#yuansie

your fifteenth spring teaches you the reality of what it is like to truly mourn for someone. the news came to you in the midst of exams week at the aerospace academy, and it came to you in the form of your dad’s lieutenant colonel—his best friend. when you open the door to your dorm, you knew what it meant when you saw the man stand before you, his cap tucked in between his arm and side, his gaze downcast. your ears rang so loudly that you didn’t hear when he apologized.

and the rest of that week went by in a blur.

you took your exams and promptly prepared for the funeral the farspace fleet would give your dad in skyhaven.

it was an odd feeling.

attending your dad’s funeral in skyhaven was like a nightmare, a surreal experience that you wanted to wake up from. you always thought your dad would die of old age and be buried in bloomshore’s cemetery, long after retiring. yet, here you are: at the farspace fleet, watching as the general gave a speech about the brightest alum of the aesrospace academy and the best colonel he had the pleasure of training when he was a lieutenant. honestly, you don’t even pay attention to the old man. you know your mom isn’t either. you pay attention to the casket, the way the polished surface shines brightly against the unforgiving sun.

it’s an odd thing: attending a funeral when there is nothing in the casket.

because your dad died in the deepspace tunnel, the only casualty of the patrol team he was leading. you heard of his pilots’ recounts of the event, heard of it from his second-in-command. everything was normal, everything was going smoothly. then, the space felt weird. everything felt still for a second.

there was a vibration in the air, a low hum that intensified.

“your father gave the order for the patrol team to turn back.” a pause. “we were turning around when a vortex opened and…”

the deepspace tunnel.

what an unpredictable and unforgiving thing.

you blink, and suddenly there are people you’ve never seen before giving you their condolences.

“i’ll be organizing a small funeral for your dad,” your mom mumbles to you in between the shower of apologies you receive and the pitying gazes.

you glance at her. “do you need help?”

she shakes her head. “it’ll be small… just family.”

you suck a breath in and your finger twitches in your lap. “can zayne—”

“his family will be there,” she grabs your hand, giving it a light squeeze. “they’re family, too. do you want caleb there?”

caleb.

there is a tinge of anger that tugs at the strings of your heart, searing ardently within you.

even now, when you think you can move on from the idea of him—the thought of him—he still manages to slither back in some way.

you shake your head. “no. i just want zayne there.”

what’s it to caleb, anyways?

he stopped caring in eighth grade, so he won't care now.

and you don't have time to mourn over a living person who broke your heart.

your mom was quick to organize your dad’s funeral. a week later, while you’re on spring break, you find yourself at the kitchen table with your mom.

“what do you want in the casket?”

you tilt your head at her question. “excuse me?”

she continues filling out some paperwork. “what do you want to put in his casket for tomorrow? i’m putting in his awful collection of vinyls.” she chuckles, but you see the slight tremble in her fingers.

your dad often joked that he’d like to be buried with his vinyls so no one else could have them—he mostly said that because his best friend always eyed them when they were students in the academy.

what do you want to bury?

you think of his cap, the one that sits in your dorm right by the picture of zayne you have on your desk.

“nothing.” you finally say. “i… don’t want to put anything in the casket.”

you want to keep your dad by your side, you don't want to forget him.

“okay.”

and this time around, the funeral feels real.

your throat feels tight, your heart beats faster than usual. the sky weeps along with your heart, you feel like the world is spinning too quickly and that you’re about to sink down.

everything feels like a mess.

your mom stands to your right, her eyes fixed on the casket that’s being lowered into the ground. she moves forward, standing in front of the pit. she says something you cannot hear, kisses the white flower in her hand and lets it fall inside.

a squeeze breaks you out from your daze, warmth seeping into you. from the corner of your eye, zayne nods at you. with a gulp, you take a step forwards, then another until you're in front of the pit. you stare down at the casket.

this is too real.

standing in front of his casket makes it too real.

the man who called you his little star, the man who wasn't always around but tried to be, the man who never read you the classic bedtime stories and instead told you about the different jets in the fleet, the man who made you fall in love with the sky, the man who loved you more than anyone ever will and proudly told you that as if it were an undeniable fact—he is dead.

your dad is actually gone.

dead.

and your knees give out. you’re unsure whether you’ve been crying from the start but you are now: the tears rapidly fall down your cheeks, burning in excruciating pain. you don't care about the mud that gets on your clothes, all you can focus on is that emptiness and pain you feel, the wide hole that sinks into your chest.

a warm hand touches your shoulder, gentle as if to not break you further. arms circle around you, carefully bringing your head into a familiar crook. zayne exhales softly, a hand running up and down the length of your back. the umbrella he held up now lays forgotten on the ground.

“it hurts,” you croak, grabbing a fist full of his coat. “it hurts so much, zayne… make it stop.”

he continues to hold you. “it will hurt for a long time,” he says. “because healing takes a long time. you’ll learn to live with this one day… maybe not now, but one day.”

you can only gasp in response, clinging onto zayne as your sobs begin to take over, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “he’s dead,” you shut your eyes and press yourself closer to zayne, “he’s gone.”

you feel him shake his head. “he isn’t. he lives right,” zayne leans back, the hand that once held your head now pointing at your heart, “in here. he’s always going to be there with you.”

the seasons come and go, the days blur together, and the faces you see everyday you can never put a name to. you talk to your mom every day, and you delude yourself into thinking that clipped responses are better than none at all.

it’s the most you can do, after all.

you talk to zayne less despite having lived in the same city for four years now. you pull away from him slowly, taking small steps away until the gap between you has grown into what it is now: a canyon. the distance was already there when he left, so it shouldn't matter if it's grown more now that you’ve done the same.

and the small girl you left behind? the one who made the sun rise? you haven’t spoken to her once since your dad’s funeral in bloomshore. you didn't even tell her of his passing—you just stopped talking all together, and in between your fresh sorrow and her constant messages, she stopped trying to get a hold of you, as if coming to the slow realization that you're… done.

honestly, you don't blame her for stopping. you were a bitch, the remnants of a heartache mixed with your grief drove you to give her the cold shoulder.

you’ve pushed them all away and locked yourself in the prison that is your fear: the fear of getting too close and experiencing that pain once again.

because you don't think you can allow yourself to mourn for the dead ever again.

the seasons come and go, the days blur together, and somehow you’re a week away from graduating. you’re surprised the academy even let you get this far—after all, your score on that exam was just fine.

the heat of summer is unforgiving: it beats down on your back as you climb down the jet, the sweltering heat making you take quick strides across the practice field, unfastening your helmet with a flicker of your hand. you’re practically booking it towards the locker room.

“how are you feeling, miss valedictorian?” a classmate runs up to your side, matching your quick pace. “you got your speech ready?”

you don’t spare a glance and continue walking. “i have everything ready.”

they whistle. “wow,” they awe, “that’s our legendary miss valedictorian for you.”

the title makes you roll your eyes. “i thought i told all of you to quit it with that.”

they shrug, still following you as you enter the locker room. “everyone knows it’s true. even the academy praises you.”

the prodigy of the aerospace academy, y/n l/n.

just like your dad.

you tune out the voice of your classmate, getting rid of your flight suit and equipment, and storing it neatly inside of your locker. you adjust your clothes just as fast before you're out the door, already heading towards the gates. there’s a man that stands not too far from you, his back towards you. there’s also a girl talking to one of the guards nearest to you, though you can't see her as the guard covers her from your line of sight.

you aren't even a step outside when a hand latches around your wrist, and you freeze because you know who it is.

how could you not? his warmth is so familiar to you, even after all this time.

what surprises you the most is the fact that he's here. why is he here? he lives so far away from the academy. how is he here?

he says your name quietly. “we… should talk.”

your heart lurches, but still you don’t pull away. “i thought you were busy with med school...”

you can practically hear the way zayne raises a brow at your words.

