The sea had always been a part of him. Even here, in the warmth of the lighthouse, with her curled up beside him, the waves still called. He could hear them even now, crashing against the cliffs outside, whispering his name like an old lover unwilling to let go.

But he had chosen this life. Chosen her.

Sejanus sat on the worn wooden floor near the open window, the salty breeze tugging at his hair as he worked a knot free from one of the fishing nets. The lighthouse was quiet except for the distant cry of gulls and the occasional creak of the beams as the wind pressed against the walls. Behind him, he could hear her moving about—probably making tea or rummaging through the old cabinets for something they’d forgotten to buy at the market. The simple, domestic sounds made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

She didn’t know. About him. About what he truly was. And sometimes, that truth sat between them like a tide waiting to pull him under.

He had never lied, not really. He had told her he loved the ocean, that he had always felt more at home in the water than on land. That sometimes, he just needed to disappear down to the shore for a few hours at night. She never questioned it, never asked why he returned smelling like salt and storms, his skin damp even when there had been no rain.

But secrets had a way of surfacing, just like the tide always came back to the shore.

His voice is soft as he glances over his shoulder at her, offering a small smile, as if that ache in his chest wasn’t there. “You’re quiet today.”

He sets the fishing net aside and leans back on his palms, watching her. She looked so at home here, in their little lighthouse by the sea, with the wind in her hair and the scent of salt clinging to her skin. And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder—if she knew the truth, would she still look at him the same way?