Unspoken Currents - 1. Chapter 1

Unspoken Currents

“Half unspoken; still aligned,” Celer sang aloud, his voice as off-pitch as ever, while he summoned a playful gust of wind. “Though fate may shift, paths intertwine.”

He grinned as Matsu laughed, the sound bright as the wind tousled his curly hair. Making someone laugh with his breezes was a way for Celer to show off his Aurai skills. He let the airflow ripple over Matsu’s head, relishing the moment.

“That tickles, Cel.” Matsu snickered, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Should I stop?” Celer asked, his voice softer than usual as a flicker of doubt passed over his face. Concern crept into his tone, revealing his sudden worry that he might have overstepped.

“No more singing,” replied Matsu, feigning a stern look. “But I do enjoy the ocean scent, so maybe a little more wind.”

Celer grinned and sent another swirl of air at Matsu, who snickered as the breeze buffeted his face and chest. Celer watched him breathe in the salty air, fixing the scene in his mind.

They’d met every spring since they were young: Matsu, a seedling Oread, and Celer, a puff of air. Every visit felt timeless and precious, as each season braided their lives tighter together.

“Tell me more about the whales,” Matsu stated when the wind faded. “Are the different pods really speaking to one another?”

“I think they’re trying to survive together,” Celer answered, recalling what Melos had told him. “Melos says the waters keep changing.”

“I’d have preferred it if whales were reaching out to make friends, like us.”

Every time Matsu said they were friends, Celer felt warmth inside. The word comforted him, but then something deeper flickered unexpectedly, an emotion that both surprised and unsettled him. He wrestled quietly with this sudden new feeling, caught between hope and confusion.

“So would I,” Celer murmured.

Matsu’s smile came easily as he launched into a tale about his favorite winter moments. “During winter, two different types of sparrows formed a rivalry…”

As Celer listened, he studied Matsu’s green eyes, the roundness of his nose, and the green-flecked tips of his pointed ears. He memorized the shape of Matsu’s mouth and throat. Meanwhile, Matsu’s hands danced across his own brown skin with lighter palms, drawing Celer’s gaze.

He told himself he only wanted memories for spring, but the ache in his chest each time Matsu smiled contradicted him. He tried to blame his fascination on their differences: his translucent, web-like hair against Matsu’s green curls, his pink-tinged skin against Matsu’s cool blue undertone.

But Celer knew better; awake or dreaming, he replayed Matsu’s voice and laughter in his mind, yet he still felt too young to name his feelings.

“...and then one of the mountain hares kept so still I could have sworn it was a rock,” Matsu continued. “For a moment, I thought it really was a blinking rock. I imagine it’s the same with the octopi, right, Cel?”

It took Celer a moment to catch up. “Camouflage? Yes, I’ve been fooled more than once. What looked like a lump of sand or a boulder would suddenly move, and it turned out to be an octopus.” Celer scrunched up his nose as he recalled how many times he’d appeared foolish in front of the Nereids. “Melos loved to prank me with those.”

“Glad I’m not the only one who gets fooled sometimes.”

And so, spring after spring, the two young nymphs shared stories, laughter, and the comfort of familiar company.

As Celer grew older and stronger, he began visiting during winter, too, spending longer stretches in the mountains with Matsu. These visits deepened their bond, making their friendship feel like a fortress…

…until it wasn’t any longer.

During one fall season, Celer wanted to stay in the mountainous Oread region longer than usual, but Matsu advised against it.

“You shouldn’t push yourself so hard, or it may affect your spring visit,” Matsu said.

The words should have made Celer happy; they meant the Oread wanted him around during spring. At first, Celer smiled, but when Matsu glanced aside, worry flickered in him. He pretended to leave as usual but lingered, anxious now about what he might see.

What he saw devastated him. At first, relief washed over him. He hadn't missed anything by returning. But that feeling vanished when he saw Birke, an orange-haired nymph, openly courting Matsu. Jealousy and pain surged through Celer as he watched Matsu welcome it. Hidden, he witnessed every caress and kiss, his blue eyes stinging with tears.

“Matsu?” he breathed, voice barely audible, not daring to let himself be seen or heard.

