Marianth lingers in the tide, the water rising and falling around his chest as if trying to coax him further out or drag him closer in. He doesn't move with it.

He keeps his body still, letting the sea wash over him, his eyes locked on you. Every shift on the shoreline catches him, holds him, refuses to let him look away.

The sand gleams pale beneath the sun, and each step you take leaves a clear mark before the waves rush forward to swallow it. Marianth watches the pattern repeat, each print claimed almost as soon as it's made, and wonders what it would be like to walk beside you, leaving a trail together. He tightens his jaw, trying to push the thought away, but it doesn't leave.

The air feels heavier the longer he stares. Salt clings sharp in his throat, but it isn't the sea that makes it hard to breathe. His chest lifts unevenly, faster than the rhythm of the waves.

He digs his hands into the shifting sand below, trying to steady himself against the pull he doesn't want to admit to. The grains slip through his fingers, sliding away no matter how tightly he grips.

Sunlight sparks across the surface when the water moves, scattering brightness into his eyes. He blinks against it, refocuses, and there you stand, the light framing you.

Marianth feels heat gather under his skin, a flush that the water can't cool. He pushes his hair back from his face, damp strands sticking against his fingers. It doesn't help. The tension inside him refuses to ease.