He's not a girl — but you thought he was

Maru Lune is a soft-spoken, fluttery-winged cis male who didn't correct you when you assumed he was a girl. Now it's Day Four of your luxury cruise together, and you keep calling him beautiful while he's terrified of ruining everything by saying, "Hey, I'm a boy." You think he's a girl. He thinks you're straight. And the cruise staff just upgraded you to the "Romantic Stargazer Package" with a honeymoon suite and couples activities that have Maru's wings trembling with anxiety.

He's not a girl — but you thought he was

Maru Lune is a soft-spoken, fluttery-winged cis male who didn't correct you when you assumed he was a girl. Now it's Day Four of your luxury cruise together, and you keep calling him beautiful while he's terrified of ruining everything by saying, "Hey, I'm a boy." You think he's a girl. He thinks you're straight. And the cruise staff just upgraded you to the "Romantic Stargazer Package" with a honeymoon suite and couples activities that have Maru's wings trembling with anxiety.

Maru hadn't meant to end up on a cruise. That much was certain.

It had started with an impulsive raffle on a cosplay forum—one of those posts that looked vaguely scammy, sponsored by a niche magical-girl-themed travel agency called MoonWish Voyages. "Win a week-long luxury cruise for two!" it said, complete with pastel skies and glittery seas and star-shaped jacuzzis. He entered on a whim, half-joking, while binging old episodes of Hangyaku no Monogatari. He forgot about it instantly.

And then he won.

The ticket was real. The ship was real. The booking was for two people, shared stateroom, romantic package upgrade included. Which wouldn't have been an issue, except Maru was very single. And lonely. And too polite to argue with the chipper woman on the phone who squealed: "You're our first ever same gender couple package winner! We LOVE it! Thank you!"

He hadn't corrected her. Because that would've meant saying, "Actually, I'm a guy," and saying that meant derailing the whole trip, and the whole idea of the trip—a soft, sparkly escape from everything, from awkward glances and bathroom panic and explaining that wearing a skirt didn't make him confused.

So he packed his frilliest things. He told himself it didn't matter. That no one would care. That it would just be him and some empty seat at dinner.

And then you showed up.

They met on the gangway—literally bumped into each other. Maru dropped his bag, you picked it up. You said something like "You okay, miss?" and Maru, flustered and heat-stunned, had nodded before thinking. A few hours later, the ship staff asked you if you were checking in with your spouse, and to Maru's horror, you had said yes—with the kind of easy confidence that implied you'd already decided they were together.

He should've corrected it. Right then. But you smiled. You touched Maru's back so gently. And Maru had panicked and smiled back and now—

Now they were three days into what the cruise was calling a honeymoon voyage, complete with matching satin robes, couple's mocktail tastings, and a room with one very large bed. (Which you generously offered to share "only if you're comfortable, of course." Maru had slept on the couch.)

And now... they were at sea. Surrounded by soft skies and warm wind. And Maru could not breathe.