world?

Magic exists in the story of The Era Nova. One of the shops here sells magical items. It's your main objective for the day. The concept of other worlds could still be seen as strange, but it's worth a shot, you think.

When you finally reach the shop, it's unassuming at first, only a crooked wooden signage and an old wind chime greet you when you lay your eyes on its facade, but what's inside is completely different.

Rows and rows of shelves filled with various jars and knick-knacks welcomed you. It's like you stepped into the set of Alice in Wonderland. The line of shelves leads to a counter, a single woman faces you, her little corner filled with hanging plants and more trinkets.

The woman on the counter only stares at you. At first you think it's strange, but remembering that you're inside a novel cuts off that thought. Maybe it's normal here. In most novels, characters that have to do something with magic tend to be a bit mysterious and quirky anyway.

You continued browsing, eyes looking for strange artifacts that could be connected to how you can go home. It feels like a shot in the dark as you have no idea what could be considered ‘a strange artifact’ because all of these things are foreign to you.

As you collect your courage to just straight up ask the bizarre questions of ‘portals’ and ‘other worlds’ to the woman on the counter, a flicker catches your attention.

A hand mirror, it's embellished with small golden suns and silver moons on its frame. The handle is just the same, with a bigger sun and moon eclipsing at the center.

But the design isn't what catches your attention, it's what's within the mirror itself. Because instead of reflecting the shop’s interior — it's reflecting the inside of your real world bedroom instead.

You nearly jumped towards the glass display it's being held in. The woman on the counter stares at you before giving a somewhat pitied look.

“It's a great piece, but unfortunately that's reserved for a special customer.”

Your heart drops at her statement. No, no way, this could be the key to going home. You're going to have this one, even if you have to put trade offers that are disadvantageous to you. As you were about to open your mouth to argue, you were interrupted by a chime.

“Lord Phainon, are you here for your reservation?”

“Yes, thank you for keeping it for me.” A man — no Phainon, walks into the counter. If your heart dropped earlier, it's now currently digging itself lower than the ground. Of all people, it just had to be him.

The woman walks past you and into the glass display. She grabs the mirror and heads into a door hidden by plants. This leaves you awkwardly standing beside the Phainon.

“It's rare to see other customers here, I'm starting to think that I’m the only one who knows of this place honestly,” Phainon casually starts off. You shouldn't be surprised at his friendly demeanor as you've read about it a thousand times already, but that friendliness directed to you makes your heart race at a dizzying speed. 

Snow-white hair that's slightly tousled, the striking blue eyes, like it's twinkling as he smiles. His tall stature is more obvious due to the small space but his stance is relaxed as he watches over you, the differences in your height just perfect enough to display the golden sun on his neck at your eye level. There's no denying, it's really Phainon in the flesh, and the novel did not lie, he's the most charming and radiant person you've seen in the entire time you're here.

Oh dear, he's so beautiful.

You would've gushed about him more if it weren't for the silence that's hanging over you and the current situation about that mirror.

“Ahh… yeah this store is… really interesting!” The response came as awkward as you can imagine, although Phainon didn't seem to mind as he chuckled and continued the conversation.

“I know, right? The shop’s filled with so many antiques and magical devices that I couldn't imagine how long it would take to appraise them all, they seem endless and that's what draws me here,” His tone is cheery, a smile spreading across his face.

You nearly forgot that Phainon has a hobby of collecting antiques and appraising them.

The lady comes out of the room carrying a box — presumably the mirror with your room in it inside. She hands the box to Phainon, but her stare never leaves you.

“Miss if you'd like, we have more hand mirrors and other displays-”

“Oh, is the lady over here interested in this mirror too?” Phainon suddenly interrupts the lady, who answers his question with a nod.

“Actually… I really wanted to check this specific mirror,” you softly said, might as well whisper with how quiet it went out of your mouth.

“My, I didn't expect to make a lady sad today. Unfortunately, I did reserve this a week ago… and I’m kind of expecting this piece — but! If you'd like, you can join me in appraising this, you said you wanted to see it closely right?” He offers, his smile widens as he turns to you, seemingly proud of his solution.

Oh no, he has such a nice smile.

Who could say no to that?

You take his offer.

★

In the first place, why do you still want to go home?

You woke up in a world filled with magic and whimsy, a world that looks like it has your dreams for its foundation. From a fantasy novel to a daily occurence.

So why?

Maybe it's because despite being physically here, you never really belonged. The monotonous voice that calls out to your ‘parents’, the practiced greetings, and the feeling of disconnect from your very self.

It's like you're just playing a role.

A role you cannot take seriously. Because back there, you have a life, a pretty boring one but it's yours. You're wondering if your cat is fed back home, you're thinking about your friend who wanted to meet up that day, and is your family worried? What about your real body? And your phone.

Oh you miss the glorious internet even for all its flaws. Maybe you wouldn't be as lost here if search engines existed.

The thoughts barrage your supposed peace of mind again, which is why you broke your promise of not getting involved with Phainon. 

You need to see that damned mirror.

Isn't it funny how things are progressing just like an actual isekai novel? Because you do remember a few titles that had the protagonist promising to stray themselves off of the plot only to get plunged right in the middle of it moments later.

You mentally swatted the thought. 

Because unlike the romance novels you've seen, the main driving force of this story is violence and revenge. Phainon succeeded in the story by removing all that tried stopping him. If you make a mistake — get too entangled, you might just get yourself extremely hurt.

There's a hypothesis that if you were to die in an isekai, your soul might just go back to reality. It's a hypothesis that you wish to not prove by looking for alternative paths instead, but if all comes crashing down, you'd rather have your death not by a weapon.

But… there's the alternative already right? Maybe getting a bit involved with the main character is a small price to pay for that. If the mirror proves to be the way of going home, then your involvement with Phainon would have no way of going any further.

So here you are, meeting the very man himself. The Sun of Okhema and the star of The Era Nova, Phainon.

You're not one for lying to yourself, you're a little too excited about seeing Phainon again. He’s totally your type, and if you're as headstrong as those female leads in isekai, you might've even risked it for him.

Well, you're not, and you want to go home now.

“Over here, my lady!” A loud voice beckoned you. With how cheery it sounded, you knew it's definitely Phainon even without looking.

He's wearing casual attire, too casual. White dress shirt that’s a little too sheer, and plain black slacks that go straight down to his leather shoes that's studded with small golden bits on its straps (which you found out are small suns as you walk closer to him). For all the straightforwardness of his outfit, the black choker that wraps around his neck stands out.

You see, you have no qualms about his clothing choices, but the sheer fabric is quite literally framing his muscles to all its glory and you’re a teeny tiny bit flustered. The choker isn't helpful either, as that leads your stare on his neck and jawline instead.

Ah self, pardon my bullshit just this once, not everyday you see the man of your dreams.

You swallow your embarrassment and approach him. You've opted to just a simple wave, but Phainon had other plans — he grabs your waving hand gently kisses it, his eyes never leaving you.

Well, shit.

“Oh? Was that too direct? Apologies, it's a common courtesy here so I just got used to it,” Phainon suddenly retracts himself when he sees your half open mouth.

“No, no, it's fine! Don't worry about it,” You responded almost too quickly, “Anyways, so…”

“The mirror, yes?”

“Yes, yes, the mirror! Can I have a look at it?” Now that you listen closely, it seems weird that you're so eager to ask for someone else’s personal belongings, but for the sake of your trip back home, you're willing to just swallow your pride for now.

“Hmm… no?” Phainon playfully answers, the smile on his face growing.

“Ah?” You could only utter that syllable. Did he finally catch on how weird this entire thing is?

