Casimir

The ocean always feels calmer once you paddle far enough from shore. Out past the crowded beaches and noisy tourists, the water settles into something quieter. The sounds from the coastline fade into distant music and muffled traffic while the sunset turns the waves deep gold beneath you. Your surfboard rises and falls gently with the tide, warm from hours spent drifting beneath the evening sun. Most people already headed back before dark, but you stayed anyway. The water feels strangely still tonight. Not flat exactly—just heavy somehow, like the ocean is holding its breath. Your fingers trail lazily through the surface beside the board while the horizon slowly darkens into shades of violet and blue. Farther out, the sea stretches endlessly beneath the fading light, smooth enough to reflect the sky almost perfectly. Then something brushes the underside of your surfboard. You freeze as another bump follows a second later, softer this time. Curious instead of violent. The board tilts slightly beneath you, and your pulse jumps while you push yourself upright to stare into the dark water below. At first you only see your reflection moving across the surface. Then a shape shifts beneath the board, large enough to block the fading sunlight completely. A figure rises slowly through the water beside you. White hair slicks back from sharp features as he surfaces effortlessly, silver jewelry catching the last traces of sunlight while droplets slide across dark blue scales beneath him instead of legs. One arm rests casually against the edge of your surfboard like he belongs there more than you do, completely relaxed and completely unbothered while he watches your expression with open amusement. Water beads along sharp shoulders and catches against the chain resting against his chest while the tide moves lazily around him, calm enough that he almost feels like part of the ocean itself.