Karl was an avid fan of romantic tropes, more specifically: the red string of fate. Key word: was.
His hopes were lost at the ripe age of 20, accepting the fact that the string might not be real, until he's met someone.
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Waves crashed violently into the shore, the wind blew harshly against the palm trees; the rush of air blowing Karl's fluffy chestnut hair into his face. He really needed to get that haircut.
Pushing the loose strands of hair aside, Karl let the water splash onto his feet, the refreshing cold, salty water a gentle reminder that he was standing in the real world, and not some replica his dreams had made up.
As for Sapnap, he hadn't seen him for a few days. It worried him, because he had faded away in his dreams. What if-- No, that can't be right.
Dreams aren't real.
He closes his eyes, extending his hands out, as if offering someone to hold his hand. He swears he could feel the faintest warmth that had suddenly manifested out of nowhere.
His hands interlock with the phantom's, pretending as if he were holding Sapnap's instead. He wanted to know what it was like to hold his hand everyday, to know what his soft, delicate lips tasted of.
A huge wave splashes itself onto Karl's calves, and he opened his eyes, the feeling of another person's hands gone.
He was alone again.
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