The glasses run dry. Even now, Olive holds a compulsion to check Rodi’s hand for his ring. It's still there, a moonlight's trace of silver. He rises back from his gloom, a flower woken up in spring.

While their second rounds are mixed, the two inklings go further into the topic of memories. They start musing why picture are taken, words are put to paper, stories are retold between people who know them all too well. They conclude it's because these let them live other versions of themselves for a bit longer.

It might be why they kept saying their vows, but never voiced them in front of others. They weren’t ready to lose that ethereal feeling, when only the grains of sand, drops of water, veins in leaves spoke about their eternal affection.

At the midpoint of their past decade, Isandro and Anthos found themselves on the Inkadian coastline. They were drawn back to their most secret corner, a lone beach in the Bay.

Driftwood was gathered in a neat spot in the sand, becoming a placeholder for the platform where they would've stood. In between picking seashells, Olive looked beyond the shoreline. In the harsh lines between warm and cold currents, the glittery shallows and unbound depths, he revisited Rodi and himself treading these thresholds, remembering a fateful night's skinny dip. Their confessions danced wildly with the waters.

Until Isandro and Anthos were certain their life wasn't a vivid daydream, they were enjoying this exciting middle state: neither boyfriends nor spouses, but devoted and engaged to each other.

"From here, you'll be coming with the bouquet," Rodi gestured behind a palm tree, emerging and enacting Olive's walk, gallant and wide-shouldered. “Have Pepper throw it at you.”

A smile bloomed on Olive. He then envisioned Rodi in the big day's pearly chiton, the fabric blowing in the sea breeze. He would've been holding a huge bouquet to feed to the waves. In gratitude towards the sea, the petals were supposed to be scattered on the water's surface, watched to drift towards the infinite. Olive’s mother knew more about the symbolism. It had something to do with their ancestors, gifting them strength for their perilous climb towards land.

“We'll see. Ready for another go?” Olive stepped away from the shoreline.

This was just another light-hearted rehearsal, the tenth time they were sliding the rings off their fingers, just to put them back on for each other. They have learned from their bartending competitions to rehearse a choreography until it became second nature, just in case they dropped one of the rings. It wasn't for the clumsiness of it, they just had to minimise the chance of Rodi saying something crass in his moment's wit.

Rodi approached the driftwood platform, hands behind his back until Olive settled in front of him.

"But we’ll say the proper words this time,” Olive made sure. “Do you still know them?”

"Blah, blah. I want you. You're husband material, Anthos.”

Olive’s lips took a wry curl for a moment.

"...I also take you, Rodi Isandro, for my life."

Rodi cleared his throat, but the smirk didn't smudge. "Fine. May we remember the sky's heights when we find ourselves in the depths."

"No matter if on calm waters..."

"Or stormy tides..."

Olive pictured a gulp of the seawater, lightening the weight of the words with the giggle. "May the salty tears speak of the joys, not sorrows of our love."

They paused after the first part, for a syrupy, longing look in the eyes. While they couldn’t quite hit the effect in the rehearsal, they just kept a proud gaze. Congrats for not messing up this early.

It would’ve made their friends and family weak, how they’d knead each other’s hands in anticipation, do a trust fall in their irises. Until they had an actual ring bearer, Rodi took the rings out of his pocket. They weren't brushed gold yet.

The second part was more involved. Making a small nod for himself, Rodi’s face finally turned serious with concentration.

"Thus, through our love, let us praise our ocean home, the verdant shores, the warmth... The warmth of... Of--"

"…of the distant light," Olive filled in, yet his snarky tone vanished when he saw Rodi.

He was suddenly tearing up, voice too locked to continue the vows. They quickly got lost in the silence, the crashing waves, his spinning thoughts.

"…I vow to honour the Sun together with you," Olive continued for him, quieter.

He could’ve asked what just happened, but it felt better to just let it play out. They would’ve cried on the actual day, too. But these weren’t tears spurred from some lost composure. They were tears of some great epiphany.

Rodi suddenly had an answer for the shape of their hands, why they were so. He fixated on them.

Olive always understood this, having stared at the skeletons in Shellendorf Institute whenever he passed them by, but he never questioned it, like his lover did. ...Maybe it was time to. Maybe he could, if his mind didn't scream desire.

He brushed back Rodi's tentacles, to lift his gaze, then steadied his shoulders. He patiently waited for the last part of the vow.

He heard the words in Rodi's voice, yet they were travelling through his mind, not through the air. Their meaning turned even more profound, and it was becoming harder for Anthos to stay in the moment.

The consciousness became one. Olive’s words whispered by themselves.

"...Because its light gifts me a tomorrow with you.”

Long ago, there was a yearning for this sunlight.

Olive lifted his hand, for Rodi’s ring. Rodi lifted his hand, for Olive’s ring. They were stuck on replay, over replay, over replay of the same scene. Different times and places, different faces, same souls. Two wedding bands made an infinite for a reason.

They were kidding themselves when they said they’d need rehearsals. They’ve been doing this for ages.

Rodi took back control, suddenly feeling his tense lip cushioned by Olive’s bottom lip. They fell back into their bodies, drawing their minds from the ether to the creature comforts: the cheek's softness, the tear's wetness, the heartbeat's radiance.

It was the first time they bookended their rehearsal with a kiss, and it already seemed like the real one. They let it fade while they rested their foreheads together, keeping their arms looped tight around their bodies. After stealing one more kiss for courage, quick and chaste, Rodi took a step back. He rolled his ring on his trembling finger. His watery sight was drawn to the shoreline.

Olive took the seashells from earlier in one hand, and Rodi's in another. They stepped towards the water, as if it called them. The driftwood creaked when they stepped off it.

In lieu of the petals, Olive threw the shells back into the water. Rodi's footsteps in the fine sand were blown smooth by the marine wind.

They shuddered at the flood of memories that just came over them. None of them were theirs, yet they felt so.

Greenhouses, glassware, light panels, rocket fuel, inferno.

Pieces of themselves were still in the bay's waters, somewhere, on the sea bed.