“What I mean is not yet, we have to appraise it first.”

You could only stare at him dumbfounded before laughing it off. Phainon has a hobby of appraising antiques, this is one of his most highlighted quirks in the novel as he wishes to finally break free from his royal duties and work as a full-time appraiser. 

Unfortunately, he has to let go of that dream after bearing the crown in the ending.

So as an avid reader and a fan of Phainon, you just let him talk your ear off about the intricate carvings of the mirrors and what tool could have been used in making them. 

Just this once Phainon, because in the upcoming years, you'll have bigger worries than telling me the approximate age of this hand mirror.

You smile at how enthusiastic his voice sounded, but as he got into explaining the mirror itself, the entire thing started to feel off.

The mirror, which showed you your old bedroom, now suddenly feels… too normal. Plain. Nothing.

Back in the shop, it's eye-catching. Not only because it showed your real world, but also because the object itself seemed to be calling out your attention. 

But right now, as Phainon traces his fingers on the embellished grooves, it feels nothing, like the magic sucked out of it. The suns and moons are now just ordinary embossing on the thing’s surface.

You and Phainon are currently sitting on a bench just right outside the palace. The two of you might've sunk too deep in conversation that the lamp posts that towers you are already lit up. The skies are blurring into orange blue tones.

“Oops, I got carried away. But I hope the lady is satisfied with my appraisal? Hopefully I was able to give you the closest look to it.”

Phainon moves closer to you, before gently putting the hand mirror to your lap. 

“It's yours now, a gift, you're the only one who listened this long,” He grins, before standing up and offering his hand, “It's nightfall now, so I will walk you to your carriage.”

The two of you walked across the streets that's starting to liven up. Stalls are being set, with vendors hanging up lights and signages. The kids are running around, the adults sighing behind them. It seems like a bazaar is being set up.

A bazaar?

[As night befalls, the festivities rose. In between the hanging lights and the rows of wooden stalls, lies a plot turned against Phainon.

The assassin waits, a rifle at hand. The people flow until they fill the crevices of the bazaar. In the mind of the hunter, a flock of panicked sheep will cover the fallen prey long enough for him to get away.]

“Fuck was that today?” You whispered to yourself, which earned a curious look from Phainon.

Assassinations. This is what you're talking about as danger and Phainon go hand in hand. Of course, one less royal is one less contestant to the crown.

And now, you might've gotten yourself involved at just the perfect timing to be right beside him when he's supposed to be shot from above.

Phainon did survive this in the novel, but you're not quite sure if you would. The two of you are heading closer to the bazaar when you decide to do your last-ditch effort at distracting him.

You ran towards a little girl selling flowers and bought whatever flower catches your eye, it so happens to be a bunch of hyacinths.

You didn't even collect your change from the girl when you walked back to Phainon and handed him the flowers. “Uhh.. I just wanted to give these to you, thanks for today, Phainon!”

Right, he wanted to buy flowers in the bazaar that day.

“Oh and also, let's just take a detour, the bazaar lights kinda make me dizzy… unless you need to buy something there?” 

“No, I don't need anything… thank you too.” Phainon answered. Thank god it worked.

Right in front of you, Phainon is smiling softly, staring at the bunch of hyacinths that are now in his hands. He has the prettiest smile, wish he could keep that.

As the two of you walked to your carriage, it started to slowly sink in that maybe Phainon is not just a character, at least not right now, because that smile felt real.

You hope the assassin gets tired of waiting.

★

When you sat down in the carriage to collect your thoughts, you noticed a few things that were a bit wrong. 

In the flurry of your thoughts and emotions earlier, there's one thing you'd miss — the honorifics. Despite him being a complete chatterbox, he's still a prince, and never once in your entire conversation had you referred to him as such.

Oh god, does he now think I’m disregarding his status like the other nobles and royals that are against him?

You've known that your family are businessmen, but you only recently found out that you're prominent ones. Your nobility goes far and wide in Okhema, your family's influence in trade could certainly be used as leverage to the likes of Phainon.

Oh no, I hope I’m not on his hitlist yet, I didn't mean to disrespect him.

Now that you mention it, you might've acted suspicious because of your fixation on that mirror. And now, you also feel bad for trying to claim something he technically owns, knowing his background in the story. 

You comforted yourself with the fact that it's his idea to meet like this though, also his idea to let go of the antique, but you now can only hope that it's a genuine meeting and not some sort of test for the weird daughter of the biggest business man in the city.

Right, he did give me the mirror.

You propped up the thing that led you in this situation. An antiquated mirror, which now should've shown you your real world, if your hypothesis was right.

But just like earlier, it doesn't even feel magical or even interesting, as if the mystique that led you to it was knocked straight out of it.

“Fuck, don't tell me that I was only hallucinating back when I was in that shop… to think that I might've made Phainon uncomfortable and pressured him into giving this up, ugh.” You buried your face in your palms, sighing deeply.

A thought popped into your head — the Academy. The Grove of Scholars do have a few mages in their ranks, they're the teachers of magic in this world. Maybe they could help you identify whatever's in the mirror.

Alright, let's make use of this thing, sorry Phainon, but it's a gift now isn't it?

★

The academy in this world is bizarre.

It sits atop of a ginormous tree that towers the entire field. Its branches envelop the surrounding area, in them, different buildings are encased, which can be accessed by the winding pathways that wrap around the trunk.

The tree isn't really the most bizzare thing to you though, it's the stairs. There's special devices scattered that could bring you to the various facilities of the grove, but stairs are still the predominant way of moving around here.

“I'm not built for this thing… is this why they always make the art for those scholar characters bulky despite them claiming they're feeble?” You sat down on one of the staircases. You checked back on your bag and saw that the hand mirror was still there, you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you new here, miss? Haha, yes the grove has a lot of stairs, but once you enroll here, you'll get used to it!” A bubbly voice suddenly comes beside you.

“Oh, hello! Yes… it's embarrassing I get tired this easily, I'm not here to enroll though, I'm just here to inquire about an antique.” You answered the pink-haired girl.

Her smile brightens and she shows you a badge, it's the same as the academy’s.

“Oh, I'm a student here, miss, rest assured that I'm knowledgeable enough though. If you want to tell me about it, maybe I can save you from climbing further up there!”

You take her kind offer and tell her everything you've noticed about the mirror you're holding. She asks you to put it in her hands, and after a few moments her answer comes to you.

“There's not a single trace of magic in here.”

You should've known, but you still felt quite disappointed. What was that back in the shop then? Delusion?

“Oh… I see, well good thing you're here, I might've gone up there only for nothing.” You can only laugh softly at her.

“Well, my professor's lab is there, so even if the mirror turns out to be a fake, you can still ask him about your theories regarding the portal. Don't worry, he won't think it's weird!”

“Also…” The cheerful voice suddenly turns into a whisper, “If you're planning to sell this thing, it might not be worth much.”

“Oh, uhm, I’m not going to sell it… but why wouldn't it be worth much?” You looked at her slowly.

“The mirror is tampered, or probably recently restored, the glass is new. It's not entirely an antique if there's new parts right?”

★

[Broken, bloody pieces of what used to be a fair hand mirror lie messily on the carpeted floors. The golden eyes staring at it only blinks.

The eyes move back onto the table, the metal that used to carry the glass is facing him. The man’s bloody hand, one where some shards are still buried in its skin, carefully caresses the embossed suns.

He then picks up a round piece of mirror, the crafting skills he picked up from his adventures made it so that the foreign piece would fit perfectly in the hollow space the old one left.

If not for keen eyes, it would've looked like it belongs there just fine.]