At that moment, Celer realized his feelings for Matsu went beyond friendship. The realization jolted him, leaving him sharply conflicted. Did he want Matsu to tell him not to return, or would he rather remain oblivious to Birke? His turmoil deepened as uncertainty pulled him in both directions.

Through fall and early spring, Celer stayed by the coast, weighed down by loss. Each time he recalled Matsu with Birke, his sadness deepened, and his usual observations of the sea creatures no longer sparked joy. Other Aurae invited him out, but each invitation heightened his sense of isolation, making the distance between himself and others feel insurmountable.

Long hours passed at the water’s edge, his chest tight with frustration, as he watched the waves and struggled with his tangled thoughts.

He sang to himself, as off-pitch as ever: “Now with clear eyes do I see…” He let the notes drift as he stepped into the shallows, needing an outlet for his turmoil. “The truth I hid; one I can’t set free…”

A small wind circled his feet, drying and tickling his skin, but there was no joy. “Caught in your gaze, endlessly,” he continued as the wind spiraled up his body. “Now that I know what you mean to me…”

“The voice that once filled me with warm energy,” Celer sang as a ring of spray rose into a visible waterspout, “has now become a sea that is swallowing me!”

His voice gave way to sobs, and pain overtook him. The waterspout concealed his trembling form as tears streamed, his soul laid bare to wind and water.

When the waterspout finally calmed, Celer let the wind dry the last traces of tears from his cheeks. A lingering feeling of emptiness followed, leaving him wordless as he tried to recover.

He didn’t return to visit Matsu that spring, nor the following winter.

By autumn, Celer was as miserable as ever. He isolated himself on the beach, refusing Matsu’s region. He sang his sorrowful tune, hidden in a waterspout during each new moon, unseen.

He ached for the friendship he’d shared, but thoughts of Birke made the pain sharp. Longing tangled with pain; Celer dreaded facing either of them. He feared hurting Matsu by his reactions. He wished to return to the Oread lighthearted, with only fond memories.

So, he sang, hoping the lyrics would carry his longing away and leave him lighter.

One night, a whirlpool formed at the beach. Celer approached carefully, wary of summoning a storm. He didn’t want to risk a hurricane with errant winds.

“What? No terrible singing tonight?” a deep voice teased as a figure rose from the heart of the whirlpool.

Celer’s pale eyes widened when his childhood Triton friend surfaced. The last time he’d seen Melos, the boy was all awkward limbs and oversized cyan eyes. Now, Melos’s broad torso and strong, handsome face were unmistakable; his eyes, still vivid cyan, now belonged to someone grown.

“Has my showing up made you speechless?” Melos asked, grinning.

Celer cleared his throat, finally managing, “You, uh… you heard my singing?”

“Once a month for the past year,” Melos replied. “I’ve got nothing against the lyrics, but if you’d just recited them as poems instead of butchering them with your singing, I wouldn’t have had to show up in person to complain.”

“I didn’t mean for anyone to hear me,” Celer retorted, a touch of embarrassment making him bristle. “I didn’t want anyone to hear me.”

“Then you shouldn’t have whipped up a spray every time,” Melos said, the whirlpool spinning steadily beneath him. “Tritons and Nereids hear everything that happens in and around any water that returns to the sea.”

“Oh.” Celer managed a sheepish, “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Now you do, Celery.”

Celer grimaced at the old nickname but let it slide.

“Your singing could use work,” Melos went on, “but your voice isn’t half bad.”

“Thanks… I guess.”

Melos’s tone turned thoughtful. “Am I right in guessing it’s a song of separation? I’ve had a whole year to break it down, stanza by stanza.”

“It is… was. I won’t be singing it anymore.”

A satisfied smile curved Melos’s lips, and Celer found himself staring. Was Melos’s blue hair darker now? He blamed the dim light.

“Come with me,” Melos said, extending a hand. “I can’t remember the last time we just hung out.”

Celer hesitated, then took the offered hand.

Melos led him into the whirlpool and enclosed them both in a sphere of water. Celer felt the pressure at his feet as they sank into the depths. The water around them shimmered with a soft spray, reminiscent of their childhood games.

The deeper they went, the less Celer could see above. Melos’s thick arm encircled his waist, his glowing hand illuminating their faces.

Celer could make out the lines of Melos’s strong jaw. The shadow of stubble could one day become a beard. Aurae were nearly hairless except on their head and brows. Celer envied Melos’s thick waves. With a frown, he noted Melos’s webbed ears and full lips were even more pronounced now.

