Archive of Our Own ^beta

The waves came in—transient, yet always there. Rising, falling. Scattering sunlight like shattered glass across the water.  

It’s summer, ain’t it?

I hadn’t planned on coming here today.  

But the air smelled like salt and sunscreen, and the laughter of strangers carried on the wind, and suddenly, I was walking barefoot on the hot sand, my chest tight with something between nostalgia and grief. 

The beach was crowded this afternoon.

I watched from the boardwalk as Skateboard and Slingshot raced to build a sandcastle, their laughter carrying on the salt breeze. Katana sat under an umbrella pretending to read while stealing glances at where Vine Staff and Shuriken wrestled in the shallow waters.

A kid ran past me with a sparkler, nearly setting my sleeve on fire. His dad scooped him up, spinning him until their voices mingled with the wind.

I stared at my shadow on the floor. Hey, perhaps the Sun could be my partner. Always there whenever and wherever I went, always cheering me up on gloomy days. Its bright rays, though blinding at times, never fail to give me warmth and hope.

Just like you.

Three summers ago, you dragged me to this same beach after training, when it was so damn hot in the summer. Your stupid sandals slapped against the boardwalk like gunshots. 

"Spawndays are mandatory fun," you’d lie to get me going, shoving a melting popsicle into my hand. "Even for grumpy bastards who hate sunshine."

To be frank, I caught myself agreeing with you a bit now.

I scowled, but ate it anyway. The sugar stuck to my fingers, and you laughed when I tried to wipe it on your shirt.  

How we watched as the waves washed over our footprints, and that dumb picture of us you drew in the sand…

"Happy fucking spawnday," I’d muttered.  

You grinned like it was the best gift you’d ever gotten.

Now, the tide pulled at my ankles, greedy. The horizon was too bright, too empty.  

I let my steps trace along where the water met the sand.

No sandal-slaps. No laughs. Just the hollow crash of waves and inphernals screaming farther down the shore. Their joy felt like a personal insult.  

I dug my heels into the sand where you'd drawn that stupid picture. The grains shifted, but held no memory of us. 

The popsicle stand was still there. I bought two—one cola, one strawberry, your favorite—and let yours melt down my fingers in the heat.  

Pathetic.

But when the sticky syrup dripped onto the boardwalk, I almost heard you laugh again. 

That sound—too loud, too bright for this quiet shoreline—the way you’d always laughed like the world couldn’t touch you, even when it was crumbling around us.  

You said it like a promise that last morning, fingers fumbling with the bracelets’ knots. I should’ve known then—how tightly you tied them, like you were trying to outrun the inevitable.

Somewhere beyond these waves now, you’re surrounded by marble walls and people who don’t know how you take your coffee (milk and two sugars, stirred with that ridiculous sword-shaped stick you stole from Medkit’s apartment). People who’ve never seen you wake up with sand between your fingers from sleeping on the beach again.  

People who’ll never understand why I keep finding red threads from your old hoodie in my gear. 

A kid downshore shrieked as his friend pretended to drown in the water. For a heartbeat, it’s your stupid drawing disappearing under the tide again, my boot hovering over the wet sand like I could preserve it if I blocked the water.

The red-horned lifeguard clumsily ran to check out their act. I sighed, helpless. 

You’d be terrible at deity work. 

Too reckless with your heart. Too quick to throw yourself between danger and anyone smaller. Too you —all sharp edges and stupid grins that could light up Crossroads at midnight.  

But the higher-ups probably fixed you by now. 

The sun dipped lower. Shadows stretched like they were reaching for something.  

The photo’s edges stuck to my palms when I pulled it out. The summer festival. The annual firework show you promised we’d watch again. There you were frozen mid-laugh, helmet tilted from leaning against my shoulder. I pressed it against my chest.

“Happy spawnday, dumbass.”

The waves kept their silence.

But when the wind shifted—  

—I heard it. Faint. Off-key. Your stupid humming from the festival when you thought I wasn't listening.  

I closed my eyes and let the saline air become your elbow knocking mine as we split that popsicle. The way you shouted "Dolphin Slash!" at training like it wasn't embarrassing. 

And that last morning, when you wrenched the bracelets tight enough to bruise, your voice cracking around the lie:

“I’ll come back.”

As if saying it louder could make it true.

The tide's coming in. The grey clouds are, too. Unlike you. 

Why did you leave me?

The words tore out like shrapnel, ugly and unbidden. I hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to care . Yet the waves swallowed my anger like they’d stolen your footprints three summers ago. 

You’d warned me. That last morning, fingers knotted in my sleeve as if your hand carried a magnet that my prosthetics attracted. But warnings don’t stop the bleeding when the knife’s already buried in my ribs.  

I crushed the photo edge.  

Was that worth it?

The you in the picture kept laughing. Frozen. Untouchable. A relic from when your hands were stained with motor oil instead of incense, when you’d rather eat cheap takeaway meals than divine rations.  

No matter how tightly we have been tied together… 

Our bracelets had snapped. I waited day by day for the locker next to mine at Phight to bear a name once again. Every fucking tether between us turned to smoke—  

And you let it. 

The first raindrop hit the boardwalk.  

I hate you.

Lie.  

I hope they carved out your heart too.

Lie.  

I’m glad you’re gone.

The storm broke. Inphernals scrambled for shelter as the sky sang its song of sorrow. 

Is this how life would be without the Sun?

Rain lashed at the photo, blurring your face, your laugh, the way your pinky had hooked mine when you thought I wasn’t looking—  

I see...but still… 

I shoved the ruined picture back in my pocket. Where it belonged. Where it burned.  

Because the truth was worse:  

Love is when you want to be by my side.  

And I’d rather chew glass than admit how badly I still—  

The thunder interrupted. I hope that was you. 

But I roared back.  

"FUCK YOU FOR MAKING ME REMEMBER!" 

But the ocean didn’t care. It never did. It just kept singing its stupid song, wave after wave after wave…  

…until I was choking on rainwater and something worse. 

The storm passed. The photo in my pocket was pulp now, your laughter dissolved into seawater and my own fucking weakness.

I should burn it. Should've done it months ago.

But when I peeled the ruined paper apart, my fingers moved gently—like they remembered how to hold something without breaking it.

"...Asshole."

My voice cracked. The waves didn't laugh at me this time– just rolled onward, indifferent, as they always did through every sunrise and sunset, through the seasons that come and go.

And yet.

That in the entirety of the Inpherno, in the millions of battles and broken things— 

I met you in a corner of endless history.

That's the cruellest part. 

Across thousands of ruined lives—of all the people who could've found me bleeding in that alley—

It had to be you. 

Sunlight in human form, grinning like you'd won the lottery just because I'd survived another night. Dragging me to beaches. Forcing me to celebrate. Teaching me what happiness, kindness, and love tasted like.

Everyone’s moved on. Soon enough there'll be no proof we’ve ever spent time together.

Forgetting has never been any easier.

But I’ll always remember this miracle.

Just as how the rain had stopped and the night restored its silence.  My hands were shaking.

I pressed the soggy photo to my forehead like some ritual you'd laugh at.

"I miss you."

The confession curled into the salt air, fragile as the foam on the waves.

Somewhere beyond the horizon, in your gilded cage of duty and destiny, I hope you’re miserable. I hope Illumina scolds you for humming during prayers. I hope you mail me emergency food like you used to.

But most of all?

I only found one thing.

I hope you’re fighting to come back.

And when you do—if you do—

I’ll be here. Waiting for the sunrise.

One popsicle in each hand.

Sand in my shoes, ready to say: 

“Took you long enough, dumbass.”