Parings: Phainon x gn!reader
Summary: Despite the promise of vast wheat fields, spun gold rippling under the sun, it was the beach you remember the clearest: The gentle churn of waves, the whisper of salt carried on the breeze, the clear tide that rushes in, and the same soft blues of his eyes. Or, you and Phainon walk along the beach.
Tags: modern au, one shot, childhood friends, light angst, requited unrequited love if you squint, no use of y/n, vaguely inspired by 'At The Beach, In Every Life' (if you couldn't tell)
wc: 879
a/n: hiya!!! I finished this about 7ish months ago and thought: why not upload it to tblr?? (smth smth quantity over quality smth smth...) This fic is entirely self-indulgent lol. I want to write more, but uni has been kicking my ass lately (ironically, I also major in creative writing, how about that??). Apologies in advance if there are any errors!!!
cross-posted here on ao3!!
Aedes Elysiae, a small coastal town on the east coast.
The tide churns in small waves, lapping at the sandy banks. The water's chilly, crystal clear. Splashing at your knees, you can see your feet sink into its darkened sand at the bottom, each finite grain clear under the cool surface. The occasional Bluebottle dots the shore, cuttlefish bone washed up beside it.
The sky is clear, blue and fresh, a pristine picture of the early summer ahead. Phainon tugs you along, pulling you from your pile of pink and purple shells. You're not sure how he does it: looking so effortlessly good. There's a shameless part of you that takes a breath to admire him for a heartbeat longer. His hand is warm, clasped around yours as you're dragged into tow with him.
Two gulls fly overhead in a lazy rhythm. You gaze up, their cries echoing over the crash of waves. They sweep into a descending arc, fighting against the wind's current, landing with a grace you didn't know they could possess. You glance towards Phainon, and he's already looking at you. His perfect hair windswept, as he smiles brightly. His cheeks are a splotchy red, a testament to the chill and the heavy hand of the gale. His shirt billows in the breeze like white sails on the horizon, his undershirt—a dark navy that suits him to the bone—riding up slightly as he brushes hair from his face.
He's three paces in front, and you're suddenly realising you're no longer connected at the hand. But the breath caught in your throat is almost a welcome feeling. If you could capture any moment, this (him standing, looking at you like you make his world right, the sound of waves hitting the sandy shore, and the sun hitting his silhouette at just the right angle) is what you'll permanently etch into your memory forever.
You pass by a woman and her dog, brown ears and patchy fur. The lighthouse, empty, sits standalone against the vastness of the midday sky. It stopped being used sometime around the 70s (something your parents liked to mention every time you passed it, regardless if you cared or not). Stretching far along behind you, a jetty juts out across the waves, anchored by the wooden stilts of algae and barnacles. The boardwalk that spanned along a portion of the beach had ended ages ago. it was a newer addition to the town—you could still remember when it was all beach grass and dunes and not pale sand-coloured wood.
The sight of Phainon tripping up the sand dunes and into the yellowed grass left you close to tears, chest aching at his feeble attempt. He laughs along, sitting down and leaning back against his palms. He pats the space beside him with an easy smile, like everything is right in the world. With a sigh, you settle down beside him. You watch the sky quietly for what feels close to an eternity, though it's easy with him, the quiet. It has always been easy with him.
He was like the breeze, something gentle and carefree. A soft caress of skin, to the gentle stirr of hair. He was the kind of person who would be fine anywhere, the kind where gravity centred for him. Someone you couldn't help but be drawn to (almost like the sun, in a way, maybe). He could drift place to place, carrying the salt of the sea and the same golden wheat and barley and grain, and be embraced with open arms for his cooler weather on warmer days. You look to him, his blue eyes trained on the empty skies, the fabrics of his shirt gently stirring in a softer breath of air. You're going to miss this—miss him.
Then he turns to you, eyes locking onto your own. The corners of his lips stretch into something softer than his usual boyish smile, an inkling of a tenderness that you've never quite recognised until now.
The bustling streets of Okhema suddenly sweep past. Pale feathers settle against townhouse rooftops and sleeker buildings. The rhythm of your keyboard comes to a halt for a moment as you look out the panelled windows of the cafe. You're grateful that Okhema is close to the sea. You're not sure what you would have done if you had been deeper into the countryside, landlocked. Though, a small part of you misses the endless sea of golden wheat back home.
The scent of faint coffee and something sweeter wafts in, the bell jingling each time the door swings open. There's a quiet hum of chatter, the muffled sound of car horns and engines of the early morning rush hour. Your drink has started to go cold, only half drunk. Even inside, there's a familiar saltiness on the air, one that had sunk into the fabric of your soul years ago—one you'll never be able to get it out.
In the distance, beyond the sprawling city skyline, two gulls fly above the quiet harbour. They coast along the gentle lull of the wind, a quiet reminder of that little coastal town that you just couldn't shake.
It'll always be a part of you, like the sand in your shoes.
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