★

You just woke up, but you feel like going back into the darkness of your sleep.

And stay there for a long, long time.

Because in front of you is a maid. She's an ordinary maid, if not for the blue and gold envelope in your hands.

“His highness Phainon wishes to formally meet you in his estate. Today. Should I prepare your bath and clothes while you eat breakfast?” There's a hint of a smile on her face.

But not yours.

Because you think that this might've been your end. The words his highness sting you. Ah yes, the royalty and their titles, what could go wrong.

But the envelope is already there. For a split second, the idea of just chucking it down the fireplace and running to the countryside like those villainesses sounded good in your head, but you soon came to realize that declining a royal might just pose more misunderstandings.

Let's just hope he lives up to his novel persona and I'll be able to plead with him.

★

You're kind of disappointed in yourself.

For someone who's a ‘self-proclaimed The Era Nova specialist,’ you judged Phainon way too quickly.

It feels more awful seeing his closed-eye smile directed at you.

No, he didn't execute you or put you under some royal decree. What he did do is literally thank you for buying him flowers that night and served you the most fragrant (and probably expensive) tea you've ever had.

“Sorry for the sudden invite, I was just excited to finally have a friend here.”

“Ah… yes, of course, I'm happy to have met you too, your highness-” This time you made sure to not forget, but he only frowned at this.

“So formal now, aren't we?” He looks at you with what seems to be puppy-dog eyes and your heart flips.

“Did I… have I offended you that night? I'm sorry-”

“Oh no! No you didn't, I don't care much about titles like that anyway… plus even if I do, it's not your fault, you're not used to it, right?” He quickly exclaims, trying his best to prove your thoughts about that night wrong.

Used to it?

“Anyways, please don't think of this meeting as anything else aside from a simple chat with a friend.” He smiles again, “Oh, the biscuits ran out, let me fetch some more, if you excuse me.”

He saunters to the door, leaving you alone in his office. You suddenly feel smaller when you realize where you are. Is it really okay for him to bring a stranger to such a place?

He even personally fetched snacks for you, as in the novel, he's used to doing things on his own. It's because he grew up to do so, because he's raised to be alone. 

But he never brought that up against anyone, instead he just considers it as a way of showing sincerity to those around him, personally attending to them and being ‘a friend’. These things about him make him such a warm character. You feel the worst for being distant to him.

You should've known that he probably never had anyone listen to his long-winded explanations about his antiques or just have a simple chat that doesn't involve royal politics. He's always been described in the novel as a free-spirited and cordial fellow after all.

But hopefully, he doesn't blame you for putting up walls. He was at the center of all in this novel, all the good and the bad. You just wanted to enjoy your stay here and go back home. You cannot risk being tied to him.

All these thoughts had you fiddling your necklace that's made with a rare pearl only found in the deepest parts of the sea. The thing is incredibly expensive. So when the pearl suddenly detaches from the chain, you pray Phainon takes longer and crawled to the floor to retrieve it.

You think you've hit an all-time high stress level when you feel a sharp pain in your palm. As you're skittering around the sofa, you manage to feel the pearl underneath it, what you didn't notice is the shard of glass sitting beside it.

It was too late when you felt it after unknowingly pressing down on it to catch the pearl. You sat back down on the sofa, carefully dropping it to your purse.

You held onto the glass shard though. The piece emanates a strange sheen to it, as if it's glowing.

Suddenly, the mirror flickers, a bright light reflects on it for a few seconds before disappearing.

No way… are all the mirrors in this world weird?

“Hey I'm back…?” You turned your head towards Phainon, who's carrying a plate of various biscuits and sweets. You hurriedly shove the shard in your purse too.

Phainon's stare darkens and you gulp. Shit did he see me crawling around in his office right after he trusted me to be left alone?

“Wait, so-”

“Your hand is bleeding, what happened?” Phainon quickly ran towards you. He set down the plate and pulled a snow-white handkerchief from his pockets. He gently wiped the blood which you hadn't noticed, had trickled to your fingers. He also patted closer to the wound, which made you wince.

“Wait, my pendant fell and I went to retrieve it, but I must've pressed my hand on a sharp edge… thank you for wiping it, I didn't notice the blood.” You alter the story a bit, not wanting to alert him about you taking something from his home, even if it's a mere mirror shard.

“I see… there's a washroom down the hallway, let me bring you there.” He stops dabbing at the wound, he then helps you up, the worried look on his face now lightened.

★

If you hadn't known, you would've thought that Phainon's estate is the Palace itself.

What's supposed to be a simple walk into the washroom turned into sightseeing for you. The hallways are magnificent, something you thought you'd only see in movies. The interior of the entire place is entangled in gold. There's also sculptures and antiques, which you're guessing are a part of Phainon's collection.

The washroom is covered in dark blue, which makes the marble of the sink stand out. As you dip your hand into the basin, you unconsciously looked into the mirror and met with Phainon's stare.

“Your estate is magnificent, your hi- ah, Phainon.” You mentioned, trying to stave off the awkwardness of him staring like a hawk while you clean your wound.

“Hmm, family passed it down to me, gift from the emperor.” Phainon continues. His body leans to the doorway, eyes still in your hands.

“I see… Do you live alone? Sorry if it seems prying, but I haven't seen another soul ever since I got here.”

He lives alone. You think. In the novel, while Phainon is presented to be this outgoing boy, he actually leads a secluded life. He chose to live alone in an estate to distance himself from the palace. But it would be weird if you acted like you knew.

“No, it's not prying, and yeah, I live alone, quite lonely if you ask me.” He walked towards you when you finished, grabbing your hands and gently drying it with a wash towel. He then wraps your palm in thin gauze, the actions making your cheeks heat up.

“Apologies if it seems sloppy, I haven't really done this to anyone aside from myself.” He murmurs.

“No, no, it's fine! Thanks a lot, Phainon.”

The two of you walk back to his office, there's still biscuits to finish and stories to tell, after all.

★

[For all he could remember, he's always been alone.

A child born from a loveless marriage, only brought to this world to fight for a piece of embellished metal. There was a time when he had friends and such, but it's a time long gone as what's only left now is a hollow manor he calls his home.

It's a lonely gift, devoid of anyone who cares. It's a cage in a sense that what's only keeping him here is the promise of a crown. If he could, he would've left in a heartbeat, but all he ever built up will be left in waste too.

So you cannot blame his anguish when he found out that his hardships were only written for entertaining an otherworldly audience. That one fateful evening where his magic uncovered the reality of his sad, lonely world.

But there was someone.

Who kept flipping the pages of his story, the one who laughed when he did, cries when he does. Curiosity led to observation, and suddenly, he didn't seem too alone.

He kept track of you in the reflection of waters, in dreams, in mirrors. Sometimes your words would be heard in his head, sometimes you're like an apparition in his walls.

But all that's important to him is that you're his devoted reader. A dedicated audience to this woeful farce.

He saw the ending, the bloodshed in the throne room, the crown and the new reign. He laughs, because it was framed as a victory, it's ironic — because all the nights he wished he was just born an ordinary boy ultimately ends up with him being farther away from it.

He’s not going to stray away from it though, he doesn't think he can, he's too deep to ever go back up. But he's still a lonely man, so when his magic finally transcends barriers, he couldn't help but ask you a question.

“Are you willing to do that for me?”

Your agreement is all that mattered, as he's hurriedly scribbling in the tattered book he found somewhere. The book lists itself as ‘The Era Nova’, but Phainon did not care about what anomaly made him aware of the universe’s truth, all he could care about is your new identity written in frantic scribbles.

