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Siren blinks at the ceiling blearily. It’s five in the morning, perhaps. He’s not sure.
The castle walls look the same as always, solid and crinkly; his back still stings dully under his bandages; Kappa remains, warm against his side. He feels hazy and comfortable, on the tipping point of unconsciousness, yet unable to close his eyes.
It’s dark out, in the early hours of the night not quite turned morning, and Siren should probably be asleep. But he wants to absorb every second of this time with Kappa, knowing that this might be the last time he gets to have Kappa in his arms for a long time. The warmth of holding some dear... Siren doesn’t want that memory to fade.
It’s been hours since their first kiss, hours since Kappa crept in and clasped his hands earnestly and gave him hope for the future. They’ve been nestled together ever since, without even a thought of letting go; Kappa’s nose is tucked against Siren’s collarbones, curling towards him naturally, and Siren’s arms are looped around Kappa’s shoulder, drawing slow patterns on the curve of his hip.
Kappa had promised him a reunion, a time when everything was settled and they could be together again. Siren clings to that dream, clings to Kappa, and tries to let it soothe the heartache of their imminent separation. They still have tonight—He’s allowed to be selfish tonight.
Kappa snuffles against his chest, and maybe he’s more awake than Siren thought. Siren shuts his eyes and allows his limbs to go heavy with sleep, listening to how Kappa's breathing becomes more deliberate, measured.
Kappa turns in his arms. He’s moving too much now to really be asleep, Siren thinks wryly, and after a beat, his hunch is confirmed when Kappa cautiously slips out of his grasp. His side suddenly feels cold, and he suppresses the immediate urge to pull Kappa back to him.
Siren has spent long enough in the healer’s den to recognize the sound of someone leaving. The water, usually still in the dead of night, ripples over him in small waves and he aches, he aches, but keeps perfectly still, eyes closed, and lets Kappa go.
It hurts, even though he was expecting it. They’re going on different adventures, swimming down different paths, but still—he thought Kappa might at least say goodbye.
Or: I’ll miss you.
Or: I’ll think of you everyday.
Or: I like you, lots. So much my heart doesn’t know what to do with it all.
Or — “I’ll be outside,” Kappa murmurs, somewhere above him.
He’s still here, hovering close by. Not leaving yet. Siren breathes out, slow with relief, and thinks stay, please stay... but he hears how Kappa’s voice is low and a bit unsteady. He needs a moment to breathe. Siren can give him that.
Kappa drops a shy kiss on Siren’s temple before skittering away. Cute. It was barely a brush of lips over skin, but Siren feels fiery inside; consumed with tenderness, swallowed by affection. He lays motionless, quietly endeared.
After a minute, Siren gets up and moves slowly out of the den, careful not to dislodge his bandages. His back hurts, but he ignores it, continuing on.
His heart throbs louder than his wound, anyways.
He finds Kappa nearby sitting in a small entrance, silhouetted against the open ocean. The sea is deep and clear here, fully blue, shrinking miles down into darkness. Kappa glints like a drop of dark gold against the unwavering will of the deep.
Siren swims closer. Kappa doesn’t flinch at his presence, so Siren sits down beside him, studiously leaving an inch of space between them; close enough to touch, close enough to move away. The hour is quiet except for the currents lapping at the sides of the castle. Soft, blind movement; push and pull, give and take.
It’s several long minutes that they sit there, watching the ocean slumber, and then: “I’m afraid,” Kappa whispers, finally, his eyes somewhere far-away.
Siren’s chest stings, and he squeezes Kappa’s hand, twining their fingers together. “That’s okay,” he says gently. “It’s okay, I’m here.”
“No, I—” Kappa starts, and closes his eyes, frustrated and pained. Siren watches the blue light splay over the slope of Kappa’s nose—beautiful, he thinks. But now isn’t the time for that. Kappa is shuddering next to him, and Siren knows that this isn’t a problem he can kiss away.
“What is it?” he prompts, running a finger over Kappa’s knuckles.
“I’m afraid of—of this. I’m afraid that I can’t ever fully give myself to you, because I’ll always be tied to the prophecy first.” Kappa bites the inside of his lip, shifting anxiously. “I hate that my identity as the Beacon will always be entangled with our relationship. I want to be able to choose you of my own will, and—and let you know that I want you.”
“You have me,” Siren replies softly. “You’ve had me from the beginning.”
Kappa tilts into him, leaning his head just slightly against Siren’s shoulder. “I know,” he answers, affectionate yet weary. “Isn’t that the problem, though? That we’ve been connected by the prophecy from the moment we met?”