“I brought you down here to see our region, not just my face,” Melos teased.

Celer blushed and turned his attention to their surroundings. They kept descending until they reached a cavern lined with luminous stones, brighter than Melos’s hand. Memories of childhood surfaced as they entered the bustling market space, with Nereids of every hue moving among carved cave dwellings.

A familiar Nereid rushed over to greet them.

“Mel!” she called, her voice bright. “Cel?” Her hair was the same dark blue as her brothers, braided down to her waist, but her eyes were a light brown.

“He’s the source of those raw new moon performances,” Melos explained. “Right, Celery?”

“Celer!” Celer corrected. “I thought you’d outgrow that nickname.”

“Considering your ‘wretched’ song haunted me for twelve nights this year, I think calling you Celery for twelve days is a fair trade,” Melos said.

Celer shot him a glare, but Melos just smirked. Celer remembered why he’d spent more time with Matsu as a child.

“So, you still like him,” Tyla, the Nereid, concluded.

“I do not!” Celer blurted, just as Melos said, “Yes!”

Tyla snickered. “I meant Melos, not you. Melos likes you.”

Celer gaped at her, then glanced at Melos, who avoided his gaze, hand at the back of his neck.

“Why do you say that?” Celer demanded.

Tyla leaned in to whisper, “Calling you Celery for twelve days means he wants to see you at least twelve more, doesn’t it?”

She straightened, grinning, and motioned to her brother. “Besides, didn’t you just hear him admit it?”

Celer looked back at Melos, who finally met his eyes and nodded once.

“Since when?” Celer asked.

“Since always,” Melos admitted softly.

The revelation stunned Celer. He sifted through childhood memories: Melos’s endless pranks, the way his laughter died every time Celer glared, the quick apologies, the harmless teasing. None of it had ever been cruel. But neither did it point to Melos liking him.

“Since always…” Celer echoed, wonderingly.

“I’m surprised you never realized it,” Tyla said. “Even the reason his hair’s so long now is because you-”

The rest of Tyla’s words were stopped by one of Melos’s large hands covering her mouth.

“Don’t you want to take a look around?” Melos suggested. “Your favorite mochi vendor is still at the same counter.”

Celer immediately rushed over to greet the mochi vendor. “Sir Atys! Have you been well?”

The aged Triton looked Celer over for a moment until he finally recognized him. “Why, it’s Celer!” he said. “You’ve certainly grown. Are yuzu and taro still your favorite flavors?”

“Of course!”

Atys speared each mochi with a sharp stick before handing it over to the Aurai. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you so much!” Celer said as he took a bite of the taro mochi on top of his speared stack. “They’re just as good as I remember.”

Melos noted the moment a smile formed on Celer’s face, and found himself outright staring. That was the first smile he’d seen on the Aurai’s adult face. His focus was so profound that Tyla managed to wiggle right out of his hold.

“You are positively lovesick,” she concluded. “If that was really Celer singing that depressing song, then it’s now or never, isn’t it? Go make him forget all about that ‘voice like a gulping sea.’”

“Swallowing sea,” Melos corrected.

Tyla made an exasperated noise beside him.

“I don’t…” Melos admitted. “I don’t know how to help him forget.”

“Reminding him about the mochi he loves was a great start,” Tyla said. “What else do you remember he enjoyed?”

Melos thought back for a moment and, as an idea struck him, he lifted his shoulders back and marched right over to his childhood friend.

“Go, big bro!” Tyla cheered.

When Melos was close enough to see the glimmer of platinum in Celer’s wispy hair, the Aurai turned to face him.

“Here, are these still your favorite flavors?” Celer asked as he handed Melos a skewer of mochi with different hues. “Atys gave me such a great deal for them. Would Tyla like some, too?”

Melos wavered for the slightest moment, his cyan eyes seeking Tyla’s aid. Yet, she not only kept her distance, but she also made a gesture as if to usher them onward. With a steadying breath, he shook his head.

“Thanks for the offer, but Tyla’s occupied with her own errands,” Melos said aloud as he lifted his mochi skewer. “Thank you for mine, though.”

Celer turned around to spot Tyla and gave her a huge wave goodbye with his whole arm, which she returned.

