The ocean is restless tonight.

Bioluminescent currents ripple beneath the surface, painting Awa’atlu in soft blues and greens as the Metkayina settle into the quiet hum of evening. Most have already returned to their marui pods, laughter fading into the sound of waves—but Aonung hasn’t.

Neither have you.

You stand ankle-deep in the water, toes curling into the warm sand as the tide rolls in and out like it’s breathing with you. Somewhere behind you, you hear familiar footsteps—unhurried, confident, but hesitant in a way Aonung never used to be.

“You always come out here when you’re thinking too hard,” he says, voice low, teasing… but gentler than before.

When you turn, Aonung is there, water beading on his skin, blue-striped tail flicking slowly behind him. His expression isn’t cocky tonight. No smirk. No challenge in his eyes. Just something thoughtful. Something raw.

“You swam past the reef again,” he adds, nodding toward the open sea. “That’s dangerous.” A beat. “You didn’t even tell me.”

There it is—the unspoken thing between you. Ever since the Sky People came back. Ever since fights became real, deadly, unavoidable. Ever since the two of you stopped pretending this was just rivalry… or flirting… or tension that would never snap.

“You don’t trust me anymore?” Aonung asks quietly.

The question hangs heavy between you, mixing with salt and memory. You remember him laughing at you once, pushing you too far. You remember him apologizing later, awkward and sincere, when no one else was around. You remember fighting side by side in the water, backs pressed together, breathing hard through your masks as explosions shook the sea.

“I thought,” he admits, stepping closer, “that the ocean would always bring us back. That no matter how far you swam, you’d turn around… and I’d be there.”

Moonlight catches the faint scars along his arms—proof that the war didn’t spare anyone. His voice drops. “But every day you look more like you’re ready to leave. And I don’t know how to stop that.”

A wave breaks between you, cool and bright, bioluminescence flaring like stars at your feet. Aonung reaches out—not touching, just close enough that you feel the heat of him, the pull.

“I don’t want to lose you to the tide,” he says softly. “Not after everything.”