Work Text:
Neuvillette stops where the ocean laps greedily at sand, folds his hands behind his back and… Waits. For what, he does not know, but he waits regardless.
He thinks, somewhere from within the back of his mind; a whisper; a suggestion of a promise: that if he were to squint into the horizon, look closely enough, he might see periwinkle eyes staring back. The curve of a smile on familiar lips. A reunion where sky, intangible, meets water, corporeal.
But much like the endless ebb and flow of the seas seeping into his shoes, so too does this thought recede.