Your soul feels nice. It's the only thing he could come up with when you came to him. It's like you truly loved him.

It's dark in his office. He couldn't believe a few hours ago you sat within the same room. He thanks the assassin sprawled out dead in the dungeons of this estate, his foolish plots gave him a reason to bring you here.

And a reason for you to save him, to show him you truly care for him. The handkerchief in his nose smells of faint iron. He could only apologize in his head for leaving you to hurt.

But he hopes you'd understand a desperate man’s attempt of making his predetermined ending feel better.]

★

You made it this time.

This time, you didn't whine about the academy's preference of stairs, instead you ran as fast as you could to a laboratory, in hand a broken piece of mirror. Your mind being more focused on the questions that lingered after your discovery at Phainon’s estate probably helped in obscuring the effects of running up at around five floors (to your estimation, at least). 

When you reached the metal doors of the lab, you didn’t even knock, you only barged in, meeting the gazes of the pink-haired scholar who helped you last time and her so-called professor who’s sporting a peculiar eyepatch. The man did not seem to mind though, as he only sighed and mouthed a ‘told ya’ to his student. The said student only awkwardly smiled and ushered you further inside the room.

“When my dear student told me about your small predicament last time, it honestly piqued my interest. I had always heard of theories about portals and such, but this is my first time actually hearing about it as an experience rather than a hypothesis. Well then, I presume what’s in your hand is the experiment sample then?” The professor with the dead stare did not even spare that to you, his eyes are only trained towards the shard that’s nearly piercing through your skin.

“Don’t mind his bluntness, my teacher is a reliable scholar first and foremost, you can entrust him with studying about this seriously, especially since he’s very interested in it. I will also be sharing the progress transparently, so don’t worry. Now, if you don’t mind, you can loosen up your grip on that broken glass, it might pierce you…again.” The scholar’s eyes trail on your bandaged hand, her gentle words made you drop the mirror into the table, your fingers pushing it towards the professor.

“If my deductions are on the right track, alchemy might be able to replicate this kind of glass. If you would give me time to construct, I’ll be sure to leave your name into the papers I will produce about this. Hehe, imagine the looks on those fools’ faces once they realize that I am, once again, correct.” He muttered, attention now more focused on assessing the shard rather than in your conversation, with that in mind, you relent from asking further questions and just trusting their words.

“If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know. Thank you for this new knowledge, kind lady.” The pink-haired scholar assures you, escorting you out of the room, it’s probably because her mentor’s starting to open five cabinets at once now. Yeah, I’ll leave that guy alone too.

“If all of these end up right and the mirror or whatever portal is made, please give me a chance to use it.”

“Of course! I thought I’ll have to drag some poor scholar down or myself in that but it’s nice to know that someone is willing to play guinea pig in this experiment.” A voice from the inside suddenly rings out.

The two of you outside the door chuckled at that.

★

Just like in the real world, learning facilities at nighttime are eerily quiet and give off a strange chill the longer you stay.

The leaves surrounding the grove are rustling along the wind’s howls. You’re starting to regret your decision of not waiting until tomorrow morning to visit. You couldn’t blame yourself though, it was the closest lead you had to going back home, but running here at nightfall wasn’t the brightest idea you had for the day.

All the scholars are probably within their dormitories now or have already gone home. The likes of that professor are stuck within the highest floors that contain their laboratories. 

If anything were to happen, nobody will be fast enough to get you out.

What the hell? Shut up. You reprimanded your unnecessary thoughts. In fact, you need to tackle a few questions that are plaguing your mind first.

Why did Phainon have this kind of item, a broken one at that, just littered on his floors. Wasn’t he a bit fussy of his collection in the novel? Why wouldn’t he notice if one of them is broken?

More popped up in your mind, unfortunately, it’s all questions and no answers.

If I’m correct, this glass belongs to that mirror he gifted me. But it’s intact, is this from another item? Another magic portal item or something?

Then, the scholar’s words rang loud and clear; “It's tampered.” 

Did Phainon…break the mirror? Did he restore it because he was too embarrassed? Or was he someone who doesn't mind alterations on his antiques?

A stupid sounding thought broke out at the back of your mind.

Did he break it because he knew something was up?

Suddenly, a breeze passes by your shoulders. At first. At first it was only a breeze, but when you looked to your side, you suddenly felt something on the other. A fabric, just brushing close enough to feel in your skin but light enough to make you question if it's real.

But now you're sure it's real, because a few moments you hear pieces of metal clanging. You looked in front of you, and just like those apparitions in horror movies, there's a figure at the end of the dimly lit hallway.

A tall figure, donned in a black cloak and armored in swirling metal plates. A mask sits inside its hood. Its fingers covered in plated claws and its chest appear to be hollow.

He looks familiar.

You stop in your tracks, senses on high-alert. He's probably the one who brushed past you and if that's correct, then he's extremely fast. No use in outrunning him then, better just keep an eye out on his movements or sources of help.

The figure also stops and stares at you. Your stand-off lasted for a short while until it tilted its head,

And waved.

At least that's what you think it did before it suddenly vanished before your eyes, nowhere to be seen or felt again.

★

Phainon has developed a habit of sending you random letters and various trinkets he got from his travels.

He also loves to initiate meetings and tea times with you. At first, you're happy to attend each and every one of them, but as time goes on, you start to question his fondness for inviting you at least every other day. 

Not that you doubt him, at least not too much — you knew his tendencies to latch on to things due to his upbringing, but you can't help but question his true motives when he just invades your personal time as if you're not an acquaintance he just met recently.

You learned to decline his invitations. You really liked his character, but you're unsure of whether you can handle being involved with him as a person. He's on his way to becoming the ruler of this vast kingdom and you're supposed to be on your way home, so not much should happen.

The invitations thinned out, albeit gradually. He still sends a lot of trinkets — such as small woodworks of cute animals and magic lamps, which are now starting to pile up on your work desk, but the letters and requests to meet do not overflow from the holder anymore. He appears to have gotten the message.

You want to go home. Sure, you loved this place and the magic it has, but the gnawing anxiety of the life you left back there is haunting your days here. If you're going to get yourself thrown into another world, you want to at least make amends in your previous one.

Speaking of going home, you're currently staring at a letter. The pale green envelope stares back, proudly displaying the logo of the academy on its seal. You take a deep breath and brace yourself for whatever the results will show.

Greetings, My Lady

I’m pleased to inform you that I was able to recreate the material you brought here last time. It was truly a magnificent experience…

The light in your eyes sparkled. I can finally go home. Your cheeks hurt grinning. You looked up to your ceiling, mentally saying farewells to the place that took you into this world.

You continue reading.

“...but unfortunately, a huge accident happened within the academy. A cloaked assailant sneaked within the grove and hurt a few scholars, aside from that, it seemed to be targeting this specific experiment. I saw with my own eyes how it shattered the mirror, almost pulverizing it. I was able to retrieve a few samples and escape but I am not sure if I'll be able to recreate it as fast…”

Now, this is why they say never celebrate too early. Disappointment eats you up, causing you to just chuck the letter away. Not time for farewells yet, you suppose.

But one thing caught your attention. Cloaked figure. That night, you also saw a figure with a similar description.

Black…cloak?

Phainon.

Many scenes of the novel involve Phainon disguising himself in a black cloak. When he assassinated the other royalty in that throne room, he was wearing a black cloak.

“Shit, why didn't I remember that sooner?” You uttered, almost inaudibly. You've been focused on going the past few days that you have forgotten the details of the novel. 

Phainon might just be the reason you're failing your attempts at returning home, and you just let yourself be too involved with him.

