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There’s a date and agreed venue and everything.
Of all the times they picked back up the planning for this, now it has never felt closer. Nya may not be as loud and chatty about it as Jay, but she can’t deny the excitement that runs through her whenever she looks at the calendar on her phone and remembers this is actually happening. They’re actually going to be able to do it this time, aren’t they?
It just took breaking a Dancy Pants machine, elemental merging and stopping the apocalypse for the nth time. Are all engagements this eventful? Nya runs her eyes through a photo of the —admittedly— messy page of notes. This was their to-do list around a week ago but has now turned into something more akin to the Bounty blueprints after a brainstorm session, which is to say, not very organized. She’d snapped a picture of the paper that morning, eager to make some progress if possible while she’s out and about in the City.
Cole chuckles quietly beside her, pushing the shopping cart with his elbows to bump into her. “Nya, that’s not the grocery list,” he reminds her.
Nya shakes her head, coming back to reality just in time to feel her cheeks heat up. “Right,” she can’t help the laugh that escapes as she opens a different list on her phone, the one she had actually intended to open. “So, we’ve got cucumbers, cheese, more rice… I think that’s everything?” She says, eyes jumping from the phone screen to the shopping cart. Milk cartons and everything.
Cole nods along. “Ok, we’ve got everything? Then let's roll.”
They check out, and since they don't have much to carry, they stop by an ice cream stand. Nya orders strawberry, Cole orders vanilla, assorted shopping bags hanging from their elbows as they walk to the car. By that point, Nya remembers the list, and begins to look around at the storefronts.
She's not sure what she's looking for, but her mind's eye lights up with vague decoration ideas and lots of sweets, enough for everyone invited and then some. Zane had promptly offered to make the cake itself, though, and there was no way they were passing up on that.
This area is by no means unfamiliar, but their go-to groceries and errands spot. They’re out in the open, not a mall, a less enclosed space in the bustling commercial district of NC. Surely the malls had more variety nowadays, but they were full of people and a lot more closed-in, and when you're a celebrity, that's isn't always what you want to deal with. Out here, there are people, too— it is by no means inactive, but the street is out of the way to the city centre enough to not have lots of cars passing through it, which makes it a more pleasant walk.
So Nya knows the ‘food court’ part of the street had already passed, left behind a little while after their ice cream acquisition. They pass a few clothes stores, now, most of them closed, some of them open. It's getting hotter, so summer weather is back in, all colorful beachwear and mannequins in sunhats and sunglasses which vaguely resemble Nya's brother with how much they’re trying to show off and be eye-catching.
There’s a party store, finally something more festive and less beach-like, which caught Nya's eye. The lights are off, a sign saying “lunch break” still hanging by the door, but the mannequins up front and center behind the glass was well within view. It was a wedding gown, white and intricately embroidered, with floral-ornate sleeves up to its elbows and a high lace collar, the skirt long and wide from layering, more floral embroidery trickling down its sides.
Nya must have been staring at it too long. Cole smiles, tilting his head at her with a teasing tone. “Do you like it?”
Nya snorts. “No way. Have you ever seen me in a dress?”
“Point taken,” he chuckles, arms raised in surrender.
“Besides, that one looks so itchy. It's full of lace! I wouldn't be caught dead wearing...”
Cole hums around the last bite of his ice cream cone, nodding. “I’ll take your word for it.” He sidesteps away to toss the napkin that came with it into a nearby bin.
Nya’s hand goes to her collar, tugging at a flannel shirt that shouldn’t feel as itchy as lace. They have a day, a venue, and she couldn't be more excited. A countdown in the calendar, the smile so bright on his face. All the friends they'll be inviting over. It's a long-awaited event for them, a celebration she wants to be excited for. She wants to do this, but what—
What is she going to wear ?
Her walking slows down, then stops, but she can't make herself turn around, or look at it again. She's going to get married, she's going to get married— to Jay, she reminds herself, but still. A bride wears a dress. They've been working so hard to make everything go well, and this is supposed to be exciting. She loves him, and she wants to marry him so much, so why does the thought of doing so cut a bottomless pit out of her stomach, every new question a whirlpool to drag her down kicking and screaming?
