Timeless [Sting X Reader] || Third Book

14 : In Between Whispers and Water

[a/n]: i'm listening to ed sheeran's new album "divide" while writing this chapter and so far i'm in love with "perfect", "dive", and "galway girl".

fuck i love every song i'm feeling so many things.

x x

You and Sting sat on the shoreline, wet sand sticking to your bare feet, the waves washing over your feet, accompanied by the occasional breeze, or a whisper from Sting.

Your sundress gathered around your thighs, and Sting's pants were bunched up just below his knees, and your hands held onto Sting's, securely, squeezing it whenever you felt a stab of loneliness. The night was silent and cold, the waves unforgiving in the way it made your skin crawl whenever its waters washed over your drenched feet, occasionally presenting you a strand of seaweed, which you plucked out of the sand and mindlessly threw it back to the dark water.

The only thing warm and comforting was Sting, in his sandy dress shirt, and his bunched-up pants, and his lopsided smile, and his warm laugh.

Your head was on his shoulder, whispering things to each other, and turning to look at him whenever his shoulders shook from laughing at his own joke.

"(Y/N)?" Sting suddenly called, uttering your name with the same unchanging fondness. His voice was deep, and his breath smelled strongly of one too many drinks downed.

"Yeah?"

"Should we head back? It's already pretty late."

It fell silent again, and the waves lapped at your feet, tickling your ankles, before receding back into the great dark mass of water. You didn't want to go back. To the blaring music and the couples yet to confess their true feelings to each other, only to be pulled apart into different groups, forced to drink alcohol and to dance wildly.

You wanted Sting all to yourself, even if it sounded incredibly selfish. You wanted to squeeze his hand some more, and hear him point out funny shapes the stars formed, and listen to his laugh some more. 

"Yeah, we should head back." You replied, begrudgingly, knowing that Sting was selfish enough for the both of you- and you were scared you would lose the feeling in your toes.

Sting was the first to stand up, a large collection of sand on his butt, and after taking a few steps, it looked like he was wearing sand shoes as well. With the help of Sting, you got to your feet, gracefully dusting off your dress, and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Sting thought you looked absolutely beautiful.

Suddenly the wind picked up, and you had to hold down the skirt of your sundress, and, one by one, the stars all vanished under dark clouds. Soon, the sky was nothing but a large expanse of dark gray, and the wind only grew stronger.

"It's about to rain," Sting said.

"Well thank you for pointing out the obvious."

Sting gave you a look, before taking his shoes in one hand, holding out his other for you to grab. There was a bit of sand on his hand, but that was okay. Your hands were sandy, too, and a little wet from tracing figures on the water.

You grabbed onto his hand, looking into his eyes, and you couldn't help but smile, before you and Sting raced across the shoreline, tracking prints deep into the sand and stepping on half-buried conch shells, just as the first bout of rain came down.

When you returned to the beach house, everyone was in the living room, still in their formal clothes, hiccuping, or waddling around. Mirajane rushed to you, two towels in hand, screaming questions about your whereabouts.

You and Sting exchanged another look, your hands still holding onto each other, although slick from the raindrops, and the two of you laughed. 

All the while, outside in the downpour, the waves grew choppier, slowly reverting back to its former glory, washing over the shore more furiously, as if forcefully scrubbing away every mark you and Sting left behind. 

Soon enough, there was nothing at all- as if you and Sting were never there in the first place.