Cecilia Immergreen had always thought that love would be enough. That once she and Gigi had crossed the fragile line from longing to belonging, everything would settle. And for the most part, it had. Gigi was hers now—wholly, undeniably. The laughter they shared, the quiet mornings spent wrapped in sheets, the way Gigi’s lips lingered on hers as if time didn’t matter—it was more than Cecilia had ever dared to hope for.
But sometimes, it didn’t feel like enough.
It wasn’t Gigi’s fault. Gigi had moved on. She had let go of the past, or at least it seemed that way. Yet, Cecilia couldn’t help but feel its weight in the corners of their happiness, in the silence that stretched too long after a shared joke or the way Gigi’s hands would sometimes hesitate, like they’d once known another rhythm. It wasn’t something Gigi spoke about—she never said her name—but Cecilia could feel her in the spaces between them. Blue eyes, blonde hair, a presence Cecilia had never met but couldn’t escape.
Cecilia hated herself for it. Hated the way her mind turned every tender moment into a question. Did she hold Gigi the way she did? Did Gigi ever look at her and see someone else? She would never ask. She would never put that burden on Gigi. But the questions lingered, gnawing at the edges of her heart like ivy slowly creeping up a crumbling wall.
There were nights when she lay awake, Gigi’s arm draped over her waist, the steady rhythm of her breathing the only sound in the room. Cecilia would watch the moonlight trace patterns on the ceiling and wonder if it had always been this way—if Gigi had held her too, if she’d whispered the same promises in her ear, promises that once felt like they belonged only to Cecilia. And though Gigi never gave her a reason to doubt, Cecilia couldn’t shake the phantom that lingered between them.
It wasn’t jealousy, or at least not entirely. Cecilia didn’t resent her. How could she? She was part of Gigi’s story, part of what made her who she was—the woman Cecilia loved so fiercely it ached. But knowing that didn’t stop the burning in her chest, the quiet voice that whispered, You’ll never be enough to erase her.
Gigi’s voice broke through the quiet, soft and hesitant. “Cecilia?”
Cecilia blinked, startled out of her spiralling thoughts. She turned to find Gigi watching her, concern etched into her features. “You’ve been quiet,” Gigi murmured, her hand brushing against Cecilia’s. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment, Cecilia considered lying, brushing it off with a laugh or a shake of her head. But Gigi deserved more than that. They both did. “It’s nothing,” she began, but her voice faltered under Gigi’s steady gaze. “It’s just… sometimes I feel like there’s someone else. Not now, I mean. But before me. Someone who mattered so much to you, I…” She exhaled, frustrated at her inability to put it into words. “I feel like I can’t compare.”
Gigi’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked almost hurt. Then she smiled—a small, wistful curve of her lips. “You mean her,” she said softly. “I was wondering when you’d bring her up.”
Cecilia blinked, her breath catching. “You knew I’d—”
“I’m not blind,” Gigi interrupted gently, her tone light but her expression serious. “I’ve seen it in your eyes. The way you hesitate sometimes, like you’re afraid to ask. I just… I didn’t know how to bring it up without making it worse.”
Cecilia swallowed, her heart thudding. “You loved her,” she said, more a statement than a question.
“I did,” Gigi admitted, her gaze distant. “But I was the one who ended it.”
That stunned Cecilia into silence. Of all the things she’d imagined, that wasn’t one of them. “You… ended it?”
Gigi nodded, her expression unreadable. “She found someone else,” she said simply, the words landing like a quiet blow.
Cecilia didn’t know what to say. The admission left her hollow and heavy all at once. “Oh,” was all she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Gigi reached for her hand, her grip warm and firm. “It wasn’t easy,” she said softly. “But I let her go. Because I loved her, and because I deserved to be loved in return.” She paused, her eyes meeting Cecilia’s. “Just like I love you. And I do love you, Cecilia. You know that, don’t you?”
Cecilia nodded, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She did know. She felt it in every touch, every word, every quiet moment they shared. But knowing didn’t erase the ache.
As the night deepened and Gigi’s breathing slowed beside her, Cecilia stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. She tried to let Gigi’s words soothe her, to let the truth of their love settle the unease in her heart. But she couldn’t shake the image of blue eyes and blonde hair, the phantom that refused to fade.
She wondered what she was like now. Had she found happiness? Did she think of Gigi, the way Cecilia thought of her? She imagined her somewhere far away, happy and free, just as Gigi had let her be. And maybe that was enough.
Cecilia turned onto her side, watching the gentle rise and fall of Gigi’s shoulders. She knew she had to put it all behind her. She had Gigi now. Gigi loved her, and that should be enough.
But as sleep began to claim her, she couldn’t help but see her in the back of her mind, still lingering like a fever. And in that quiet moment, Cecilia wondered if she’d ever really stop asking herself if she’d crossed some unseen line.
~~~~~~~~~
The ocean breeze was warm against Amelia’s skin, carrying the faint tang of salt and the laughter of seagulls overhead. She sat on the weathered wooden steps of a beachside cabin, her bare feet buried in the cool sand as she watched the waves lap lazily at the shore. The tide had just begun to retreat, leaving behind glistening shells and trails of foam.
Behind her, a voice called out, bright and full of warmth. “Ame! You forgot the sunscreen again, didn’t you?”
Amelia turned, grinning as Gura bounded toward her, a bottle of sunscreen in one hand and a lopsided hat perched on her silver-blue hair. The shark tail trailing behind her kicked up small clouds of sand as she approached. “I didn’t forget,” Amelia lied, squinting up at her. “I just thought I’d get a little extra colour.”
“You’ll get extra burned, dummy,” Gura teased, plopping down beside her. She pulled Amelia’s arm toward her and started applying the sunscreen, her touch gentle but firm.
“You’d think a detective would know better than to ignore basic precautions.”
Amelia laughed, leaning into Gura’s shoulder. “You’re my precaution,” she murmured, her voice soft.
Gura paused, her hand lingering against Amelia’s skin before she smiled—a wide, toothy grin that made Amelia’s heart swell. “Good. Then you’re in safe hands.”
They sat together in silence for a while, watching the horizon as the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of gold and orange. Amelia’s hand found Gura’s, their fingers intertwining effortlessly.
She didn’t think about the past much anymore. Those memories were distant, softened by time and eclipsed by the joy of the life she’d built. Here, by the sea, with Gura’s laughter filling the spaces in her heart, Amelia felt it—peace.
And as the waves whispered their endless song, she closed her eyes and let it carry her away.