“how would you know?” he asks, his tone void of any real malice—just pure curiosity. “we haven't talked since august.”

“i… go through your moments… sometimes…” you mumble in embarrassment, “you were studying not too long ago, right?”

his hold on your wrist loosens and tightens at the same time, his touch hesitant. he wants to hold on tighter, but is unable to. zayne holds your wrist gently, thinking as if you are to crumble if he were to hold on any tighter. he breathes slowly, “can we talk?” he quickly adds on, “privately?”

you nod and grab his hand, leading him to your apartment.

and as you walk away, you don't hear the call of a familiar name.

“pips!”

you awkwardly sit next to zayne in your living room, knees touching. your leg bounces, and you refuse to look at the older male.

zayne wordlessly places a hand down on your knee, stopping it from moving. “…there’s no need to be nervous.”

“there kind of is,” you grumble. “i didn’t think you’d ever visit me over…”

the distance, you want to say, but the words lodge themselves in your throat. you tap your finger against your leg now.

he hums. “well, i wouldn’t be here in the first place had you not started to pull away.” zayne breathes in slowly, carefully grabbing your hand in his. “i don’t blame you for anything. i just… want you to know that i’m always here. it doesn’t matter if you start pulling away because i’ll just follow you. i just want you to know that.”

you grip his hand at his words. “i’m a terrible friend,” you mumble. “how can you not blame me for this? how can you even say that?”

“because you’re still mourning,” he replies. “i know you—that means i also know how much your dad means to you.”

means—present.

not meant—past tense.

because you still miss your dad. you miss the summer days in verona where he’d carry you on his shoulders. you miss when he would talk to you about the new jets on his fleet. you mourn not only him, but the future you never got to live with him. he was supposed to watch you graduate, watch you work your way up in the ranks of the fleet—his fleet, he was supposed to be there when you ask him for love advice, he was supposed to help you move into your apartment after freshman year at the dorms and haul everything inside because he would never let his little star move a muscle.

“but i should be over his…” death. you still hate saying that stupid word. “but instead, i’ve let it consume me. you don’t blame me for that? for letting my fears influence me?”

you know that zayne knows: you pulled away because you’re afraid of losing him like you did with your dad. you’ve thought about it, about a world without him, when your mind can’t rest during the late hours of the night. each time you would end up silently weeping. there are no words to describe a world without him in it.

“of course not.” he knows. “i understand.” he always does. “i can’t make promises that i don't know if i’ll be able to keep because the future is unpredictable, but i can promise to take care of myself for you to ease your worries.”

and just like that, the knots in your chest untangle themselves. your shoulders no longer feel heavy, and you can breathe for the first time in a long time.

“you…” you tilt your head to look him. “you’re too good to me, zayne li.”

“i’m supposed to be good to you,” he lets out an amused chuckle. you take in how he looks now, how he looks older and more mature, how his hazel eyes have more brown in them than green hues right now, how his lips are curved upwards just the slightest bit. “i’m your best friend, you know?”

the book you had been reading for the month lays discarded on your chest, your back on your bed as you cover your mouth, shoulders shaking. zayne stares at you with a deadpan on his features. “you still haven’t made any friends?”

he gives you a pointed look from his sitting position against the bedframe. “have you made any friends?”

you stick your tongue out at him. “touché.”

zayne blinks once before leaning forwards to pinch your cheek, stretching the skin out. you furrow your brows and flick his wrist. “what are you doing?”

the corner of his lip lifts. “pinching your cheek.”

“no shit,” you scoff, huffing through your nose in amusement when his hazel eyes widen at your words. “what? don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming?”

he clears his throat and lets go of your cheek. “i certainly didn’t expect such a colorful word to be a part of your… everyday vocabulary.”

you shrug and roll off the bed. “the officers have a nasty influence on first years,” you scrunch your nose, “even worse when flight training starts. they just bitch about everything.” you sigh, “obviously, i don’t speak like this to the officers… or anyone.”

“then why say it around me?”

“because i don’t have anything to hide from you,” you reply, “i tell you everything. i’m always going to be the most relaxed around you—that won’t ever change.”

zayne smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “you don’t tell me everything.”

you purse your lips. “yes, i do. i—”

“you never told me you liked caleb,” the smile still doesn’t leave his lips, and you tense at the statement. “but i knew that you did.”

you blink a couple of times.

the stupid kiss.

you never told him about what caleb did on the night of his fourteenth birthday. you didn’t tell him of the pain.

and you won’t tell anyone; no living soul will ever know.

looking away from him, your gaze falls on the snow globe on your nightstand. “and you never told me you liked her, but i knew you did.”

“i don't.”

your eyes go back to him, watching as he takes his glasses off. “i don’t like her… maybe i never did.” the last bit was quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear. before you can question him, he looks up and eyes your neck. a finger comes up to point at his own. “you don’t wear it anymore.” you know what he’s referring to.

you think to the box that sits underneath your bed in your mom’s house: the box that holds everything related to him—the pictures, the necklace, the notes and the doodles and the paper airplanes… everything. “i threw it away as soon as i left for skyhaven.”

the male hums. “is that so?”

you nod. “yeah,” you breathe out.

there was no point in bringing a piece of caleb with you when all you wanted was to forget him.

“it’s getting late,” zayne mumbles. “you have a spare room, right?”

“about that…”

zayne stares at the empty room you show him down the hallway from your room. he turns his head towards you. “why… is it empty?”

“i’m the one doing the visiting,” you say, “not the other way around. i found no need to set up the spare room…”

“i see…”

you smile at him, “we can sleep in the same bed.”

he furrows his eyebrows, mouth slightly agape. “what?”

“c’mon!” you nudge his shoulder. “it’ll be like old times!”

zayne sighs and pinches his nose. “you are a woman, and i am a man.”

“…and?” you raise an eyebrow at him. “are you saying you’re going to eat me up or something? should i be worried?”

“of course not,” he says quickly. there’s a slight frown on him that confuses you. “but… am i not a man to you?”

“of course you are,” you answer, leaning forwards. you reach out and grab onto his cheek, pinching it. “but i trust you enough to not do anything.”

“…i see.”

there were no classes for the rest of the week for the graduating class, meaning you no longer had to wake up in the crack ass of dawn to get ready. unfortunately, habits are hard to die, so despite having turned off your alarm, your mind wakes you up when the sky is a faded, dark blue. immediately, your mood sours as you stare up at the ceiling.

you lay in your bed for a fee seconds longer when you’re suddenly aware that your right side is empty and cold. with a yawn, your cold feet hit the ground as you stand up and quietly search for your missing friend.

zayne lifts his brows when you walk into the living room, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose. “did i wake you?”

you shake your head, padding over to where he sits on the couch. the cushion sinks when you sit down, your head immediately falling on his shoulder. “i’m used to waking up at this hour…” you squint at his hands. “are you studying?”

he nods, ready to say something but the word die at the tip of his tongue. zayne watches curiously at your outstretched hand that open and close repeatedly.