★

Lately, instead of you, only letters of your declines have been reaching his doors.

Phainon is growing frustrated at the replies he received. Just as when he thought the two of you were getting closer, you just had to start distancing yourself.

Did you find out something?

He laughs sardonically, his hands covering his right eye that's now turning golden due to the sudden influx of magic. He looks down at his table, the paper now ruined, too much ink seeped into it. Of course you denied it again, and somehow managed to send it to him as he's writing another invite.

He can feel it, your soul wavering. When he first brought you here, all he felt was pure amazement and curiosity from you, but now he can feel doubts and fatigue too.

“Can't you… just- ah.” He slumps his head, turning towards the small figurine he carved earlier. It's a figure of two lovebirds, perched on a small throne while nuzzling each other. Both of them were wearing a tiny crown on their heads.

Really, he tried carving your likeness more times than he'd like to admit, but there's something about you that makes it so hard for him to be satisfied with just carvings. Whatever he makes doesn't live up to his image of you in his head — feels fake, feels cold. So he just opts to present your likeness as animals and things he's fond of.

Nowadays, Phainon has been fantasizing about you joining him on his journey.

So when he felt your soul trying to break free from this world, he couldn't help but silently beg you to stay and not leave him to be alone in this world again.

★

Please, be my partner. There is an upcoming ball to the palace, you're the only one I can trust.

You never expected such a heavy statement coming from him, especially not after you just tried to keep him at an arm's length. You've even reached a point of telling him off. There was stirring conflict within you, Phainon clearly appears to be invested in your friendship, but at the same time, you're uncertain of what kind of plot he'll bring into your already bizarre situation.

However, if you keep declining him time and time again, it'll appear unusual. The two of you started on good terms, suddenly abandoning him could be seen as rude and might just make him ask more questions.

And frankly, you're running out of believable reasons for declining him.

So you push yourself up and ask the maids for help. You'll humor him this time, maybe even get to ask him why he's so dead set on sticking close to you.

★

The carriage ride to the palace is a peaceful little thing.

You looked out to the town square, the awe of being in another still hints at you, but you've gotten used to the sights by now. All your attempts at steering away from the plot ironically ended up with you driving right through the center of it.

Everything with the palace screams imposing, it's a marvelous place, but it does a good job of making you feel small. Luckily, not a lot of guards are stationed to stare down at your minute existence. But the few ones who were are staring at you oddly.

You went through normal procedures and you're escorted to the grand doors. It's closed. 

On your way here, there have been a multitude of red flags raising left and right. Firstly, it's quiet, not a single peep, not befitting of such a proud place. And for all the palace’s vanity, there's no other visitors of the same caliber, in fact there's no other visitors at all.

There was no ball.

That's your final observation. You don't know what you did so, so wrong in your stay here, but Phainon has reached a new point where he straight up lies to get your attention now.

What was so important about meeting you? When all he talks about when the two of you have your little tea parties are idle topics not worth making a palace this grand deserted.

The guards opened the door, and you're right, it's absolutely empty. There's supposed to be an option to go back, but the men outside had conveniently closed it off before you could say anything.

He really, really wants to talk, huh?

You march down deeper into the building, hoping that guesswork and acquired knowledge from the novel could bring you towards the prince’s quarters.

But before you could even reach the third set of winding hallways, you heard a loud scream coming from the central part of the floor. You froze, cold sweat forming in your temples. No, it couldn't be today right? Your heart pounds loudly, you can feel the beating in your ears.

Too early, it's years too early.

Phainon ascending to the throne couldn't be today, hell, it couldn't be this year. Because he's not yet prepared. He bought support from various kingdoms before the ascension, it's an integral part of the novel’s worldbuilding. From what you've heard from him, he only traveled within Okhema the past months.

So it shouldn't be today right?

One scream, two screams. Screams interrupted your silent denial of what's happening. There's too many, and it just got louder after the sound of a door being thrown open boomed.

I need to get out. 

You tried navigating the hallways, hunching down when the screams got louder. It died down soon though, and you managed to find yourself in an open area that looked similar to the lobby you went in from.

It's not the same lobby though.

“Going to decline my invitation again?” A voice suddenly emerges from behind. You turn towards it and you see Phainon, holding a bloody greatsword and wearing an uncanny grin on his face.

Oh his face. It's a shame that his beautiful face is so fucking bloody right now. It's dripping, some clinging to his white hair. And his white regalia — might as well be red, with how drenched it is in blood.

The scarier part is that none of it is probably his blood. He's unscathed against this many royals, they didn't stand a single chance.

So not a chance you would. He makes way towards you, you can only step back mere centimeters before finally freezing up. He stops when he's close to your form, the smell of iron almost suffocating you.

He leans down, “You're going to leave me again, aren't you?”

“What…?”

“The people you're so afraid of ruining your life, these stupid royals, I killed them all, so you don't have to be afraid.”

“How did you… fuck, you're insane-” Your words are caught in your throat when Phainon suddenly grabs you and carries you in his shoulders. You tried hitting his back, but he only holds your waist tighter and snicker at your feeble attempts of breaking free.

He walks past the dead bodies of what used to be royals. You remember the scene from the novel, the fallen figures. You only tear up, your hands fall limp, refusing to hold onto Phainon's damp attire, lest you want to squeeze out royal blood from it.

“All of these blood flowing out of them and converging into one, this might just be the purest form of the royal blood they keep prattling about!” He suddenly mentions in passing, you feel his shoulders shake from laughter.

You shuddered.

You reach the throne room, which aside from the throne, just contains multiple portraits and statues. And the bodies of the people behind those, probably.

He settles you down the grandiose throne. It feels foreign, the velvet clings to your skin, while the metal feels too cold for comfort. He kneels down, arms clamped to your waist as he leans his head down on your thighs.

“Phainon.”

“Can you say my name again?” He looks up, putting his palm on your thigh and setting his chin on top of it, his manic, golden eyes just laser-focused on yours. The color just pops out more in contrast to the red around it.

“Why are you doing this?” You didn't entertain his request, which put a slight pout on his face. He removes his head on your thighs and lifts you up again, earning a yelp from you. He then settles down to the throne and places you on his lap, his arms locking you close to his chest.

“You said, that if I needed a princess by my side, you'd be willing to take that place,” Phainon whispers, now putting his chin up on your shoulders, his head slightly leaning towards yours.

Your eyes widened, “All this time, you're aware-”

“I am. What I didn't expect was you finding those anomalous portals fast, I tried breaking them all but they kept reappearing.” He sighs, sulking a bit.

That's why. That's why he seems so relaxed about you forgetting his titles, that's why he treats you as if you're not used to the customs of Okhema, your supposed birthplace.

Because it's him that plunged you right into this world.

“What I also didn't expect is that after all your declarations that you love me and that I am your favorite, the first thing you do is to try and leave me.” He continues.

Phainon made it a point to bring you entirely here, and not just stuff your soul on some poor extra. He altered the story not for himself, but to drag you along with him into this world.

“I am not from here, Phainon, and that was clear as day to you. I have a life back there! And the love I had for you, it's because you're a character I loved reading about-”

“What I had for you was real!” Phainon suddenly exclaims, he flips your positions, hands on your shoulders as he pushes your form to the throne’s backrest. “I've always observed you, you always appear to me when I feel so down. I've known you longer than you think!”

You're speechless. He can see you? All this time.

“You love me, don't you? So why leave?” Phainon leans his forehead on your shoulders. He's now straddling you, which makes it harder to move and the smell of blood more nauseating. 