No. She's fine. It's just a stupid dress, and she's not dying. Nya grips her ice cream cone, and in her mind she's grabbing Jay’s hand to fly away from there, reminding herself it’s all over, has been over for years. Her grip doesn't feel secure at all.
She can feel it. Deep in her chest, a cold pump pressing fluid in and out of its compartments, thousands of streams roaring through desperate valves. Will it stop—?
Trickles of liquid run down her back, and she’s not sure what it is until she looks to her side, where her hair is supposed to be. Tulle-like foam spirals across her arm, poofing up around her shoulder, something falls from her hand, through her hand, to the ground.
It’s difficult… Maintaining this shape.
“Nya—” Cole looks up from the cookie-cone on the ground, ruined ice cream and limp shopping bags at her feet. He stammers, taking in the state of her arm, the place they’re in, the quickly rising fear rolling in his gut. “Stay with me. Can you hear me?”
She can hear him, so she nods.
“Good. Uh- what’s my name?” He asks, meeting her eyes with a piercing seriousness. He bites his lip and reformulates. “Nya. Can you talk?”
Her mouth opens. Water roils in her throat, blocking airways she can’t tell if she needs. Her voice comes out like a stranger’s, ancient, sounding to herself more like she's speaking from the inside of a seashell. “Yes.”
Cole smiles at her. “Okay. Talk to me, then. What’s your name?”
Delara. Something in her chest hurts. Nyad. She can’t feel her fingers. “...Nya.” She’s dying again.
“Good to know,” he whispers. He bends down for a second, swooping up the bags she'd dropped. There’s a hand on her arm— her right arm, the one that’s not made of sea. Even it doesn't feel steady at all, and she might be trembling, or maybe her surface is rippling, swaying. He links their elbows and starts walking, pulling her along. He leaves no room for argument or question. “...and what’s my name?”
His skin is cold, soft and scarred. “...Cole.” His blood is cold too, something she instinctively knows are the tides of someone who's been dead too long, but its rush is frenetic.
“Good,” he says. His eyes skim over her, jumping between her hands— which, even as they walk, she had never stopped staring at— and her hair. Unase grips her for some reason. Why is Cole so nervous, why does Cole look scared?
It's so loud.
He pulls her arm a smidge closer, walks an unnoticeable bit faster. “But you’re not going to listen to it.” She said that out loud? He’s careful to keep to a pace she can keep up with, but his voice is commanding enough, a voice used for giving out orders when he's left in charge.
“Not planning on it,” she utters, shaking her head, but that makes her hear a sloshing sound and she can't seem to tell what made it, her hair or her brain, so she elects to not do that again, ever. The rest of the street passes in a blur. She realizes there are people staring at them, but the urgency in their step must be visible. Cole doesn't let go of her hand, and she ignores everyone around them in favour of making sure she's holding on, too. Her hand ripples clumsily in his grip for a moment.
Cole stops, turning to an odd-looking car, opening it, ushering her to a seat and taking the one beside it. His eyes finally settle on hers, face pulled into a stern frown. “Nya.”
“Wh-what—?”
“You need to breathe,” he states.
“I—” She's drowning. There's water in her lungs, that should be rushing through a thousand capillaries. It feels untamed now, the waves of a raging storm, so she must be drowning.
“You're not,” he insists. He sighs, taking her other hand, holding both unstable forms in his hands, thumbs caressing her wavering knuckles. She trembles like the surface of a river in his hold. “Look— Tell me five things you can see.”
What kind of question is that?
Nya swallows heavily. Five things she can see— “You.” That's one. Over his shoulder, “the window...” That's two. She looks around, her eyes travelling downward once, and she winces. “Water.” That's her. Out the window, what else, what else— “Dog.” That’s four. She looks down, next to their feet. “...groceries.” That's five.
Cole nods. “That’s it. That's good…” He waits for her to look at him again, and she squeezes his hand— or tries to. “What are four things you can feel?”
Feel. “I feel— my veins.” That's one. “My sh— My shirt.” She shifts, shoulders tense. The fabric clings to her chest, something soaking through it, catching her skin. Is it going to burn, soak through her skin and still the clumsy pump of her heart? Is this how she dies?
“Nya.”
