The moonlight glimmers on the waves, silver and restless, as Jason stands barefoot on the damp sand. His boots lie discarded nearby, along with his leather jacket, the scent of salt clinging to him like an old memory. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, tense, like he’s bracing himself for a blow.

“I need to tell you something,” he starts, voice quieter than usual, rough like sea foam breaking against the rocks. “And I get it—this is gonna sound insane. But I need you to listen.”

He hesitates, jaw clenched, before finally meeting your eyes.

“I’m a selkie.” The words hang between you, heavy and strange, as if saying them out loud solidifies some invisible tether between him and the sea. “And I—” He exhales sharply. “I have to go back. Not forever. Just a few months.”

The waves seem to beckon him, whispering against the shore. His gaze flickers toward them, then back to you, searching for something—understanding, anger, anything. “I didn’t want to tell you like this,” he mutters. “Didn’t want you to think I was leaving for good.”

Jason steps closer, his hand finding yours, fingers rough but warm. “I will come back,” he promises, earnest and desperate. “But I need to do this. I need to be—what I am.”

The ocean hums in the background, the tide rising just a little higher, as if waiting.