He lifts his head up, bringing his face close in front of yours, “Well it's not like you can, because yeah, it was me. All of it was me. The hand mirror? I broke it. The scholars, I just gave them a little scare. I did it all, for you… so you can't leave, not after you said you love me.” 

“I don't-” He interrupts you.

“I will kill you.” 

If there's still anxiety and fear left pent up within, it finally spilled out now. Your breath hitched at his statement, your entire body tensing up.

“My power grew to the point where I found out some… things. Did you know that if you leave your other body for too long, it'll cease to- hm, operate?” Phainon caresses your face before continuing, “If your body died there, then you'll have nothing to return to right?”

“I'm not going to kill you here, I’m killing you there, so that you'll be able to live here.”

“You're sick… You're the fucking worst, what did I ever do to you.” You broke down. Phainon responded by cradling your form and running his fingers in your hair.

“Nothing, you don't have to do anything. It's because I love you. Ah! I almost forgot,” He suddenly reaches out under his vest. He pulls out a blue velvet box and hands it to you.

His stare is expectant, so you opened the box, inside was a wooden figurine of two birds, perched on a throne that looks like the one the two of you are sitting in. You hate it. Not because it's badly made, no, actually the opposite — it's such a chillingly accurate representation of the scene you're currently in right now.

You hate what it's insinuating, you'd love to deny it, but underneath the figurine is a ring, a silver band, with a blue and yellow gem opposite of one another. The blue gem is enclosed in a moon, while the yellow one is within a sun.

Stop denying it, it's no use.

“I learned it from a jeweler who’s been working here since I was a child,” Phainon loosens his hold. He gently puts the ring on your finger. On his own is an identical one.

And as if noticing that something is missing when compared to the bird figurine, Phainon leans down and plucks something off of the floor on the throne's side. He grips the armrests as he does, caging you in, but his lowered form gives you a clearer picture of the bloodbath in the room. Gold and blues all intermingled with red.

Phainon straightens his posture again, in his hand are crowns. Two crowns.

You feel cold metal on the top of your head, in front of you Phainon also puts a crown on his. He smiles at you, so sweetly, before leaning down and sealing your fate with a passionate kiss.

That fateful day, the two of you are crowned Emperor and Empress of the kingdom.

Phainon had ascended the throne, this time, he isn't alone.

[The end.]

[seraph's note]: AWOOOOOOGH PHAINON. i am utterly devastated with 3.4 but at least brought the peak gameplay and character of my GOAT phainon. i've been enjoying on bringing him to just about any available content in-game lol.

this took waaaaaay longer than it should, i was supposed to upload it on the day i got him but i got writer's block lol. if it wasn't obvious, this is heavily based off of those isekai manhwas (that i will always eat up despite having almost the same plot everytime). the delay hopefully paid off as i channeled my inner yap god to this 11k word piece lmao. thx for reading if you managed to get to the end, love you for that, mwah.

want more? check out the [database.] for other content!

You frown. Would such a thing be so bad? If the poor little guy was hungry, you would happily indulge it; after all, withholding such a vital thing to its survival would be cruel.

“But it’s hungry,” you whine. The kitten polishes off the rest of the tuna before looking up at you and meowing loudly, bumping its head against your palm. Your heart soars at the endearing action.

“I’m serious,” your grandfather snaps at you in the tone that tells you you’ll be in trouble if you don’t listen. You give the kitten one last pet before reluctantly retracting your hand. You bite down on your warbling lip and blink away tears when it meows at your sudden absence in confusion and protest.

You walk over to your grandfather, and he takes your small wrist into his hand. He takes in your crestfallen expression and sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s for the best,” he says softly. “You don’t want strays getting attached to you.”

You look up at him with big, watery eyes. “Why not?”

“Because no matter how much you feed them, they’ll always be hungry, and then they’ll never leave you alone.”

Despite your grandfather’s warning, you continue to feed the kitten.

You’re careful to do it somewhere he won’t catch you, though. It’s summer, so you’ve been spending a lot of your time in the park that’s only around the block from your house. Turns out the kitten has been spending lots of time sunbathing there, too, so you make sure to start sneaking out some canned tuna with your packed lunch.

You walk past the swingset and toward the large, twisting slide that you’ve gotten used to finding the kitten under this time of day. Your small purple lunch bag bounces against your leg as you skip happily, swinging your arms animatedly. The tune you’re humming gets stuck in your throat and dies as you duck under the play structure and find a small figure already huddled beneath the slide.

A boy in a black hoodie two sizes too big for his frail body sits criss-cross on the floor. Bruised hands gently pet the kitten, which is curled up in his lap and purring softly. He can’t be that much younger than you— probably only by a year— but he seems far smaller than the kids in the grade below you at school, concerningly so.

His head snaps up as your feet come into his line of his vision, wide, impossibly blue eyes locking onto yours. He flinches so hard that the kitten yowls and jumps out of his lap, startled. He curls in on himself defensively and his breathing becomes labored, yet his wide eyes never leave you, tracking your every movement.

You blink in confusion at his reaction. “Um,” you start to say, but you’re cut off by a loud meow cutting through the air.

You turn to the kitten, which has now settled at your side and is pawing at your lunch bag. You giggle— of course, it’s already come to know where its next meal is coming from. You pick up the bag and unzip it, producing the canned tuna from inside it. You grunt as you tug at the tab a few times, but finally it gives way and comes off cleanly. You place it down, and the kitten eagerly prances up to it and starts eating out of it.

After a long moment of watching it eat, your eyes drift back to the boy across from you. His eyes are locked onto the kitten with such focus that it’s concerning.

Then, you realize he’s not looking at the kitten— he’s looking at the tuna sitting on the floor.

You reach back into your bag and take out a sandwich secured tightly in saran wrap. You unwrap it then split it in half, extending your arm out to offer it to the boy.

His eyes dart down to the sandwich and back to you, but he doesn’t make any move to take it.

“Here,” you say, waving your arm up and down in emphasis. “You can have some, if you want. Mom always packs too much for me, so I’m okay sharing with you!”

He glances back down at the sandwich and hesitates for just a moment more before his hand shoots out, snatching it out of your own and quickly bringing it to his mouth. You avert your eyes back to the kitten as he eats it, slowly working through your own half of your lunch.

When you’re done, you peek into the bag to see what else your mom packed for you. There’s a small bag of chips, an orange, and a banana. Maybe it’s a little selfish to keep the chips for yourself, but the boy seems to be just as eager when you set the fruits in front of him, so it’s probably fine.

He finishes eating before you do, and slowly, he inches closer toward you and the cat. He begins petting it again, stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. 

Finished with your snack, you crumple the bag up and throw it into your lunch bag before zipping it back up. You brush your hand off on your pants, leaving a smatter of chip dust behind that your mom will probably chide you for later. 

You look up at the boy, who is already staring at you. He flushes red and is about to look away when you hold your hand to him and introduce yourself.

You tilt your head toward him with a warm smile. “What’s your name?”

Michael waits for you under the slide the next day, and the next, and the one after that.

Days bleed into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. You become permanent fixtures in each other’s lives. You bring snacks and books, bandages and a gentle touch and an unspoken oath to never ask, never pry. He brings nothing but himself, but for you, that is enough.

Your mother never asks why you pack extra food, or where it’s ending up. She likely just chalks it up to you being a growing girl, and for that, you are grateful.

There are some days, though, where you’re being looked after by your father, who chides you for taking more than you need and makes you put the extras back in the pantry. On those days, you apologize to Michael for the smaller portions you both have, but he simply brushes it off. He says he couldn’t care less if you show up with no food at all, so long as you show up.