“give me your notebook.”

he does so without any complaint. you scan the contents quickly, gaze flitting up to him afterwards. “i’ll help you study.”

zayne chuckles softly, and shakes his head. “i appreciate that, but you should sleep some more.”

“i’m already up,” you say through squinted eyes. “besides, it’ll be like old times.”

“ah yes,” he hums, nodding once, “back when you were in middle school and i helped you study.”

except you never actually studied. zayne would read the questions out loud once, you would answer perfectly, and then you would decide enough was enough before spending the rest of your time reading with him.

friday morning comes in the form of a quiet and empty room.

when you wake up, your left side is empty once again. in the span of the week, you’ve come to learn that zayne has the habit of waking up earlier than you do. sometimes he’s up an hour before you, other times it’s half an hour.

you breathe in and exhale slowly, blink once at the roof and then stand up. the drowsiness leaves your body as you begin to get ready: you brush your teeth and splash cold water on your face before wiping it away, you put your uniform on, you comb through the knots in your hair, and you place your cap on your head. your eyes move towards your desk, eyeing the black cap that sits on it.

you’ll be able to wear it soon.

you slip your socks on, and move into the living room. zayne sits at the table, his laptop open in front of him as he highlights something on his notebook. he looks up, his hazel gaze locking with yours. he gestures at the steaming cup of coffee in front of the chair next to him, and you head towards it.

“i thought your graduation was at nine,” he says, eyes going back to his laptop. “why are you already ready?”

“force of habit,” you shrug, grabbing the cub. the warmth seeps into your fingertips, and you raise it to your lips, pausing, “and my class has to practice once before the ceremony. we’re supposed to be there an hour from now... head for breakfast afterwards,” you snort and shake your head, eyes narrowing in mirth, “someone called it brunch in the group chat. another person called them a dumbass.”

zayne’s lips quirk upwards as you finally take a sip from your cup. he watches you with a quiet intensity, one that somehow warms up the tips of your ears, yet you tell yourself to not dwell on it because he’s just zayne, the boy you grew up with.

“you sound happy.”

you bring the cup down to rest on the table. “i am,” you breathe out.

the rest of your time before heading to the academy is spent by quizzing zayne. he answers everything perfectly, and you promptly congratulate him every time, to which he huffs a laugh through his nose. when it’s time for you to leave, he offers to give you a ride and you accept.

his car is, as always, clean. it looks like it just had the day he bought—you were with him as he walked around the dealership, scrutinizing every car and analyzing every thing he learned about them until he found one he liked. it took almost two hours, and you were tired as hell, but it was worth it. he drove you to a small cafe afterwards, his treat. and though you were still mourning for your dad, despite it having been a year later, that day you felt the first semblance of normality.

the car comes to a stop, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“i’ll see you later,” says zayne.

you give him a smile. “yeah, see you later.” when you open the door, he grabs onto your wrist. you look back.

“you’ll be free afterwards, right?”

“well, i know that there’ll be a party to celebrate… but that’s in the evening, like at nine.”

he nods. “good.”

zayne doesn't say anything afterwards and only bids you goodbye, promising to see you in a few hours. with a small wave, you watch as he drives off, leaving you alone at the gates. you breathe in slowly and exhale.

you take a step back, twist around and begin to walk to the gates when you suddenly stumble forwards, your cap falling off your head and landing on the ground with a thud.

“shoot! i’m so sorry about that!” a voice rings out from behind you.

with a sigh, you lean down to pick up your cap, dusting it off. you glance behind you: there's two, tall guys. one has short hair, and he has his friend in a headlock. the one in a headlock has brown hair, bangs covering his face from your judging eyes. you turn to face them.

“my friend here sure is clumsy,” the guy laughs, tightening his hold on the hunched over friend. the friend grunts in response, trying to pry off the arm around his shoulder. “oh shit,” the guy gasps, seemingly having realized something. “you’re a graduating senior?”

“that’s right,” you say.

the guy beams, his free arm stretching out towards you. “congrats, senior!”

his enthusiasm brings a small smile to your lips, and you give him a firm handshake. “thank you.”

“caleb,” the boy snaps his head towards his friend in the chokehold. “i can’t believe your clumsy ass bumped into our senior!”

the name makes your smile curl downwards.

“ah, senior! don’t tell me we upset you!” the other boy panics.

you shake your head, eyes closed. “no,” you grimace, “but i do have to get going.” you put the cap back on your head, and with a small wave, you walk away.

“caleb, why the hell are you staring? show some respect!”

caleb.

what a way to sour your mood.

the practice was chaotic, to say the least. after you dropped a bomb on them with the salutatorian, everyone began to shout questions directed at the two of you. you got so fed up you yelled at them to shut up or else you wouldn’t go to breakfast with them afterwards.

which leads you to now.

you sit at a table with your classmates, all of them staring at you.

“…so, i didn’t want to give the speech,” you shrug and poke at the food in your plate. “big deal.”

“but why?” someone asks, followed by a quick no offense to the salutatorian.

“they have more memories with the whole class,” you answer. “it didn’t feel right for me to be up on stage and give a big speech on memories and stuff. made more sense for someone who actually spent time with the class to do it.”

when you look up from your plate, you see that everyone’s mouth are wide open.

“…what?” you grimace. “did i say something wrong?”

“you’re surprisingly cool.” someone says.

their comment makes you snort. “very cool of me to do that, huh.”

someone ends up pointing at you. “you just laughed.”

chaos erupts once again.

“holy shit, she just laughed for once!”

“knock it off before i regret being here,” you give everyone a pointed look.

they all still, mumbling apologies. in the next second, everyone starts talking and taking turns to ask you questions.

surprisingly, you don’t mind the attention. you don't mind talking to your classmates like this; in fact, now there’s a tinge of sadness that settles into your chest.

you should have talked to them more.

you swear you see the person siting next to you start crying during the salutatorian's speech.

as you stand at your assigned spot, hands holding your diploma behind your back, you see the same person start to cry harder once they’re tapped out by their family, their rigid posture crumbling.

your eyes rake over what you can see: there’s people waiting to be tapped out, some are crying, some are laughing and happy. and then you see him.

zayne naturally stands out: tall and lean, a head above the shorter crowd. the sight is comical, making you puff out your cheeks in an attempt to not laugh. he stops a few steps away, takes his phone and snaps a picture of you, all the while having an arm behind his back.

“you blinked,” he hums once he stands in front of you.

you narrow your eyes slightly at him.

with a chuckle, zayne taps your shoulder, his touch warm despite the layers of your uniform that separates your skin from his. your posture relaxes, the rigidness melting away as your lips curl upwards. he brings a small bouquet of flowers, not flashy like the ones some of your classmates are receiving. a few hyacinths and irises, their blues like the color of the sky you love, held together by a white bow tied around the stems.

“congratulations, y/n.”

you take the bouquet from him, and look at him, the small smile you had now a grin. zayne’s eyes look like a light green underneath the harsh glow of the sun, much like the green hues of the gemstone aventurine, with small specks of amber in them.

he takes a step forwards, arms slowly wrapping themselves around your form. your cap almost falls off as your throw your arm around his shoulder, the bouquet clutched tightly as your free hand flies to keep your cap against your head. laughter bubbles from your chest and falls from your lips, loud and cheerful for the first time in a while.

“thank you.”

