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Language:
English
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Published:
2026-03-13
Completed:
2026-04-05
Words:
543
Chapters:
2/2
Comments:
12
Kudos:
4
Bookmarks:
2
Hits:
69

Warm Sunset, Silent Clouds

Summary:

I wanna see these two little guys interact—ExoticSailor and MirrorMan....
So I cooked this one 😛
If I get the time, I'll draw these two interacting 🐟

Notes:

HI !:D
This is my first time to publish a novel on this website, and also my first novel...

English isn't my first language, so I'm using a translator. Please don't throw bricks at me if I don't understand something! 😭😭🙏🙏

No one's cooking for this ship, so I had to do it myself 🥹

There's NO FOOD... I'm WASTING away...

I REAL NEED EXIRROR THIS SHIP 😌❤️‍🩹

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

In the endless sky and curling mist, a small cottage hides—painted in blues and grays, small but filled with countless yesterdays.

The last light of sunset falls upon it. The mirror, reflecting that glow, slowly wakes on a rumpled bed—MirrorMan. His eyes open lazily. He turns over—the familiar figure is gone. Beside him now: only the shadow of sunset, and another bed, neatly made.

"Overslept... oops."

MirrorMan rubs his eyes and gets up. He can't be bothered to make his bed. He can't even be bothered to tidy himself. Hunger pulls him toward the kitchen, his feet padding softly, hoping his friend won't catch him looking like this.

The sailor isn't there.

The kitchen is empty. Dishes sit in the sink, washed but not put away. No food left for him.

"Eating without me... Let's see what's in the fridge."

A cheeseburger. Frozen solid.

Frozen? What's frozen to a body made of mirror? He doesn't think about it. Hunger wins. He bites down—crunch, crackle—and the hunger fades.

------------

He steps outside to find the sailor—the one who isn't always there.

Sunset paints the world red. It paints him too. For a moment he stands frozen in the doorway, warmth washing over him—but he feels nothing. He's wanted to hold this light before. But sunset only rests on him, never in his hands.

He can see its shape. He cannot feel its warmth.

To see, and not to touch.
To meet, and not to hold.

He carries sunset's warmth and clouds' silence down the stone path—their path. Fog rolls in. The road beneath his feet is still there, but ahead is nothing. He walks on, not knowing where he's going. The mist flows over him, wiping away the sunset, the clouds, everything he carried. Only the fog's unknown remains.

A tower looms ahead.

The fog lifts. Sunset and clouds return. Stone steps rise toward the glowing sky, silent and endless. He climbs. Step by step, toward where sky and light wait.

At the top, everything falls quiet.

A familiar silhouette. The dark figure's hat.

"You never cook for me, do you..."

The dark figure turns.

"You were sleeping well. No need to wake you."

"I had strange dreams, you know. Didn't you see my bed?"

"Not my business."

"Then... can you cook?"
MirrorMan asks softly.

"Not now." The dark figure answers softly.

"Can we go home? Come back home."

"When I feel like it, I will."

"What are you doing?"

"Enjoying the view."

"I want to enjoy it too. Don't know when I'll see it again."

MirrorMan stands beside him. Quiet.

The dark figure doesn't turn.

Dark and red, side by side.
Silent.
Watching the sunset hold the sky,
the crimson clouds folding into each other.

And then—
nothing else.

Only the warm red.
Holding them.