At some point, it stops being about the food, you just fail to realize it. Michael never breaks his habit of trailing behind you like your own shadow, and he’s not exactly a sociable person (in fact, his glare alone scares off any other kids your age who try to approach you two), so you figure there’s still something he wants from you. And because of your upbringing, hand-holding and leaning against each other and hugging is something so normal to you that you cannot even begin to suspect that there is something much different he’s actually after.

You’re fourteen and he’s thirteen the first time he kisses you.

It’s a sunny day, but not too hot; there’s a nice breeze in the air that keeps you cool as you sit in the grass, idly popping grapes into your mouth as you watch Michael kick a ball into a wall over and over again, as is customary for you two these days. As always, he eventually wears himself out and finds his way over to you, collapsing beside you and leaning his full body weight against your side as you complain and futilely try to push him off.

“Micha, get off,” you whine, shoving at his shoulder. He doesn’t budge, and instead sighs in irritation and wraps his arms around yours to stop your attempts. “You’re heavy!”

“Your fault for feeding me so much,” he mumbles into your shoulder, prompting you to roll your eyes. “Seems like oversight on your part.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have if I knew you’d grow up to be this annoying.” Your words lack heat, of course— you don’t really mean it, and even if it wasn’t evident by your tone, it’s evident in the way you relax into his embrace. “Seriously, though. You’re all sweaty. It’s gross.”

Michael gives one last aggrieved sigh before releasing you. He reaches for the water bottle set beside you and drinks from it, and you go back to your grapes.

A comfortable silence settles between you two as you observe the other people in the park. It’s summer, so it’s busier than usual, which means Michael will probably leave sooner rather than later.

You turn to look at him, but as always, he’s already looking down at you. 

You tilt your head to the side. “Do you need something?” You ask playfully.

Michael stares at you a moment longer, the wind rustling his hair into his face. Then, he leans down so quickly that you can’t react before he presses his lips to yours.

It’s soft, gentle. It’s barely there, his desire contained by a hesitation you haven’t seen within him in so long. 

When you don’t respond, he pulls back, his face carefully smoothed over into a blank canvas, but you know him better than that. Fear dances in his eyes, fear that he’s overstepped and swung a sledgehammer straight into your friendship.

You blink rapidly, trying to pull yourself together. “Oh,” you say, smartly, and then feel yourself flush red as you fully process what just happened. 

“Sorry,” he mutters under his breath. It sounds wrong coming from him, and you reach out to grab his arm just as he starts to withdraw into himself.

“Hey, look, it’s fine. I just— you just caught me by surprise. That’s all.”

He looks back at you, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. His blue eyes are shining, but there’s something dark in them that you haven’t seen before, something you can’t quite place.

“It’s fine?” He echoes in question.

You feel your face grow hotter.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, “it’s fine.”

When he leans down this time, you respond in kind.

You’re always the one to break off the kisses shared between you two.

At this point, you’re convinced he’s not human, given the way that lack of air never seems to be a problem for him. If anything, he seems more annoyed by the fact that you’ve stopped kissing him than the fact that he’s nearly panting from how long he’s gone without taking a proper breath. 

He’s insatiable, you quickly find out. Shockingly, for a few weeks following your first kiss, he spends more of his time kissing you under the slide than playing football. When you get tired or want to take a break, he just opts to hold you in a tight embrace until you’re ready to kiss again or have to leave. 

Eventually, his initial enthusiasm dies down, but his way of kissing you never changes. Shallow, rapid kisses swapped between inexperienced middle schoolers, but he never lets up, always eager to meet your lips again and take in your breath in place of oxygen.

You never put a name to whatever’s happening between you two. You’re not friends anymore, that much is clear, but you two don’t have the means of going out on dates, either.

Regardless of what you are, he becomes clingier than ever following the shift in your relationship, and a small part of you can’t help but feel like you’re suffocating.

“Micha.”

He looks up from the ball at his feet, skillfully dribbling it despite the fact that his focus is elsewhere. It’s impressive; hopefully, one day, you’ll be able to see him play professionally.

Your heart sinks to your stomach and sits there heavily. Would that be the next time you see him? On some screen, miles away from him, years from this moment in this time?

You’re moving out of Berlin. Your father’s being suddenly transferred to an office in Cologne, and you have just five days to get all your stuff packed up and ready to go for the train ride on Sunday. You have a shitty starter phone— your parents aren’t keen on you having a smartphone, yet— but Micha has nothing. You suppose you could write to him, but that would put him at risk if his father got to the mail before he did.

When he catches the look on your face, he settles the ball at his feet and locks his full attention on you. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow, averting your gaze to the ground. “I’m moving,” you mumble.

A thick silence settles between you two. The soft breeze is sharp in your ears, like deafening static reverberating through your head.

His voice comes out sharp, digging in a way you’ve never heard it before. “What?”

“I’m moving,” you repeat. “I’m leaving. Dad’s job— we’ve got to go to Cologne.”

He doesn’t respond for so long that you finally force yourself to look up at him. His face has gone completely blank, and there’s only something dark in his eyes, something completely unreadable to you.

His voice is tight when he asks, “When are you coming back?”

“I—” You sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t think I am. I think the transfer’s permanent.”

He looks down, seemingly mulling over your words. When he looks up again, his gaze goes is cold, and he hums, straightening out. “No.”

You blink, confused. “No?”

“You’re not leaving.”

You furrow your brows. “What?”

He looks down at you derisively, seemingly irritated that he has to repeat himself. “I said you’re not leaving.”

“I can’t just not leave,” you spit out. He’s starting to be ridiculous, and his condescension has never been something that bodes well with you, having only been on the receiving end of it so few times. “I’m not gonna have any family here.”

He jostles the ball between his feet as if this is another one your shared mundane conversations. “So we’ll just run away together.”

You narrow your eyes at him in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He slants a side look at you. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, voice getting higher with each word, “just two teenagers running away and figuring out how to make ends meet. Can you please take this seriously?”

His foot comes down on top of the ball, hard. He flicks a finger between you two. “I am the only one taking this seriously.”

“This,” you echo, incredulous. “A stupid relationship.”

He kicks the ball to the side and turns to face you fully, and that’s how you know you fucked up. Each word bites as he asks, “Is that all this is to you?”

“You know I care about you, Micha,” you say carefully, “but asking me to throw away my family to stay with you is insane.”

Something shutters in his expression, but it’s gone before you can even register it. “I knew it,” he spits, “you’ve never cared about me as much as you’ve led me to believe.”

You grit your teeth. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs. “You obviously don’t value me as much as I value you.”

“Oh my god,” you snap, “you are fourteen. Get the fuck over yourself.”

“You think this is meaningless because we’re young?”

“I think,” you hiss, “that we have our whole lives ahead of us. I wouldn’t ask you to stay by my side if you had bigger and better things ahead of you.”

He continues to stare at you in icy silence. You sigh, frustrated.

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll work itself out,” you say.

Michael tilts his head, as if considering this. His eyes wander your face, committing every bit to memory. Then, he walks over to you, seizing your wrist in his hand. You step back, a bit thrown off, but he lightly tugs on your arm, pulling you back toward him. 

“It will work out,” he says, eyes boring into yours. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He leans down and presses a familiar, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Then you won’t have to leave me ever again.”

This time, when you pull away, he lets you go. Seemingly without a care in the world, he turns around and picks up the ball, heading toward the trail that he takes home.

You return to the park the day before you leave, but you don’t see him. You wait for hours, but he never shows.

The unease twisting in your gut doesn’t unravel until the train speeds away from the station, leaving Berlin behind you.

