no, c'est la vie, maybe something's wrong with me

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i. it was always going to end up this way

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The celestial world changes one day. Or rather, after.

Where it looked endearing, welcoming, uplifting even, now it looks only overdone and tacky. Floating bubbles and sparkles and various astrological phenomenon floating across the horizon are all very well, but really, who wants to see that every day? Not Aquarius. And she has no need to, not anymore, not now that she has no key — there is no need for her to stick around in the entrance realm. No more switching worlds at the drop of the hat, no more jumping from the astral plane at a moment's whim, no more waiting for someone to call her. No more waiting for Aquarius.

That's over for her. Like a lot of things, it's over for her, and she finds that she no longer finds any comfort in the colourful, very in-your-face beauty of the entrance realm. So naturally, she leaves it.

She doesn't say any goodbyes; it makes no sense to. She's just a minute's trip away. But nevertheless, before she slips through the first portal that leads deeper, she glances back and pauses, looks around as if it's her last time. It feels like it is. It needn't be, of course, because she's absolutely free to come and go as she pleases. She's free to do whatever, and she needs to constantly remind herself of that because it's such a strange concept.

No more contract binding her, no-one to answer to, no more interruptions, no more waiting for the call. Truly, Aquarius is free, free like no-one around her has ever been before, like no spirit truly has been for ages and eons.

So, yes. When she returns to the celestial world after her key shatters, Aquarius waits for news, and after she knows that all is settled and as well as it can be, she makes her away and deeper. There's no shame in it.

And still, she cannot bring herself to say any semblance of goodbye.

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ii. there's a hole in my soul

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It's quieter on the second level. The entrance realm has always been the busiest, bustling with activity as spirits came and went, called across planes every second of every minute of every hour, over and over again, on and on. And up there, she had constant company; she was one of many, of twelve, of so many more all answering to the same call, waiting for the same signal.

She's no longer waiting, and they still are, so she's down here while they're up there, and the first thing she noticed is that when all your time is your own, you become overly aware of anyone you wish you could give it to.

The little village she decided to settle in, for the moment being at least, is quaint enough to belong in some stupid romance novel. But it's small, and quiet, and even though every corner and turn, every cobblestoned patch and rough thatched roof reminds her of what she's lost, Aquarius is glad of it. She needs something to remind her, to keep her grounded, to hold on to — otherwise, she fears she might forget it all.

It's a bit surreal, not waiting for someone. Especially when everyone else still is.

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iii. you have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve

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Scorpio comes knocking two weeks after her move down. She had no idea he'd be coming, and opening the door to his familiar face was enough to make her heart jump. Nevermind that he's in his human form, having adopted it to fit in with the trend that seems to have become the norm below the entrance realm. Aquarius herself took on legs instead of a floating tail the moment she left, but it was perhaps for more personal reasons than to fit in.

He doesn't act as if anything is out of the ordinary, making himself at home as if he's been inside her riverside cottage a thousand times before. He looks more at ease in it than she feels herself, but it makes her grin and sink into the comfort of her new home all the more. His feeling at home makes her feel it, too, apparently.

"You comfortable down here?" His throwaway grin is deceptive. Aquarius can see in his eyes, loud and clear, the masked emotions he's holding back.

She nods, and settles into the couch beside him. Her legs still feel a bit off, a bit clumsy and stiff and generally too fixed and straight, but she's adapting. "You wouldn't believe how boring it can be. Not that I'm not enjoying myself, of course, it's lovely enough. Quiet. Relaxing."

"Leo was wondering where you'd disappeared to. And he wasn't the only one. You didn't think to say goodbye before the move down?"

"W-Well, I'm hardly far away. It wouldn't take more than a moment to come and find me. I didn't think goodbye was really that important—"

"Not even to me?"

"You knew where I'd be. And here you are, aren't you?"

He shrugs, lazy and languid. His gaze slide to her out of the corner of his eye. "Nice legs. Very... separate."

"Ah— let's not talk about that," Aquarius brushes it off in irritation. She catches the sharpness in her voice, winces. "I've missed you!" she tries instead, but it sounds even worse, forced and laughably awkward.

He raises an eyebrow in the way he always does when he can tell she's putting on some weird air. "You don't need to put on the lovestruck act down here, you know. Lucy ain't exactly around to feel inadequate or jealous or whatever."

Aquarius purses her lips, and narrows her eyes. Even at home, she's tried not to lose her temper when it comes to her boyfriend, mostly because she's positive that he'd leave her in a split-second if she tried to drown him. Him being a sand scorpion and all that. And frankly, she's never been bothered to deal with the hassle of an argument and it's easy enough to reign her temper in when it comes to him. The formula is tried and tested: they disagree, she concedes, he takes her on a date, and they both enjoy an evening out.

That's how things have usually been, always been between them if she really thinks about it. She's always liked it how it is.

Except now, she doesn't.

"I don't want to hear things like that, Scorpio," she finds herself saying. "If you came down just to talk about her, I'd rather you went back."

The ensuing silence let's what she said sink in, and brings her back to her senses.

She covers her mouth with a gasp, her eyes glued to his own taken-aback expression. "I-I didn't—! Oh, I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry. It just, sort of... Please just forget it. I didn't mean it. I'm just tired."

"Didn't I already say to cut out the perfect-girlfriend act?" Scorpio stretches back against the couch, catching her eye with what she almost wants to call amusement. Or rather, he looks smug. Frustratingly so. "It's rare enough that I get to see you snap at me like that. Let me enjoy it while I can. You're sexy when you're angry."

Before she knows it, the curl of her lips has descended into full-blown laughter. She wants to ignore the undertones of what he's saying, but she knows he knows she understood, and he's always been impossible to deceive.

If she looks good when she's angry, then every time she was summoned by her good-for-nothing key-keeper, she must have been positively radiant.

And the thought, despite how bittersweet and painful it may be, makes her smile wider than she has for a while.

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notes: idk guys, when you get an urge to write about mermaids pretending they're okay when they aren't, you just kinda go with it.