Chapter Seven #2
"Alex said he came across space to find me."
"That level of determination doesn't disappear overnight." He moves toward the walkway, then pauses. "They're remarkably persistent, by the way. And surprisingly patient when they realize you need time to process things differently than they do."
He leaves me sitting among the storm debris, legs dangling in the warm water, surrounded by the detritus of my carefully ordered life. Persistent. Patient. The words echo in the gentle splash of waves.
But it doesn't matter. I made the right choice. He was moving too fast, wanting too much. I've been alone for ten years—I can't just suddenly adapt to that level of intensity.
I slide back into the water, letting its embrace wash away the conversation. The zhik'ra doesn't judge. Doesn't want things I don't know how to give. Doesn't make my skin light up with colors I can't control.
The morning passes in a steady rhythm. Dive, assess, cut, surface.
The damaged sections tell a story of violence—not just from the storm, but from years of careful cultivation undone in hours.
I work methodically through Section C, my movements automatic, meditative.
Each salvaged piece feels like a small victory against chaos.
The water grows warmer as the day progresses, and I'm considering a break when I notice movement at the edge of my vision. Someone swimming toward my work area—stroke patterns clumsy, inefficient, definitely not Nereidan.
My heart stops for a moment, then restarts at double speed.
Alex surfaces twenty meters away, treading water awkwardly, his face flushed from exertion and bright with determination. He's wearing borrowed swimming gear—shorts that look too big and a shirt that clings to his torso, outlining muscles I shouldn't be noticing.
"Can I help?" he calls across the distance, voice slightly breathless.
I'm so shocked I nearly sink. Water closes over my head for a moment before I remember to keep moving. "Alex."
His name escapes like a prayer, like a curse, like something I've been holding back all morning.
He swims closer, each stroke labored but persistent. When he's near enough to speak normally, I can see the effort the journey cost him—rapid breathing, tired eyes, but that stubborn set to his jaw that suggests he wants to be here, despite being sent away.
"I know you don't want me here," he says, still working to stay afloat.
"I just... there's so much damage, and you're working alone, and I thought maybe.
.." He trails off, then tries again. "Can I help?
With the repairs? I promise I'll stay on the other side of the section. We don't even have to talk."
The morning sun catches the water droplets on his skin, each one gleaming like scattered jewels.
His hair is darker when wet, and there are freckles across his shoulders I hadn't noticed before.
He looks so different from this morning—uncertain, almost defeated.
Nothing like the confident man who touched me with such casual intimacy.
"You don't know anything about zhik'ra cultivation," I manage to say.
"I can learn. You can show me what needs cutting, what needs saving. I can carry things." He shifts in the water, clearly struggling to maintain position. "Please? I need... I need to do something useful."
The smart answer is no. Send him away again. Maintain the distance that keeps me safe.
But the desperate edge in his voice, the way he's fighting just to stay afloat while asking to help—it makes me want to keep him close.
"How did you find me?" I ask instead.
"I remembered the direction we swam yesterday. Asked a farmer at the main platform which sections were storm-damaged." He pauses, water lapping at his chin as a small wave passes. "Why did you think I came?"
The question catches me off guard. I float there, studying his face—the honest confusion, the careful hope. "I... didn't expect you to come at all."
"After this morning?"
"After this morning."
He's quiet for a moment, still working to keep his head above water.
The effort is clearly exhausting him, but he doesn't move toward the platform for support.
"I was upset. When you said goodbye was for the best. But then I realized—you panicked, didn't you?
When I suggested... when I brought up sex. "
I want to deny it, but his directness strips away my usual deflections. His eyes are too knowing, too patient. "Yes. It was far too fast. I was... scared."
"Why scared?"
A piece of debris bumps against my shoulder, and I push it away absently. "Because we met yesterday. One day. Nereidans don't progress to physical intimacy that quickly."
"What's the usual timeline?"
"Months of careful evaluation. Sometimes years."
Alex's eyes widen. "Years? Before any physical contact?"
"Before intimacy, yes."
"Jesus." He laughs, though not unkindly. "What's the shortest time you've heard of between meeting someone and having sex?"
I consider this. "I don't know. What's yours?"
"Honestly?" He grins. "A few hours, maybe less."
I choke on seawater, sputtering. "Hours?"
"There was a party, we both knew what we wanted." He's still grinning, but his voice softens. "But Vel'aan, I'm not asking you to have sex with me after a few hours. Hell, technically we met a decade ago, even if you don't remember it the same way I do."
The joke catches me off guard, and I find myself almost smiling. "That's not the same thing."
"I know." His breathing is becoming more labored from treading water. "I'm sorry I scared you. I moved too fast."
The simple apology, delivered while he struggles against exhaustion, hits harder than any elaborate explanation. I study his face, seeing sincerity there, and vulnerability. The practical part of my mind notes that he's tiring quickly, that humans aren't built for extended water work.
I float there, processing this while watching him struggle. "Section D needs untangling," I finally say. "But you'll need to surface frequently. You can't work underwater the way I can."