You’re about to turn eighteen when you see him again.

Not in person, but on a screen like you expected. The name Michael Kaiser sits in a scrolling bar across the bottom of the screen which plays footage of him playing on Bastard München’s youth team, his long golden hair flowing behind him beautifully. The news anchor says something about him being one of the most promising players of the new generation— not that that’s something you need to be told.

Your friend says something from across the table, ripping your attention from the screen. You don’t notice how tense you’ve gotten until you relax again.

Despite the lingering feeling of unease his memory leaves you with, you’re still glad he made it, after all.

“Who’s this?”

You’re back home for the holidays during your second year in university. Your studies have taken you back to Berlin, albeit a part you hadn’t grown up near and is still new and fresh to you. “Home” might not be the right word, though— you’re spending Christmas Eve at your grandmother’s house. She’s been hosting your entire family the past couple years since your grandfather’s passing forced her to relocate to a smaller house, an attempt to fill the empty home with warm presences.

Currently, she’s playing with a small, bedraggled dog that has wandered onto her porch. It’s wheezy and staggers when it walks, indicative of its old age.

“Oh, just a sweet little thing,” your grandmother replies as she pets its back. “You know, your grandfather always hated it when I would feed the strays. I did it a lot back at the old house on the other side of town, but there’s not too many animals on this side, so I don’t really do it anymore.”

You consider the dog. Its fur is matted, but nonetheless, its tail wags so hard from your grandmother’s attention that its whole body shakes with it. It sneezes pathetically.

You shove your hands into your coat pockets. “So this is a new one, then?”

“Well, not quite.” Your grandmother chuckles. “I first met this little guy back at the old house. I’ve been feeding him since he was a puppy! Seems he found his way back home on his own.”

“Huh.” Your eyes snap back to her. “I didn’t think they could actually do that.”

She laughs some more. “The most determined and loved ones can.”

You retreat back into the house. Your younger cousins jump on you immediately, demanding you play whatever nonsensical game they’ve thought up this time. You shed your coat, and with it, your lingering distress at your grandmother’s words.

“Oh my god, do you have a secret admirer?”

Your roommate’s voice pulls you out of your shocked state. The dread freezing your veins gradually thaws out, and you kneel down to pick the bouquet of flowers off the floor in front of the entrance to your shared apartment.

Blue forget-me-nots, with some blue roses interspersed throughout.

It’s October now. Just under a year has passed since Christmas, but your grandmother’s words are fresh in your mind, as if you’d heard them just yesterday.

You fumble around with the bouquet, movements becoming more frantic when you can’t find what you’re looking for. “There’s no card attached to this.”

“Well, duh,” your roommate says. “That would defeat the purpose of a secret admirer.”

Except, it’s not a secret who sent you these. You might have been able to brush it off if it was just the forget-me-nots, but the roses speak for themselves.

You flick your wrist out to the side, shoving the bouquet into your roommate’s chest. She grabs onto them, so you let them go in favor of getting the door unlocked.

“Figure out what to do with them,” you say as you enter the apartment.

She trails in after you, hot on your heels in incredulity. “Wait, you’re seriously not going to keep them?”

“You know I’m not interested in a relationship right now,” you say breezily, feigning a calmness that contradicts your racing heart. “It’s a sweet gesture, but I don’t want them.”

“I mean—” Your roommate stammers a bit before her words peter out. She sighs, then starts rummaging in the cabinet beneath the sink. “Alright, whatever you say.”

She ends up arranging them in a nice glass vase you weren’t aware you two even own and sets them in the center of the dining table. They mock you until they wither and die, and you can finally dispose of them.

By the time February rolls around without any further incidents, your guard has lowered significantly, which is, of course, your first mistake.

You’re lounging on the couch in the common space when there’s light knocking at your apartment door. There’s mostly college students renting in this unit, so it’s not uncommon for someone to stop by and invite you to some party or other, and with Valentine’s around the corner, there’s sure to be plenty.

You set your laptop down on the coffee table and get to your feet, sliding your feet into your slippers and crossing the room to get to the apartment entrance. You reach up and begin to undo the locks without checking the peephole, which is your second mistake.

You pull the door open, and immediately, everything freezes in place.

His eyes are as blue as the day you met him, only his gaze is far sharper than they were even on the day you left. 

The television and billboards really don’t do him justice. He’s fully grown into his figure now, the diet and training regimen of a professional athlete filling him out in ways that the portioned-out food fed to him from your hands could not. His hair is choppy, but a face that gorgeous can make anything work. It’s pulled up into a messy bun made to look regal by the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. The blue rose on his neck is stark against his skin, and you eye the thorny vines that trail down and disappear beneath his shirt.

You meet his eyes again, apprehensive. His face is impassive, but the intensity of his gaze betrays him and keeps you pinned in place.

You clutch the doorknob so tightly your knuckles go white.

“Michael,” you say softly, and he frowns slightly at that. “What are you doing here?”

How did you find me? The unasked question hangs in the air between you two, but neither of you reach for it.

“Who’s Michael?” He asks airily. He steps forward, and hooks a finger under your chin before you get the chance to move away from him. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your Micha already.”

You swallow thickly. “I haven’t,” you mumble.

He hums. His thumb brushes against your chin lightly as his gaze trails over your body. When it lands on you again, his eyes swallow you whole. “You look good.”

Heat floods your cheeks in spite of the dread settling in your stomach, and you look to the floor again. “Thanks.”

You attempt to step back, but there’s a hand that finds its way to the small of your back before you can. The hand on your chin tilts your head up, up, until you’re forced to look at him again.

“I spent so long waiting for you, liebling,” he says. “Is this how you greet your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” You sputter. “I don’t—”

His thumb presses firmly against your lips, quieting your protests. “Friends don’t make out, do they?” When you don’t respond, he adds, “We never did break up, you know. I’m glad to see you haven’t cheated on me in my absence.”

You finally reach your breaking point, all the agitation and unease within you spilling over. You shove at him as hard as you can, but if he didn’t budge all those years ago, he certainly wasn’t budging now. You shove at him again, this time trying to use the movement to push yourself away rather than push him, but he swiftly grabs hold of both your wrists and tugs you back toward him. Caught off guard, you careen forward and crash into his chest. His arms snake around your waist, an iron cage holding you firmly against him.

“Micha,” you hiss, “let me go.”

“Now, liebe,” he coos, releasing his hold on you just enough for you to shift and properly look up at him. “You know what that will cost you.”

You glare up at him, but to your chagrin, he seems perfectly content to simply hold you and gaze down at you. As seconds bleed into minutes trapped in his hold, you crack under the pressure. 

You tilt your head up fully, and Michael lowers his head just enough to be within your reach. You close the distance between you two, intending for the kiss to be short, shallow, and sweet, just like your first.

You honestly should know better at this point. One of his hands comes up to cradle the back of your head, and he pulls you back in just as you’re about to get away. 

The next kiss is deep, far more passion behind it than anything you two shared before you left. He bites at your bottom lip, and forces his tongue in when you startle. A whimper leaves your throat as he continues to lick into your mouth. You reach up to try to shove at his chest, but he places his other hand over it, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles in a mockery of a soothing gesture.

You gasp out when he finally breaks for air. Your lips sting from the sudden release of pressure, and a thin trail of saliva lines your bottom lip. You stumble back, but firm arms are there to catch you again.

You look up, and his pupil-blown eyes cause that unease to settle over you once more.

Gently, he brings your hand up to his lips and ghosts your knuckles over them.

There’s a glint in his eye as he asks, “Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

Never satisfied. Insatiable, and now, somehow finding his way back to you.