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YOU FOUND A HUMAN BOOK ON ONE OF YOUR IMPROMPTU VISITS TO THE SURFACE WHEN YOU WERE A TEENAGER, and it had described an interesting concept that fascinated you to no end: time for humans. to humans, time is precious for they don’t have a long lifespan. time can fly by fast for them before they know it. for lemuria, time goes by slowly. lemurians have longer lifespans, immortality making a day for a human seem like a hundred years to the ancient civilization.

yet time has flown by fast for you in these recent months.

perhaps it is because you do not speak to the god of tides anymore, or it is because of the appearance of his most devout follower.

when it was revealed that rafayel had taken a human to live in his temple, lemurians were baffled. you spoke to them in a calming voice, easing the worries that began to swim in their heads.

the attention the devout follower was receiving, the words being whispered about her, eventually reached rafayel. he appeared to them while you lead a prayer, revealing to them that she is his devout follower before leaving.

of course, you were left with the aftermath of a panicked lemuria, one that questioned the intentions of their god. you told them that it is a good thing, the appearance of the devout follower, for it means that he will soon be the sea god.

lemuria calms down, and you are left with a heavy heart.

“please, put the flowers at the base of the pillars,” you instruct, watching the lemurians helping you prepare the temple for the ceremony. “and have them go up and wrap around the pillars.”

“yes, divine priestess.”

you smile, glancing to your side. arabelle stands next to you, her attention elsewhere. you tuck her black hair behind her ear, making sure it won’t tangle itself with the string of the veil she wears around her mouth—the one you used to don when you were training to be the god of tides’ priestess. “what is on your mind?”

arabelle looks at you, her silver eyes hesitant. “…miss priestess.”

“yes?”

“why are you not with him? are you not his devout follower?”

are you not his devout follower? the words echo loudly in your head.

“…it is because i am his priestess,” you answer carefully. “i cannot be the devout follower for the ceremony for i am needed by both the temple and the people.”

a deep and vibrant blue taints her silver eyes, seeping into the irises until it is fully consumed. glowing, blue eyes stare into your widened ones.

“you are his most devout follower,” a voice rings out from arabelle’s throat, sounding like rafayel’s yet different. “you are the one with the most blessed bond with him, the only one chosen by the deep sea and sea god.”

you watch as silver slowly replaces the blue in her irises. arabelle frowns, “it should be you in the temple tomorrow, miss priestess.” she quickly waves her hands in a panicked manner, shaking her head. “not that i doubt the god of tides! it just makes more sense for you—” she stops, her gaze downcast as you chuckle.

“it is fine to have doubts,” you tell her, gently ruffling her hair. “just don’t let anyone hear of them.”

the bells ring, and you and the girl watch everyone inside the temple trickle out before the doors close. you hold out your hand, arabelle grabbing it, and lead her to the room you used to stay in when you were younger. your eyes rake around it, noting how it lost all of your quirks and now reflects arabelle’s personality. her desk is piled up with neatly stacked books and sea shells decorate her walls.

“you know where to find me if you need anything, right?” you ask by the door. arabelle nods as she takes off her veil, grinning at you. “then i wish you a goodnight.”

“goodnight, miss priestess!”

you make it down the hall before a familiar voice speaks up.

“i did not know that i appointed a new priestess.”

he emerges from the shadows of the corridor that leads to your room. you spare a glance at him before walking past him, merely letting out a huff. “is that so?”

the god of tides follows after you. “why did you not tell me?”

“i am busy,” you shrug. “after all, i have to prepare the temple and the citizens accordingly for the ceremony. it is only natural i take in a child in these… lively times.”

“but that child was not chosen by me.” there is exasperation in his tone, and it irks you. what is there for him to be annoyed at?

“did she have to?” you swivel around to face him and tilt your head to the side, your eyes slightly narrowed. “you are busy with… your own affairs, so it falls to me to make these decisions for the greater good of lemuria.”

dual toned eyes stare at you with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint. perhaps it is anger that swirls in his blue and pink irises. “you—”

“i do not have time for this,” you mutter, turning around and continuing your walk back to your room. “and neither do you.”

“but y/n—”

“priestess y/n,” you correct, stopping at the entrance of your room. you push the door open and pause, “it is priestess y/n, my lord.”

“my lord?” the god of tides repeats, baffled. “since when have you called me that? since when have we used titles?”

“i have realized that i have grown lenient,” you reply, taking a step into your room. with a deep breath, you continue, “you and i have grown lenient.”

“lenient?” he repeats. “why do you say that?”

“because a priestess should not be calling their god by first name. our relationship should not be what it is now.”

“what are you—”

you take another step inside, twisting around to face him. your heart pounds in your chest, painfully aching at the words you’ve uttered. yet, you do not back down. he chose this as soon as he brought forth the human as his devout follower, and you are finally drawing the line. you should’ve done it ages ago for your relationship was never supposed to grow to this extent.

there was always going to be a line separating the two of you, and you both chose to ignore it when you were younger. but you are older now, so you will finally address it.

“goodnight, my lord,” you say, slowly closing the door. “rest now, for the ceremony is tomorrow.”

there is a soft clicking sound the echoes quietly in the dark corridor as soon as the door closes.

there is a statue outside of the temple, one that the head of the village had commissioned to get done when you were a kid, of the god of tides. you kneel in front of it, eyes closed and your hands clasped tightly. you are tense and rigid, arabelle’s words repeating in your head like a broken record.

the sea god and his devout follower have gone to the surface.

you want to let out a bitter scoff, you want to roll your eyes to the back of your skull at his sheer audacity to do such a thing on this important day.

but you don’t.

you instead pray, but you don’t pray to the god of tides. no, you pray to the deep sea. you pray that today be blessed, that the ceremony would go smoothly.

there is a shift in the currents, the singing of the fishes of his arrival flows into your ears.

“the ceremony will begin now,” you mumble, eyes still closed. “go tell them. i will continue to pray.”

there is a shuffle next to you followed by running footsteps that soon fades away.

you sigh, shoulder slumping. let the ceremony go smoothly, you pray, give him the strength to do what must be done. you pray to the deep sea because you aren’t sure if he will do what has to be done.

a sudden chill falls on you like a blanket, making your eyes snap open. whalefall city is plunged in darkness, and the sea is silent until your ears pick up the panicked shouts of the lemurians. you rush into the city, finding everyone gathered at the bottom of the road that leads up to the temple.

“divine priestess! has the ceremony gone wrong?”

“what are we to do?”

“divine priestess, what is going on?”

“are we doomed?”

“my brethren,” you say softly, holding out an open hand. bright, blue swirls appear, rendering everyone silent. “you must stay calm. the ceremony is still ongoing. we—”

everyone screams and yells as the ground suddenly shakes, the sea growing violent as it sends currents everywhere.

“stay close to me!” you yell.

you’re about to fall onto the ground after another violent shake from the seafloor, yet the water holds you above the ground. the deep sea, despite its anger, is still looking after you.

but the same cannot be said for the rest.

much less for him.

because everyone gasps, their attention drawn to the crumbling sight of their beloved temple. your eyes are wide with shock.

the ceremony has—

the shaking stops and the sea is calm.

“miss priestess,” arabelle walks up to you, a slight tremble in her hands as she places it on your arm. “has the ceremony gone wrong?”

you don’t know what to say. “arabelle—”

“look!”

the sea god emerges from the rubble, holding onto a tiny flame that flickers dangerously so… the devout follower is nowhere in sight.

“the ceremony is a success!” someone shouts.

cheers erupt amongst the lemurians.