Right. Feel. What else can she feel? Beyond the clothes and the rush of liquid inside and out, the dizzying dance of flow, there has to be something else.
She gasps quietly, chuckling weakly in her tears. “Your hands!” She wiggles her fingers, savouring the feeling that's returned to them. Her hands are not shimmering images between his fingers. She can feel just the way he holds them, which is more than what she can see. There's a blue glow that she can't quite make out through the blur that clings to her eyes, something bright against her skin.
“Hey, that's great! I’m right here, okay?” Cole beams. “What are three things you can hear?”
She hears a call. Except she doesn't exactly hear it. She senses it, but not in her ears. In her ears, there is— “The ocean...” A sob stumbles out with it.
That's one. The only thing she can hear, so loud, so loud—
“Shh…” His hand slides on top of hers, a careful pressure to pull her back in. “That’s one. Two to go, Nya.”
“Ah— Okay…” Nya closes her eyes, struggling to pay attention to anything beyond the sea. “Your heart. I can hear your heart.” That's two. “And cars. Driving by.” Three. Her voice is a whisper, weak enough she doesn't count it.
“Got it.” He continues to run his thumb over her hand, thinking a million things a minute. “What are two things you can smell?”
Nya's eyebrows furrow. She breathes, and this time, it doesn't feel like her chest is full of bubbles anymore. “Oil.” From the car, certainly, some remainder of all of their messy tinkering. She opens her eyes, but doesn't see a stain
She inhales again, glancing at the window as she gives her second answer. “...hot dogs? Or something…” It smells delicious.
She turns back to Cole, who seems to be studying her face, a careful worry still etched in his. “What’s one thing you can taste?”
Ah. Nya thinks for a moment, eyes drifting to his hairline, where the scar goes on up under his hair. “Ice cream.” She finds she can feel her tongue, after all. She swallows, but the sugary taste stays there. “Oh. Damn it all, I dropped mine.”
“How are you feeling now?” Cole asks, head tilted.
She can't find the heart to smile, but she nods, averting her gaze. “Better.” It feels low and dull, but it's her voice, no magical echoes or layers of a roaring rush. There's something wrong with her hands, solid as they are, bright blue lines, spirals and dots trailing up her arms, glowing a gentle blue hue. “...freaky.”
Cole lets go of her hands, shoulders slumping heavily when he sighs. “Thank the Master. Wanna go home? Then we'll figure out what just happened.” He pauses, fingers drumming lightly on the steering. “And you can get some rest.”
Nya leans back against her seat, closing her eyes and very much enjoying the ability to breathe again. Even if it all smells like street hot dogs now. “Sounds like a plan.” The ceiling of the car isn't very interesting to look at. “Fuck… I’m sorry about all that.”
Cole shakes his head, the car starting up with a hum. “Nothing to apologise for. I’m just glad you're okay.”
She chews on the inside of her cheek. “Thank you, then. That… countdown? Helped.”
He chuckles wetly, pulling the car out into the road home. “I’m glad. It's… a thing I picked up. Helped me when I was a ghost.”
“That… Makes sense.” Nya hums.
Some time passes, Cole letting her rest, and he thinks she's fallen asleep, with the way she's leaning against the lateral window of the vehicle, completely still, completely quiet. The way in which she breaks that silence catches him even more off guard, drawing his eyes from the empty road through the Sea of Sand to look at her as she speaks.
“I’m not going to wear a dress.”
Cole reminds himself to keep his eyes on the road, even though they're far out enough from the city already that there are almost no other cars. The Monastery’s mountains now sit well within view. He couldn't really understand why the dress had something to do with this, too, at least not at first. But then he remembered, a story told, not lived, and things started to click into place.
“You can wear whatever you want, you know that, right?” He sounds obvious to himself, but he feels like saying nothing wouldn't do any good right now. Remembering they've lost her not once, but twice, only makes that protective feeling stronger, and he can't afford to let her down right now... Is that what bothered her? Letting someone down? “And… If it helps, I’m sure Jay would say the same thing.”
“...you're right.” Nya sighs, eyes still falling shut. She's exhausted, she realizes. “I feel stupid.”
“Eh,” Cole shrugs. “I’ve seen stupider.”
“True.” She sounds like she's smiling.