Sebastian's POV
"It is our favorite time of the year!" Abigail announced dramatically, tugging a scarf around her neck in front of the mirror. "All negative energy is leaving, a new start is coming. That is the symbolism of the Jellies migrating."
I rolled my eyes, smirking slightly. "Or, you know... it's a bunch of glowing sea creatures doing their thing."
"I just think the jellyfish are cool," Sam chimed in from behind her, clearly not feeding into her whole seasonal rebirth vibe.
Still — she had a point, in her own weird way. It had been a full year since the last Moonlight Jellies Festival. A whole rotation of the calendar. Somehow, the air tonight felt different. Maybe it was the breeze rolling off the ocean, or the way the light flickered across the water like it was whispering something old and important. Maybe it was just that I hadn't felt this... human in a while.
And yeah, I guess I needed it.
We walked toward the beach — the three of us — with lanterns bobbing in the distance and soft music playing from one of Pierre's old radios. Sam and Abigail were laughing about something I wasn't really listening to, but their voices made the night feel lighter.
It felt almost normal.
Until it didn't.
We got to our usual spot on the dock — just to the right of the boat ramp, where the view of the water was clear and the town lights didn't hit your eyes so harshly. Alex and Haley were already nearby, for once not glued to each other's sides.
"Another year in Stardew," Alex said as we approached, lifting his beer in a kind of lazy salute.
"Remember when our parents used to bring us to these?" Abigail said softly, eyes squinting out over the waves. "We all ran around and played tag until someone fell in the water."
"When Haley wasn't mean..." Sam added, grinning.
She smacked his shoulder but grinned back. "I'm not mean. I just have standards."
I tuned them out after that. My eyes drifted to the waves. The water shimmered, faint blue lights dancing just under the surface. The jellyfish hadn't reached the shore yet, but they were coming — slow, otherworldly, like ghosts made of moonlight.
I spotted my mom and Demetrius on the far side of the dock, laughing about something, heads close together like they were in their own world. I didn't resent it tonight. I just watched, and I breathed.
I didn't fall apart.
No matter how much I thought I would — when Hannah left, when everything came undone — I didn't.
I was still here. Still standing. Still breathing.
And then I heard Alex mutter, "No way."
My body stiffened.
"What?" Abigail asked, already turning to look in the direction of his gaze.
The town seemed to hush all at once — like some silent agreement passed through the crowd. A shift in the wind. Everyone's heads turned.
There was someone walking across the sand toward the dock.
Long black dress flowing behind her, hair tossed gently by the wind. Her hand reached up to tuck a loose strand behind her ear — a nervous tic burned into my memory.
Lantern light caught her face just enough.
And my heart stopped.
Again.
Just like it did at the gig.
It was Hannah.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, uncertain, almost afraid. She didn't smile. Her expression was soft — almost painfully soft — her arms hanging by her sides like she wasn't sure if she was welcome. The breeze pushed her dress against her frame as if the wind itself was urging her forward, but her feet stayed planted on the edge of the dock.
She looked like a memory. Or a dream. Or both.
When her eyes finally landed on ours — on me — she froze.
And so did I.
Abigail sucked in a breath. "I... I don't know what to do."
Sam leaned toward me. "She hasn't been around in months, man." His voice was low, not judgmental, just... waiting. Like everyone was waiting on me.
But I didn't know what to do either.
The last time I saw her — if I even really saw her — it was through stage lights and cigarette haze and the noise of my own heart slamming in my ears. This was different. This was Stardew. This was home. And now she was back, standing like a question I didn't know how to answer.
She looked down, fingers twisting the ring on her hand.
The crowd had resumed murmuring, but in the space around us it was like time slowed down. I didn't dare blink. I was terrified that if I did, she'd vanish again. Like seafoam. Like she'd never really been here at all.
Just then, Mayor Lewis walked up to the front of the dock, clearing his throat. "Alright folks, the jellyfish should be arriving soon!"
People turned back toward the water, excited, clapping, but I couldn't look away from her. Not yet.
I took a step forward. My heart felt like it was being held in someone else's fist.
But then Hannah moved too.
She walked — not toward the crowd, not toward the Mayor, not even toward the end of the dock — but toward me.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
And maybe...
This time, she wasn't here to disappear.
She was closer now. Close enough that I could see the pink flush blooming in her cheeks, the tremble in her hands as she smoothed her dress, the way her lashes fluttered when she looked up — not quite at me, but in my direction. Her steps slowed, cautious, like she was approaching a ledge she wasn't sure she'd survive.
We didn't say anything. Couldn't.
Behind her, the Moonlight Jellies breached the tide — ghostly glows rising in the dark like slow-burning stars drifting just beneath the water's surface. The crowd let out soft sounds of awe, but it felt a million miles away. My ears buzzed. My pulse roared in my head like a storm caught between ribs.
She stopped a few feet away. Not too close. Not too far. Just enough for the weight in her eyes to reach me.
"Hi," she said.
A whisper. Fragile. Like if she said it louder, it might shatter her.
I opened my mouth and nothing came. My throat burned. My hands were clenched at my sides, knuckles white. My lungs stalled in my chest. Breathe, damn it. Just breathe.
"...Hi," I said, finally, hoarse.
She smiled — barely. It didn't reach her eyes, but it tried. It was the kind of smile someone gives when they're dangling on the edge of something, and all they have left is hope.
Behind us, Abigail didn't move. Sam hovered like he wanted to step in, say something, defuse the moment. Alex and Haley tried to pretend they weren't watching, but the silence had swallowed everyone whole.
Hannah glanced toward the ocean, blinking fast. Then back at me.
"I wasn't sure I should come," she said, her voice like wind across broken glass.
I almost laughed — a bitter, frayed thing that didn't quite make it out. "Yeah. Well... I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again."
Her shoulders tightened. She looked down, twisting the ring on her finger like it was the only thing tethering her here.
The jellyfish drifted closer, bathing us in shifting blue light. Her silhouette looked dreamlike — or maybe I was hallucinating her again. I didn't trust anything anymore.
"I didn't know how to come back," she said. "I didn't know if I could."
My chest cracked. There were a hundred things I wanted to say. I wanted to ask why. I wanted to ask how she could vanish. I wanted to tell her how she took the air with her when she left. But I knew none of it would matter. Not right now.
So I just stood there, with my heart in my throat, watching the water pulse like it might answer for me.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shrinking into the shape of a girl who had lost too much.
The silence throbbed — not cutting, but dense. Full of all the things we hadn't said.
Then, softly, she broke.
"I did the one thing I promised I wouldn't do to you," she said, voice cracking. "I didn't just lose you, Sebastian. I lost me. And I know I have no right to ask you for anything, but—"
"You gave me silence for three months," I said, sharper than I meant to, but honest. "Just hearing you say hi was enough."
She flinched. And then — like she didn't know whether to laugh or cry — she did both. A sound slipped out of her, something strangled between relief and guilt, and she covered her mouth like she was ashamed to be feeling anything at all.
"I'm so sorry," she said, tears rising fast in her eyes.
I looked down, the glow of the jellyfish reflecting in the sheen of her tears. I couldn't meet her gaze. Not yet.
So I just nodded.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel empty — I felt wrecked. But wrecked was still alive.
The jellies reached the dock, casting everything in soft, surreal light. The town behind us buzzed in quiet awe.
But all I could see was her — standing there with the weight of everything between us, and still choosing to show up
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