“I don’t think so,” Siren says thoughtfully. “The prophecy predicts that you should kill me. But we’ve rejected that future. Our solution isn’t violence… it’s love.”
“Love,” Kappa echoes, and Siren worries, suddenly, that he was too open, too transparent with his declarations. Was it too soon? Too much? He didn’t say it in so many words, but the feeling was there—and it’s been there for a while, festering in his heart, in the back of his throat. I could love you. I might even be loving you right now.
Siren swallows heavily, looking out over the blue horizon, vulnerable in the wake of their conversation. It’s ironic, really; they’ve already swept each other into romantic embraces, already kissed each other silly—but this is a different kind of intimacy. The newness of it makes them shy and gentle with each other; cautious of overstepping, still holding onto each other for balance — but quietly, they are glowing, they are blooming.
Kappa tentatively curls closer into his chest, and Siren’s heart swells as he wraps an arm around Kappa’s shoulders in return.
“We were brought together because you’re the Beacon, yes,” Siren says carefully, “but that doesn’t matter. You choose yourself over the prophecy, you chose me over the prophecy. You don’t need to prove anything to me.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me, either.” Kappa runs a thumb over his elbow, once, twice. Soothing. “It’s just—it’s just us, you know?”
“I know,” Siren whispers. He presses his lips to Kappa’s forehead, just resting there, still and calm. It’s not quite a kiss, but when he speaks again, his mouth brushes Kappa’s hairline, keeping close. “I like us.”
They could be the only people in the world right now, just watching the water sway back and forth. With the guards not due to wake until morning, there's no bustle in the castle; a few fish swim by intermittently, sluggish in the pre-dawn hours. The loneliness is oddly comforting.
Siren curls his tail discreetly around Kappa’s, watching their fins tangle together in the deep blue. Kappa hides a sigh against his chest — warm and peaceful but not quite at peace. Siren understands immediately.
Sitting here, watching the world spin and the minutes tick away, Siren can feel the impermanence of the moment so acutely that it stings. This nostalgia for the present, yearning for a moment that is constantly leaving. It’s hard, Siren thinks, that we came together so quickly, so violently, and that we have to part so soon, even with love on our lips.
A school of fish darts around them excitedly. The sea is slowly turning a shade of dusky dawn, first light filtering down from above.
“I’m going to be brave,” Kappa says quietly into the depths, gazing at some faraway point. His eyes are soft and a little sad. “I’m going to be brave for you out there.”
“I know you will,” Siren replies, giving him a small smile. “Of course you will. And I’ll be strong for you, too.”
“Don’t make me cry,” Kappa laughs, watery at the edges. “God, you’re so… good. You’re so good to me.”
“Don’t cry,” Siren says, a little alarmed. “Well—I mean, you can if you want.”
“It’s okay,” Kappa giggles, swiping a hand over his eyes. “I’m okay.”
He looks up at Siren then, so very fond, and leans up for a kiss—hesitant, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to ask for it, even after everything. Siren melts into him, tasting the sweetness and trying to return it tenfold. You’ve got me — I’ve got you.
“Thank you,” Kappa says, pressing the words into his mouth. Their foreheads tip together, lingering, and Siren brushes Kappa’s cheek delicately. His lips are buzzing.
“Don’t forget about me, okay?” Siren says in a rush, “I know you’re leaving, but don’t—don’t—”
“As if I could ever,” Kappa interrupts him gently. He tugs Siren in again, cradling his face firmly. “As if I could ever forget you.”
“You—” Siren breaks off, feeling his ears redden. He settles for simply clasping Kappa’s hands.
Kappa seems to understand, and he pulls Siren into a hug, swaying them gently. “Just a few more minutes, okay?” he murmurs, leaving little butterfly kisses over the slope of Siren’s collarbones, as if he’s trying to drown himself by covering Siren with love.
“Yeah,” Siren exhales. He combs his hands through Kappa’s hair, tangling and untangling it over and over again. Ensconced in each other’s arms, they steal moments from the dawn; touching each other warmly and whispering tender, shy things. Maybe if they kept their eyes closed, they could stay here forever.
But just like a bird winging over the high seas, it ends. The ocean is rustling with the sounds of the awakening castle, and time is slipping through Siren’s fingers. Kappa shivers into him, breath hitching with anxiety and thrill and a hint of something more as Siren runs his hands over Kappa’s shoulder blades and down to his waist.
“Be safe,” Siren says quietly.
“You too,” Kappa answers, eyes deep and sincere.
It is a long time before they let each other go.