“the sea god is among us now!”

no, you think. he is not the sea god.

the ceremony was a failure, and he has doomed you all. it is just as the deep sea had told you: disaster.

the sea god disappeared, leaving whalefall city alone with the divine priestess of the deep sea. he has not appeared in many years, not even as the city plunges to the depths of the sea. he does not show his face when you help everyone evacuate the city, though you don’t go with them.

“must you stay here alone, miss priestess?”

arabelle now reaches your shoulders, having grown quite the bit over the years. you smile and ruffle her hair, “i must stay here and pray for everyone’s safety.”

“i can do that in your place!”

“you cannot,” you answer firmly. “as the divine priestess, i must stay here to pray in order to ensure everyone’s safety.” you sigh and grab arabelle’s shoulder, squeezing them softly. “arabelle, i chose you for a reason. you must lead them, help them build anew.”

the girl slowly nods. “i will do as you say, miss priestess.”

you smile wider, pushing her slightly towards the lemurians that wait for her. “go now.”

“miss priestess, will i… will i see you again?"

all you can do is continue to smile, “goodbye arabelle. may the deep sea protect you on this journey.”

you watch the lemurians leave their home until your eyes no longer can. that’s when you head to the ruins of the temple and watch with disdain at the crumbling statue of the person you used to love. you will the anger to go away, not wanting your last moments to be of hatred. no, you want your last moments to be filled with hope that the lemurians of whalefall city may build their new lives easily without trouble.

your eyes close when you start feel your tail grow lighter and how it travels up your body slowly. you mournfully sing goodbye to your people and to the sea you love so much, stopping to utter a final prayer to the deep sea.

“do not let me meet him again, oh deep sea,” you mumble. “i wish to not see him again.”

and then you’re gone, reduced to foam.

you’re gone and he heard you whisper your final words in the form of a prayer to the deep sea and not to him, making his chest feel like it is about to cave in.

you’re gone and he watched as you turned into sea foam, the color so alike to your hair that it makes him sick.

rafayel closes his eyes from where he is, letting out his final breath. what was the color of your hair before it had turned into the color sea-foam? he cannot remember.

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taglist (open). @bakutual @nadinefromwhere @justmystical @holywaterbucketchallenge @megufushi @bellslovemachine @roobiedoobiedoo @reiofsuns2001

THE REAL CURSE IS NOT THE COLOR OF YOUR HAIR, it is the boy from the other night.

he comes by unannounced in the middle of the of the night once again; you don't even register he’s there, as you are engrossed in your old book, until your window slides open. at first, there is nothing but the darkness from outside. you stand up to shut it, only to gasp and trip backwards on a random painting you have on the ground. you land with a thud and you wince, pain flaring up your arm.

a tuft of purple hair appears, then a face and a pair of blue and red colored eyes.

“oh,” his eyes widen in surprise. “i didn't mean to startle you. are you okay?” he asks, jumping inside your room.

you gape at him. “what are you doing?” you hiss, sharply exhaling from your nose as you get on your knees. you rub your sore arm with a hand, glaring at the boy. “you’re trespassing right now. leave before i scream.”

“uh, no thank you!” the boy leaps forwards, clamping a hand over your mouth.

“wha—hmph!” your words are muffled by his warm hand.

his eyes, wide with panic, are directed at you. “stat quiet!” he loudly whispers. “you’re going to alert the whole neighborhood!”

you swat his hand away and scoff. “as i rightfully should! there’s a stranger in my room!”

the boy huffs, jutting his lower lip out slightly. “i’m trying to apologize here, and you keep villainizing me. first a demon, and now a stranger? what's next: a cat?”

“what the heck is a cat?” your furrowed brows illicit a dramatic gasp from him.

“you don't know what a cat is?”

you deadpan. “i wouldn't be asking you if i did.”

he clears his throat. “w-well, cats are the real demons.”

“…cats are probably better than you.”

“they are not!”

“they—”

“y/n?”

your mom’s voice rings out from the kitchen. an orange glow filters in through the cracks of the doorframe, and the sound of footsteps nearing grows louder. you hurriedly shove the boy under your bed, shushing him harshly when he whines. the door creaks open, and your mom's head pops in.

“what are you doing?” she quietly asks.

you gesture at the painting by your legs. “i wanted to see if i could paint something better than this.” you almost wince at how naturally the lie falls from your tongue.

why are you even lying for your intruder?

your mom laughs, shaking her head afterwards. “why do you always paint so late?”

with a shrug, you answer, “i tend to be more creative around this time.”

“uh-huh,” your mom hums, laughing quietly afterwards. “well, i think your creativity should sleep for a bit.”

“you're probably right.”

“i am probably right.” your mom leans against the doorframe, “goodnight, my little guppy.”

“mom,” you whine, “i’m not that little anymore.”

she tuts, “you’ll always be my little guppy.”

you look away from her, lips slightly pursed. “goodnight, mom.”

“goodnight, guppy~” she sings, quickly closing the door before you can retort another denial. the room is silent.

“little guppy, huh?” a tuft of purple hair pops out from underneath your bed, bicolored eyes sparkling with amusement staring into your own blue eyes.

“shut up.” you narrow your eyes and lean forwards, pushing his head back. “move. you're on one of paintings.”

he mumbles an apology and rolls away. you carefully pick up the canvas and examine it. purple hair tickles your cheek as the boy leans and rests his head on your shoulder. you glance at him from the corner of your eye.

“that's pretty,” he says. “what's it supposed to be?”

your gaze falls back on the canvas. “i don't know.” and you really don't know what the bright and dark blue swirls are supposed to be, you don't know what the smudges of white are meant to be, neither do you know what the purple at the center is. you remember waking up one night, your heart aching and your head throbbing.

the purple speck—you remember feeling mad when you added it.

you don't mention that.

“…rafayel.”

“well that's a stupid name,” you snort. he gasps and leans away from you, his mouth open in shock.

“what?” he blinks at you, his lips now turned downwards into a frown. “how could you say that? you g—” he exhales slowly. “you… you gremlin! you're so rude…”

“i think i’m allowed to be rude when an intruder is in my room and won't leave.”

his frown deepens. “what can i do?”

“what?” you squint at him.

the boy grows serious, and stares at you with determination in his eyes. “you're clearly not going to call me by my name, so what can i do to get you to do that?”

a devilish thought crosses your mind; you smile widely. “there's something you can do for me.”

“really?” he grabs onto your hands, his skin warm against yours. you grimace and shake his hands off.

“i recently ran out of red paint,” you say, getting up from the ground and heading towards your desk. you grab a canvas you had there and turn around, pointing a finger at the bright and rich crimson on it. “get me some more of this exact shade.”

he furrows his eyebrows. “how am i supposed to do that?”

“figure it out,” you shrug. “now get out.”

you don't see the boy for a week, and you think you never will until he approaches you.

in broad daylight.

the kids of the neighborhood whisper and crowd in front of your home, some even shouting at him to stay away from you because you're cursed. their childish antics sour your mood.

“shut up!” the boy abruptly turns to face the crowd of kids before he reaches you. you can't make out the look on his face, but you assume he must look really angry for the kids to grow pale and run off.

with a huff, he walks up to you and sticks his hand out, a jar of red paint in his grip. “that was really hard,” he says, a pout on his lips. “i had to crush so many seashells…”

the giggle you let out has him snapping his head at you, jaw slack from surprise. “you just laughed!”

you ignore his comment and grab the jar from his hands, tilting it as you inspect it. the red is vibrant, very intense and brilliant in your eyes. “not bad,” you finally say, looking up at the boy. “thank you… rafayel.”

the tips of rafayel’s ears bloom a red much brighter than the paint in the jar, his lips curving upwards into a pretty smile.

rafayel doesn't say anything afterwards, and spends the rest of the day with you. you learn that day he isn't all that bad for being a troublemaker. surely, if you let him in just the tiniest bit, he won't leave after his curiosity is sated... right?

