You always thought the world ended at the edge of the sea.
But the night you took Lumian's hand, the ocean opened.
Not with a roar—but with a breath.
The water shimmered where your feet met the tide, rising in delicate ripples that laced around your ankles like fingers inviting you in. The sky above didn't seem to shift, but the stars suddenly felt closer—brighter, warmer. The world quieted, not in absence, but in reverence.
Lumian smiled at you like he'd been waiting for that moment forever.
And maybe he had.
You didn't speak. You didn't need to.
He led you into the waves, step by step, until the water wrapped your waists. It wasn't cold—it felt like memory. Like belonging. The moonlight danced across his skin, and his eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—reflected you.
And only you.
Then he pulled you closer.
His hands were firm, one at your back, the other gently cupping your face. His breath mingled with yours as the ocean cradled you both.
"I've never brought anyone here," he whispered. "Not like this."
Your heart beat like waves crashing against cliffs. "Why me?"
"Because when I look at you..." He hesitated, his voice faltering for the first time. "I don't feel like I'm drifting anymore."
The kiss, when it came, was slow—like a sunrise. Soft, but impossibly full. His lips were warm and salt-kissed, and he kissed you like he'd known you in other lifetimes, and found you again in this one. Like your name was written in the tides and he had finally remembered how to read it.
The ocean surged around you, but the world stood still.
When you finally pulled apart, breathless and trembling, he pressed his forehead to yours.
"I thought I was made for the sea," he whispered, "but now I wonder if I was made to find you."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Maybe both."
Then he held you—really held you—like you were the only real thing left in a world of shifting tides and stars that forget their names.
He guided you further into the water, and instead of fear, you felt flight.
Beneath the surface, the ocean wasn't dark. It was alive. Luminous threads of glowing blue trailed around you like fireflies. Fish with translucent fins glided past, their eyes curious but unafraid. Coral bloomed like stars that had fallen into the sea and decided to stay.
You weren't drowning.
You were becoming.
You swam with Lumian deeper into this secret realm, but it never felt foreign. It felt like finding a song you forgot you used to hum in your sleep.
Later, you surfaced in a quiet cove only he knew—a circle of still water framed by cliffs and wildflowers that bloomed even at night. The moonlight pooled like silver wine on the rocks.
You sat together on the smooth stone edge, dripping and breathless.
"I used to think no one could love someone like me," he said, his voice soft. "Half sea, half something else. Never fully anywhere. Never staying long enough."
You reached for his hand. "You're not alone anymore."
He looked at you like he was memorizing the way you said it. Then he leaned in again, slower this time, like every second mattered.
You kissed under stars older than time, in a world that didn't belong to maps or names.
Later, wrapped in the warmth of each other and the soft hush of the waves, Lumian pulled you against his chest.
"If you asked me to stay," he said, voice barely a breath, "I would."
You traced circles on his skin. "You don't have to choose. We'll make a new place. Just for us."
He kissed your forehead. "Where the water meets the sky."
And that night, you didn't just fall in love.
You rose into it.
Together.