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Centuries away from it all- what felt like a different lifetime away, so impossible to reach, but finally in his hands- was a beach. The waves rolled in, clean and glassy blue, and seashells sat buried beneath soft grains of white sand. The day was windy, warmed by the hot sun of the summer solstice, and three trolls all breathed easy for the first time in their lives.
Jentha sat on a furby-printed towel (an “I know we don’t get along but can we at least be civil” gift from Murrit), comically large sunglasses on her sunburnt face, lounging like a cat. Currently enveloped in a good book, she relaxed in the warm day.
Dismas Laid on his back in the sand, eyes shut and an arm protecting them from the sun. He was only dimly anxious, and more out of instinct that anything- he’d spent so long having to keep the bandages on his chest dry that he still wasn’t used to having them off. And having scars that weren’t bright orange, or that didn’t still hurt. It was... decidedly not unpleasant.
Yawning, he reached up, stretching his shoulders as his fingertips brushed the salty air. Ever so gently, a feather light touch grazed the pads of his fingers. Opening an eye to register who or what it was, a smile panned across his face.
Murrit had... changed. Obviously, a lot of things had changed- they weren’t a pitch couple anymore (neither of them could fully grasp that yet, or why or how they were both happier like that. But they had plenty of time), Murrit was actually talking through their issues, and they could see each other. In person. Safely. But it wasn’t just the larger changes- smaller things had changed about the seadweller. Less life changing, but still very welcome.
He let his hair grow longer, and given how he was trying to make an effort to take care of himself, his curls were returning. His wine-Black ringlets brushed into his eyes and just barely grazed the sides of his neck, the sides still kept short. There was a hue of violet staining his skin, and a small couple of freckles had appeared over the summer. His smile had become shaky- unsure, but softer.
Dismas dropped one arm to shield his eyes from the sun, before loosely tangling his other hand with Murrit’s.
“Hey,” Dismas whispered.
“Howdy,” Murrit chuckled, the sound light, her shoulders bouncing. Dismas considered the sight as it made something twist in his chest, painfully new and painfully red. Here he was- safe, all things considered, and maybe not all there yet, but making it there. His moirail was at his side, his matesprit was standing above him on a beach that was clean, and sunny, and all too dreamlike. A part of Dismas still expected him to wake up. He wants to do something, to express the warm feeling in his chest- to express how far they’ve all come. He yearns for the words to put to this moment, and bubbling up from his chest, they do.
Dismas laughs along with Murrit, though he doesn’t know why, exactly. But he doesn’t mind. Murrit takes a step back, the grip on their matesprit’s fingers loosening. It may just look like they were stepping back to go back to what they were doing- dancing and frolicking around in the sand and sea, the one bone-sharp angles of their body now gentle seaside waves, lines softening to curves. Grimaces of fear melting into the crinkling of smiling eyes.
Before he can understand why, Dismas tugs gently on Murrit’s fingers. “Stay, please,” the words tumble out embarrassingly. Where he expects Murrit to jab at him playfully, he only smiles and takes a seat at Dismas’s side. The seadweller leans over, pressing a small kiss to the scarred skin just above the corner of Dismas’s lips.
“Y’know, Th-third whe-wh-wheeling over h-h-here is extremely f-fun,” Jentha says, but there’s no bite to it. Dismas reaches over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugger her closer.
“I’m sorry, Jenth,” Dismas half-jokes. His moirail groans, but he can see the smile on her face.
“Afternoon, bookworm,” Murrit greets Jentha.
“Afternoon, fishstick,” She grumbles back.
This is nice- Dismas tells himself. Though the light hasn’t dimmed, the horizon is tinged with pink as the evening begins and the sun makes its descent. A ringlet of Murrit’s hair blows into his eyes with the breeze.
This is really nice.