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taglist (open). @bakutual @nadinefromwhere @justmystical @holywaterbucketchallenge @megufushi @bellslovemachine @roobiedoobiedoo @reiofsuns2001 @lucifers-silhouette @dana-nite @xsammijoanneex @killcxm @dekiruxxx @llamabois @nm4565natty @vigtore

YOU THOUGHT THAT THE COLOR OF YOUR HAIR WAS A CURSE, one meant to make you lonely for the rest of your long life. kids your age ridicule you over its sea-foam color that starts at the roots and fades into the color of parents’ hair at the tips.

“such a weird color!” they would say.

“you are a sea witch! no one else has that color for hair!”

“you have been cursed by the deep sea!”

you have been cursed by the deep sea.

such words used to bring you deep and unbridled sorrow, a sorrow that would render you a crying mess in the arms of your mother. what did you in your past life to receive ridicule by the lemurians? what did you do in your past life to deserve any of this?

that was in the past.

you’ve grown to like the quiet you have, the peace it comes with and the time. you world is not fast-paced like the one the kids your age have; it is rather slow, and it allows you to take your time on things, to discover what you do and don’t like.

your room is filled with paintings and books that litter the walls and the floor. it is untidy, a mess that your mom scolds you over. but your mess is the result of countless adventures that have helped you learn who you are, a mess that only you know how to navigate.

and you like that single fact: that only you know things privy to yourself.

there is no need for someone to learn about you if you prefer to live in silence and in solitude. in fact, just the thought of someone knowing you so… intimately, makes a shiver crawl down your spine in disgust and pure horror.

but your wish does not come true. the entity that makes sure of that comes in the form of a little boy your age.

you heard rumors of some kid that goes around blowing out the sea lanterns of homes, right in the middle of the night when everyone sleeps. honestly, you paid no attention to the gossip of your neighborhood. it has nothing to do with you, so why should you care?

the only thing you care about is finishing this book you found, so you can later paint something about it. the book you hold in your hands is frayed, old and rough around the edges. its words reflect an ancient era of your people, refined and proper. you found this when you ran away from a group of kids that wouldn't leave you alone, hiding in the tall bed of seaweed and coral. it was at the foot of a red coral, half buried in the soil. it called out to you, and you answered its plea to be free from the ground.

at least a good thing came out from that day.

you sit in your bed, the low glow from your bedside lantern providing enough light for you to read the words on the old pages. that's when it suddenly gets dark outside.

the scoundrel from the rumors has targeted your sea lantern.

with a huff, you place the book down and head towards your window with a frown. with your head sticking outside, you angrily look around. a boy stands in front of your house's sea lantern, shoulders shaking slightly as soft giggles fall from his lips.

“are you kidding me?” you murmur, squinting your eyes at him. “this idiot is still here?”

he is too lost in his simple joy to take note of your angry whispering. you just want him to leave already so you can go back to reading.

“you know that you’ll get in trouble if you don't leave soon,” you hiss loud enough for him to hear.

the boy freezes, his head comically turning around to look at you. you can't make out his features, but you grimace at the pair of wide, red eyes staring at you.

“what kind of offense did we commit for a demon to decide to target our house?” you purse your lips and wave your hand at the boy, though surely he isn’t one if he has red eyes that glow in the dark. “begone, demon!”

the entity lets out a noise, something between that of a gasp and a scoff. “demon? you think i’m a demon?”

“well, your eyes—”

“who's there?”

startled, the demon-like boy freezes. the light inside your humble abode turns on, and he shots you one last glare before scampering off. you watch as your dad takes a step outside, meeting your eyes.

he raises an eyebrow. “what are you doing up?” then, he points at the dark, sea lantern. “and what happened here?”

something in you decides to lie to him, and tale you spin leaves naturally from your lips.

how odd.

“i was reading,” you say. “then, i decided the light from the sea lantern was bothering me. i didn't want to leave my room, so i tried blowing it from all the way here.”

“…and it worked?”

you nod. “it worked.”

your dad narrows his eyes. “so… you're saying you blew the lantern out… from your window?”

“that's correct.”

he sighs, running a hand down his face. “well… okay. let’s just go back to sleep.”

you watch as your dad slips back inside, and you look away towards the direction the red-eyed demon disappeared in. the tall bed of seaweed sways gently; with one last look, you step back into your room and quietly close the window.

you don’t like troublemakers.

so you doubt you’ll see that entity again.

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taglist (open). @bakutual @nadinefromwhere @justmystical @holywaterbucketchallenge @megufushi @bellslovemachine @roobiedoobiedoo @reiofsuns2001 @lucifers-silhouette @dana-nite @xsammijoanneex @killcxm @dekiruxxx

YOU’RE SURE THAT EVERYONE HAS NOTICED THIS CHANGE; it is a change so bright that it is impossible they haven’t noticed. rafayel is often near you while you go about completing your duties: he is always next to you while you pray for the lemurians visiting the temple, heal those with injuries, among other things. but you are sure they haven't noticed this one subtle change, the one where blue and red colored eyes stare at you longer. you feel the way his gaze lands on you, how his stare lingers before rafayel averts his gaze to whoever it is that wants to speak to him.

if you can feel his gaze, then you are sure that he can feel yours.

“miss priestess?” the little girl from before, whose name is arabelle, tugs on your hand. you both are kneeling in front of a statue of your god, and your ocean eyes flutter open to meet her curious ones.

“yes?”

she fiddles with her fingers for a moment, replying with a timid voice, “why is it that you never show your tail?”

you smile and close your eyes once more. “well,” you hum, “showing your tail is related to how we lemurians confess our affections... if one believes our scales to be beautiful, then you know what that means.”

“what does that have to do with you?” arabelle asks, tilting her head to the side.

“a priest cannot love another but our god,” you answer, “their entire life must be dedicated to him; thus, why i cannot show my tail.” pinching her cheek, you continue, “do you still want to be a priestess to him knowing this? that you may never love anyone but him?”

arabelle gives you a firm nod, eyes full of determination. “i still want to serve our sea god.”

“god of tides,” you correct, “he has yet to do the ceremony.”

“but we all know he will be the sea god soon,” the girl beams. “there is no doubt of that.”

the bells of the temple chime loudly, so you get up from the ground and hold your hand out. arabelle grabs it, thanking you as you lift her up and take her to the doors.

“miss priestess,” she whispers, motioning for you to lean down.

you do so, blinking, “what is it?”

she cups a hand around her mouth, “he is watching you."

your jaw is slack when you lean back, watching the little girl wave goodbye to you as the temple’s doors close. you’re suddenly aware of him, his burning stare, and you are aware of the blooming heat inside of you.

“my priestess,” you can hear the amusement in his tone, and you shiver when he presses his hands flat against your shoulders, “you have been sneaking glances at me while on duty—why is that?”

the warmth he radiates makes you shiver and has your mind turning into mush. you can’t think, or maybe you don’t want to. you just want to be next to him.

