It wasn't until after the kiss that she realized how often her thoughts were drawn to him.
Throughout the next day, between waiting tables and answering tourists' questions, images of last night kept bouncing into her head. She recalled the hushed words of affection he had spoken to her. The reassuring warmth of his hand wrapped around hers as he had walked her to the boat, which distracted her entirely from the cold saltwater lapping at her knees. She recalled the way he had lingered for an extra moment, color flashing across his cheeks, before descending in to the waves. How the light from his lantern dwindled in the murky water, but still shone bright multitudes in her mind's eye.
More than once, while she was supposed to be cleaning tables with a window view, she caught herself gazing idly at the water on the horizon. It was a cloudy day. The colors of the town and the shoreline looked pale and washed out, in sharp contrast to the dark, slate-grey ocean. Despite the knowledge that gazing at the sea would not bring him back to her any faster, she found an inexplicable comfort in knowing that he was there. So she allowed herself one last glance at the grey and churning ocean, and then returned her attention to the dirty dishes and the cleaning rags.
-
The moments between thoughts of her were painful, but offered a strange relief from the otherwise searing gaze of palace attendants. Since he had begun thinking of her, since he had made the decision to keep seeing her, interactions between himself and other Atlanteans had become rigid and tense.
He made every effort not to reveal his unease, but deep down, there was an unshakeable paranoia that everybody knew what he was doing in the shadows. He did not want to become another name whispered only in deep corridors by serving-staff when the nobility has gone to sleep. He did not want to become another ghost story. But for every anxious interaction between himself and one of the palace attendants—or even worse, his father—he could recall a moment of equal comfort in the presence of his confidante.
(Y/N) was the only person in his universe who was not obligated to humor him, and yet she chose to spend time with him anyways. Besides listening to him, she dared to voice her disagreements. Every response was genuine. Even in her critique, there was comfort; a reassurance that he did not always have to be right. It was unlike the harsh and unforgiving correction he had received from Orvax, and even from Vulko at times. Although there was no room for missteps surrounding the circumstances of their meetings, he was safe to make mistakes as long as he was beside her. He could breathe.
In the rare moments when he could drift outside the throneroom, where he otherwise spent hours listening in on his fathers meetings, he sought a secluded balcony on the west edge of the palace. From there, he imagined he could feel the warmth of the sunlight as it made its way down in thin shafts.