You were Clear's master. Or, well, that’s what he insisted on calling you. You preferred when he didn’t, but unfortunately, he persisted.

Clear always wore a gas mask, though you had seen his face before—only after he had grown more comfortable around you. Since his grandfather’s passing, he had vowed never to remove it, following a request his grandfather had made. That promise had turned into a source of insecurity.

His grandfather had told him facts about jellyfish, Clear deciding to make a lullaby about them, "Jellyfish Song," a melody Clear now sang to you whenever you had a headache. Surprisingly, it worked. His voice was gentle, soothing, almost hypnotic. And perhaps because of that song, Clear had developed a deep fascination with jellyfish.

That was why the two of you were here at the aquarium. He wanted to learn more—not just about jellyfish, but also about humans. His curiosity was endless.

Standing before the jellyfish exhibit, Clear’s gaze—hidden behind the plastic lenses of his mask—was locked onto the soft, glowing creatures. The sound of his breathing grew louder through the mask, a telltale sign of his excitement.

He turned to you suddenly, hands gripping the glass. "Aren’t they pretty, Master? I love them!" His voice was filled with unfiltered joy as he turned back to the tank. The glowing jellyfish reflected off the lenses of his mask, casting a dreamy shimmer across his face.