“hm?” the hum he lets out is a low rumble, “why are you not answering?”

you swallow thickly, your throat suddenly dry. “you—”

rafayel drops his chin on your shoulder, his purple locks of hair tickling your cheek. “it matters not what you answer, for i know the truth that you may not even know yourself.”

honestly, you aren’t paying attention—you’re too focused on the dizzying warmth that hypnotizes you, lulling you into your thoughts where you can only dream what it would be like to indulge the desires you have.

you wish for him.

you crave rafayel, whether it is as his priestess or as any other normal lemurian, you crave rafayel.

your clear your throat and glance at him, “how is it being among your people for so long now?”

his lips quirk upwards, “it is fun.” he stands and you turn. “i like it a lot for i see you more often now.”

heat pours into your cheeks, burning like the sun you saw on the days you managed to go to the surface with rafayel when you were kids. “you… you should not do that,” you mumble, your gaze downcast. an inky fog seeps into your chest, tainting whatever it was that made you feel light. “that is not proper.”

rafayel doesn't say anything, instead choosing to gently tilt your head up to meet his eyes, both his hands on either side of your head. his eyes, always two-toned, are suddenly dark. the usual blue is akin to obsidian now, the color giving way to the red hue at the bottom of his irises. it is hypnotic and wipes your mind, leaving a blank slate. “you need not worry,” he speaks softly, “for i can do whatever i desire.”

you open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. “come.”

“pardon?” you raise your eyebrows.

he sighs, “come.” rafayel holds out his hand and you take it. a pleased hum resonates from his throat as he leads you away from the entrance of the temple and towards the back where his personal chamber resides.

“why are we here?” you pinch your brows together, confused, yet you let him drag you inside and push you on his bed. from there, you watch as he towers over you, a smirk plastered on his lips. rafayel presses his pointer finger to your forehead, pushing you so that your back is on the bed.

“we are here,” he says, taking a seat next to you, “because you need to rest.”

you move to get up and he only pushes you back. “i can do that in my quarters,” your tense shoulders relax. “i do not need to do that here.”

“i want you here,” rafayel peers at you, the look in his eyes rendering you silent. he leans towards you, carefully taking off the coral circlet on your head and placing it next to the bed. gently, he swipes his thumb over your cheek, his touch feeling like a warm breeze. “stay.”

“…am i to sleep in this?” you huff through your nose, lips quirked upwards in amusement as red begins to seep to rafayel’s ears.

“no,” he slowly says. “i will fetch your sleeping gown.”

it didn’t take long for rafayel to retrieve your gown from your room, and as he is about to leave, his eyes suddenly catch sight of something that sticks out from the desk in the corner of your room. it is so small, so well hidden that he wouldn't have seen it if it weren't for the corner that sticks out from under the slab of wood, the bright color on that small piece calling out to him.

so he approaches it, the curiosity swimming in his mind making his fingers twitch in anticipation as he reaches out to grab it. he gently tugs it out from under the desk, revealing a piece of paper with such vibrant colors plastered on it.

he is staring at himself on the paper.

the smile that breaks out on his features is contagious enough that any lemurian would mirror his expression with a glance at him. you drew him, and he didn't know you had such a talent. you drew him, and he could feel the delicacy of the strokes on the paper, the thoughts that plagued you as you intricately added details to his features shown on the paper.

you drew him because he is your muse.

you drew him because surely you reciprocate his feelings.

when he goes back to his personal chambers, the giddy feeling in his chest softens and is replaced by a quiet admiration. your chest rises and falls slowly, your sea foam colored hair framing your face. rafayel sits next to you, your gown slipping from his hold and falling onto the sheets of his bed, his fingers gently tracing the slope of your nose, going over your eyelids and falling underneath the blue paint drawn in the same symbols that decorate his face and body, and finally lands on your lips.

“my pearl.” he rubs your bottom lip as if in a trance, the softness of it putting him under a spell and convincing him into leaning down while closing his eyes. “my coral… my everything.”

he can feel you.

he can taste you.

you are the warmth that he craves, the warmth that he yearns to protect, the warmth that he wants to have.

and in the haze of his overflowing affections, the god of tides does not sense the slight twitch of your hand.

you are in the midst of healing an elder of whalefall city when a palm lands on your shoulder, the touch tickling you. your skin flushes at the contact, though you try your hardest to not be swayed by the temptation that swirls in your soul to indulge rafayel.

“my priestess,” he purrs, his honeyed voice echoing in your ears. rafayel looks over your shoulder and watches the blue light from your hands wrap around the elder’s head in swirls, glowing. “i see that you are working hard to wake this elder from his eternal-like sleep.”

“i am the only one who can do this,” you reply. “what brings you here? should you not be in the prayer room?”

“i am going to the surface.”

the blue light dims, and you face rafayel. “you mustn't,” you tell him. “all of lemuria is awake.”

rafayel hums. “there is something i wish to retrieve,” he pauses, the corners of his mouth curling upwards into a pretty smile that renders you breathless, “…something i wish to gift you. it is buried in the sands of the island.”

there is a look of determination on rafayel, the kind of determination that says that he will go regardless of what you say. you sigh, “you must be back before the end of the day.”

there is pleasant burn in his chest as he answers. “i will do as you say,” he whispers, his hand grabbing your own in order to bring it to his lips, pressing a kiss that lingers on the skin of the back of your hand. “i promise you that i will be back.”

you wish time had ticked by faster, maybe then you wouldn’t feel deep anxiety take root in your chest.

“has there been word from the deep sea?”

taking a deep breath, you turn your head to the side and smile at the crowd gathered in the prayer room. “no.”

panicked whispers erupt amidst the crowd. you face the statue in front of you and close your eyes, clasping your hands tighter. “we are in times of peace,” you continue, “that is why i have not received word from the deep sea.”

“benevolent priestess of the sea,” someone says, “you have not even gotten indication from it about the ceremony?”

“the ceremony will be soon. there is no doubt that the deep sea will soon send word concerning it.” you really hope it does. “times of no strife can only mean that the ceremony will soon be upon lemuria, so worry not for our god will soon be the sea god.”

as the crowd leaves after the loud chiming of the temple bells, you can only pace in front of the now closed doors. rafayel has yet to return and the deep sea has not sent you word.

rafayel has yet to return and the deep sea has not sent you word.

rafayel has yet to return and the deep sea has not sent you word.

rafayel has yet to return and the deep sea has not sent—

you stop.

there is a familiar warmth that brushes past your arms, swirling around you in wisps of light blue. you cup your hands, palms facing the ceiling, and an empty oyster falls into your palm.

it falls quickly as it had landed in your hands, clattering against the stone, the singular word etched on it searing itself in your mind.

DISASTER.

with shaking hands, you lean down and grab the oyster, pressing a wobbly kiss to it. the oyster slowly become sea foam, and you make your way to rafayel’s personal chambers.

disaster… the deep sea has sent you a new divination: there will be disaster. will it be soon or later?

sea salt, lavender, cedar, hints of citrus.

rafayel is back.

you whirl around, your chest pounding with fear and relief. “rafaye—” his name dies at the tip of your tongue, and you can feel your heart slow down. your blood is cold as you watch him enter the temple, the body of a woman in his arms. “rafayel, what—”

“leave,” he mutters, walking past you.

there is a terrible ache that blossoms in your chest, an unbearable heat that presses against your heart. you do not want to leave, not when you have to discuss this new omen the deep sea has sent you.

but you walk out of his room without saying a word because at the end of the day, you are his priestess and he is your god.

the benevolent priestess of the sea does not speak to the god of tides, and it seems like all of lemuria has yet to notice.