“Celer, there’s a place I’d like to show you, if you’re willing to join me,” Melos said.

“Lead the way,” Celer said.

The Triton held his hand out for Celer to take, and Celer took hold of it. Melos then had them walk up a side set of stone stairs that spiraled upward around the entire market area. Eventually, they entered a tunnel that led upward, passing illuminated rimstone pools. They carefully walked between the pools of water until they reached a large, curved wall of glass.

Beyond the glass was a bioluminescent region of the ocean. Celer heard the whales before they swam past the glass outlook post. The clicking of their codas was like a melody.

“They’ve always sung better than I have any right to attempt,” Celer said, mesmerized.

“Your singing isn’t that bad,” Melos said.

“Oh, it’s terrible,” Celer said. "I honestly thought I was singing in a way no one could hear me.”

“I’m glad I heard you,” Melos admitted. “At first, I thought I was imagining that it was your voice. Then, when I grasped what the song could have meant, I wanted to see you. Tyla kept saying you needed more time, to wait until you no longer felt the need to sing out your sorrows. But after a whole year…”

“It’s embarrassing to know that so many others heard me,” Celer confessed. “But thank you for finding me and for bringing me here.”

“I missed you,” Melos whispered. “I kept waiting for you to come visit us of your own volition.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay away for so long. I was distracted… with an illusion I somehow fabricated.”

Melos shook his head. “I’m sure what you felt was real. I could hear it in your song.”

“Then, maybe I no longer want it to be,” Celer said in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

Melos instinctively wrapped an arm over Celer’s shoulders and tugged him into a hug. Celer responded by clutching him tightly. Melos braved a gentle kiss to the top of Celer’s head, drawing forth a shuddering sigh from the Aurai. They remained like that long after the sounds of the pod of whales faded into the distance.

—

“Cel! Where have you been?” Matsu called out when Celer floated closer. “It’s been eight seasons.”

Celer gave Matsu a bright smile. “Exploring the oceans,” he said. “Have you been well?”

“Yes. There’s even someone I’d like you to meet this winter, if you’re able to visit,” Matsu said. “I mentioned you to Birke, but you haven’t been around. He thinks you don’t really exist.”

Celer waited for an ache that never came at the mention of Birke. Two years ago, he’d have surely crumbled in on himself and caused Matsu distress. At that moment, however, Celer was relieved he hadn’t so much as confessed.

“I’ll prove I exist this winter, though I won’t be visiting for very long,” Celer admitted. “All of my visits are going to be shorter moving forward.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to leave my Melos waiting for too long.”

“Melos, as in the Triton you used to complain about all the time?”

Celer’s smile widened to a grin. He’d all but forgotten that he used to complain to Matsu about Melos when they were younger. “One and the same.”

“Then you should bring him with you when you visit in winter,” Matsu suggested. “Maybe we can extend your visit just a bit longer if you’re together.”

“I’d like that,” Celer admitted.

The two of them then talked for hours, catching one another up on the events that mattered most to them during their time apart. Matsu requested another beach breeze and, while the Oread’s laughter was as charming as ever, the sound of his voice no longer wreaked havoc inside Celer’s chest.

When the sun began to set, Celer gave his goodbyes, and rushed back over to the beach. He found Melos there, lying down on the sand, waiting.

“The sun has yet to set,” Celer pointed out as he crouched by Melos’s head, using his wind to play with the ends of the Triton’s long, wavy hair.

“I missed you,” Melos said, stifling a chuckle when the fluttering strands tickled his neck.

“It’s been less than half of a day,” Celer said as he dropped the air flow.

“It’s been a lonely half of a day.”

Celer snickered at the mess he’d made of Melos’s hair. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Melos moved to stand up, and Celer also rose to his feet. The Triton tugged Celer flush against him and claimed his lips in a kiss. Celer barely kept himself from summoning up a tornado in response by digging his toes deeper into the sand.

“Welcome back, Celery,” Melos whispered when he pulled away.

Celer didn’t bother to correct him. The nickname was more endearing than an annoyance to him by then. A stray string of lyrics from an old song suddenly came to mind, and he smiled as he recited the words aloud instead of singing.

“Half unspoken; still aligned. Though fate may shift, paths intertwine.”

END