Relief floods his features like sunrise. "I know. I'll do what I can from near the surface."
"Cut only the dead growth—it's brown, brittle. Leave anything with green, even if it's damaged."
"Okay." He attempts a smile, though he's clearly fighting fatigue. "Thank you."
I gesture toward a small work platform anchored among the zhik'ra. "Rest first. You can't help if you're exhausted."
We swim to the platform together, me adjusting my pace to match his labored strokes. By the time we reach it, he's breathing hard, moving with the deliberate care of someone pushing their limits.
He hauls himself onto the platform with visible effort, water streaming from his body. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, skin flushed from exertion and sun.
"How do you swim for hours?" he asks between breaths.
"Gills. Different lung capacity. Muscle structure adapted for aquatic work." I remain in the water, floating beside the platform, watching him recover. "You don't have to do this."
"I want to help."
"Why?"
He looks at me, and something shifts in his expression—vulnerability mixing with determination. "Because this morning you told me goodbye was for the best, and I realized I don't want goodbye. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
The words send bioluminescence racing across my skin in patterns I can't control. "Alex—"
"I know I moved too fast. I know I scared you.
But I also know what I felt yesterday, and I don't think it was one-sided.
" He slides back into the water, moving carefully, testing his recovered strength.
"So I'm here. Offering to help with something that matters to you.
No expectations, no pressure. Just... let me be useful. "
I stare at him, this human who crossed space to find me, who came back after I rejected him, who's willing to exhaust himself in unfamiliar water just to help with my work. The morning light plays across his features, highlighting the sincerity there, the quiet determination.
"The current will push you toward the sharp rocks if you're not careful," I hear myself say. "Stay close."
"I will."
We work in careful cooperation for the next hour.
I dive deep to assess the worst damage while Alex stays near the surface, awkwardly trying to untangle what he can reach.
The coordination requires patience—when he gets confused about which pieces to cut, we surface together so I can explain.
When he needs direction toward a specific section, I use hand signals—pointing, gesturing, demonstrating.
He's not efficient, but he's careful, checking with me before cutting anything questionable. His movements are clumsy compared to a Nereidan's, but there's something endearing about his determination, the way he refuses to give up even when the work clearly challenges him.
"That whole cluster is dying," I explain during one of our surface breaks, both of us treading water while I point to a section near him. "The holdfast is completely rotted. It all needs to come out."
"I can try—"
"No. Too deep for you, and the rocks are sharp down there. You handle the floating debris."
He nods without argument, and I'm grateful for his acceptance of his limitations. There's no wounded pride, no pushing beyond his capabilities to prove himself. He simply acknowledges what he can and can't do.
The sun climbs higher, its heat growing brutal. Alex's face becomes increasingly flushed, his movements slower and more labored. Sweat mingles with seawater on his skin, and I can see him starting to struggle.
"We should stop," I say when we surface after another dive. "The heat is too intense for you."
"I'm fine." But his voice lacks conviction, and he's breathing harder than he should be.
"You're not. You're overheating." I swim closer, concerned despite myself. "Come back to my dwelling. You can rest, cool down, have some water."
He pulls himself onto the platform with visible effort, water streaming from his overheated body. For a moment, I think he'll accept. Then he shakes his head, not quite meeting my eyes.
"That's... that's not a good idea."
"Why not?"
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and his eyes hold that same intensity from this morning—want and frustration and something achingly tender all mixed together.
"Because I still want you," he says simply, honestly. "And being alone with you, both of us wet and tired and..." He trails off, running a hand through his dripping hair. "I'm trying to respect what you said about it being too fast. But I'm not that strong, Vel'aan."
My bioluminescence erupts across my skin—gold and blue and that deep purple that only appears when I'm overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. I can't control it, can't hide how his words affect me.
"Alex—"
"Same time tomorrow?" he asks, standing carefully on the swaying platform. "If you need the help?"
I should say no. Should maintain the boundary I established this morning. Should protect us both from this impossible situation.
But looking at him—exhausted from trying to help me, honest about his feelings, trying so hard to respect my boundaries even while admitting he wants more—I can't bring myself to push him away again.
"Yes," I say instead. "If you want."
"I do." He starts to leave, then pauses, turning back. "For what it's worth, I think you feel it too. Whatever this is between us. Your colors give you away."
He's right. The patterns racing across my skin are telling a story I can't verbally deny—desire, fear, longing, hope, all swirling together in luminous confession.
"Tomorrow," I manage to say.
"Tomorrow," he agrees, and walks away, leaving me floating alone in water that suddenly feels too warm, surrounded by damaged zhik'ra and the certainty that something has shifted between us.
I watch his retreating figure until it disappears, then let myself sink beneath the surface. Down here, surrounded by the gentle sway of damaged growth, I can pretend the ache in my chest is just from too much exertion. Can pretend the empty feeling isn't growing with each passing moment.
But when I surface again, the emptiness remains. The zhik'ra needs tending. The damage needs repairing. And I have all the time in the world to do it.
Alone.
The way it should be.
The way it has to be.
Even if it no longer feels like enough.