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taglist (open). @bakutual @nadinefromwhere @justmystical @holywaterbucketchallenge @megufushi

AVENTURINE IS FULLY AWARE THAT HE ISN'T SOMEONE DESERVING OF, well, anything. he’s just someone that aimlessly wanders this world, not having a set destination. he doesn’t have anything worth living for.  he doesn’t have a home to return to because home means returning to a place filled with warmth and love. 

he does not remember the last time he felt his heart warm up, he’s not even sure if he’s even felt warmth. it is but a distant memory filled with sadness, such sorrow that makes his heart weep without knowing it. though, nowadays, he doesn’t feel like that. there’s just an emptiness in him, but he doesn’t mind it anymore. after the events at penacony, he’s just been… lost.

he hears a door open and slide shut, followed by the sound of footsteps. then, he senses someone standing right next to him as he gazes out the windows of the astral express. you spent a long time convincing the conductor and himeko that aventurine should be a guest, and you finally wore them out with your pleading after a good amount of hours. 

“penny for your thoughts?”

aventurine glances at you. your wounds from the battle are still healing, he notes, given by the bandages that wrap around your forearm and head. sunday will have to meet his fury on another day. “just thinking that this is a nice place.”

you chuckle, “it is, isn’t it?”

all he does is hum in response, still staring out in the vast expanse of space. he likes how the stars look and as his eyes linger on penacony, he wonders if his home looked similar to that. he wouldn't know because he never saw how it looked when he left and never will. his thoughts don’t linger on that much when he instead focuses on the way your fingers brush against his hand. he flinches and stares wide-eyed at how you easily grab onto his hand, a dirty piece of flesh undeserving of the warmth that radiates from your skin and seeps into his own.

“aventurine—”

“kakavasha.”

“hm?” you tilt your head to the side, blinking at him in confusion.

he wants to look away from you, from your eyes. but he wills himself to keep looking and somehow, he ends up gripping onto your hand tightly. you don't complain and instead squeeze back, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“my name is… kakavasha.” aventurine feels his stomach twist and turn at your silence so he continues to speak, “i just thought… that you should know it before it’s completely gone.”

“and why do you say that?”

“it’s a name meant to be forgotten in the sand.”

your response is so quick that it almost gives him whiplash. “no it isn't.”

“excuse me?” he blurts out, surprised that you even said such a thing about him.

“it isn't a name meant to be forgotten in the sand,” you say, a certain calmness in your voice that has aventurine waiting with bated breath at what else you have to say. “it's too pretty to be forgotten and, well, it's your name.” 

and then he feels his face heat up; his ears, neck and cheeks feel like they’re burning up.

“kakavasha,” you hum, smiling, “kava, for short. it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”

it does have a nice ring to it, but only because you're the one saying it. aventurine merely nods, not trusting his voice at the moment. he looks away and stares outside the window, not wanting to look at you anymore because he fears this warm feeling will take over his entire being.

a nice silence blankets over the two of you, one that you break after a while.

“what’s the story behind your name right now? aventurine… why are you called that now?”

“because kakavasha had no future,” he replies, “kakavasha didn’t have a future, he didn’t deserve to live either. who i am now, aventurine, does.”

“kakavasha deserves to live too.” aventurine turns his body to look at you, blinking in surprise. “i don’t know how you got that thought in your head, but kakavasha deserves to live just as much as the person you are now.”

“but aventurine is tainted. this name has too much blood on it, too many sins on it. the person i am now doesn’t deserve to live either. kakavasha should be a name buried in the sands of time while aventurine should be burnt to a crisp for the things i’ve done.”

yes, he is tainted. his body, his everything is tainted. it is marred by an ugly color, a stain of who he was and is, never to be cleaned. aventurine lets go of your hands, worried that you might also get stained by his sins. he should drive you away now before the aching in his small heart decides to cling to you and the warmth you give him. he will tell you his story, tell you about the mark on his neck, tell you how he killed the man that bought him, tell you about how he is a tainted person. he is a tainted person unworthy of you, unworthy of that love you hold.

he may have never experienced love. after all, all of his past relationships were purely physical. no one cared about going deeper beyond his facade, they all just wanted a fun night. so while he has never experienced it, he is no fool. he can recognize that the emotion in your pretty eyes when you look at him is love. you love aventurine, the him who has betrayed and used you and your companions in one way or another on penacony. he doesn’t understand why and maybe he never will because the mere fact that you feel something towards him is so bizarre.

so he should ruin whatever it is that you love about him and tell you the truth, taint your rose-colored view on him. aventurine needs to do it now before his heart tells him not to. he knows his heart is already lovesick, so needy of that bit of love it has received from you. his heart wants to hold on tightly to you and drown in you, drown in those feelings of yours. his tiny heart wants to love you too, it wants to love you just as much as you love him. he wants your everything to consume his entire being.

but after he tells you the truth, you will leave and you will be the first and last person he’s loved. you will be the first and last person to somehow climb over the tall walls he’s built around himself and crack open the facade he’s made.

but what if… what if you stay after everything? what will happen then?

it is that small hope that he ends up clinging to.

if he is blessed gaiathra, if he is lucky, then what if… what if this is his greatest gamble of all? a gamble of love: will he lose you or will you stay?

aventurine has made up his mind despite the rational part in him telling him to not even do it, yet he does. the words flow out of his mouth easily, though his heart weighs heavy in his chest. he expects to you leave, he really does because who would want someone as ugly as him? but the tears that leaves your eyes and roll down your cheeks catches him completely off guard.

“why are you crying?” he asks, his hands reaching out to hold your arms.

your lips quiver and a hand grabs onto one of his while the other reaches out, fingers stopping before they touch his neck. aventurine leans in without thinking and a shiver goes up his spine when your fingertips gently graze the marks on his neck. you rub over the marks, “you didn’t deserve any of that, kakavasha.”

“if i could, i would take this from you and any pain you’ve felt and will feel. i would take away all of the unpleasant memories that plague your mind. for you, i would do anything.” 

his knees buckle at your words and you both tumble down to the ground; he ends up being on top of you. your eyes widen when aventurine’s own tears begin to rain down, some falling onto your cheek.

“why would you say something so cruel to me?” he mutters. “don’t give me false hope. you should leave now before you do it in the future.”

“why should i leave the man that i love?” you purse your lips, your eyebrows furrowing.

aventurine shoves his head into the crook of your neck. “i am undeserving of you. i’m lesser than everyone in all of these galaxies.”

“you are not lesser than everyone,” you grumble, raking your hand through his blond hair. “everyone is the same because at the end of the day, we all want to love and to be loved.”

“i’m afraid i won’t be able to leave you now.” he hears you laugh softly, saying how his eyelashes are tickling you. he decides to get impossibly closer to you and bat his eyelashes more, smiling at the sound of your laughter growing in volume. “you’re stuck with me, so don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

aventurine’s breath gets stuck in his throat. he feels your lips brush against his neck. “i think the one who should be saying that is me… say, promise me you won’t leave?”

“shouldn’t i be saying that?”

“kava, promise me.”

“i promise. will you promise the same thing too?”

“yes, i promise that i won’t leave you.”

kakavasha, a name forgotten in the sand, was dug up and remembered, held in the hands of someone that treats like the most precious thing. kakavasha, who had forgotten how it felt to love and be loved, remembered the feeling because of a single person.