Eridan awoke to greet the morning with the same despondency one would have had they awoken beside a stranger. The sun that peered in through his severed blinds did not trigger recognition nor did he welcome it amidst the unchanging scenery that felt all too unfamiliar. As he yawned, he wondered if the situation was as curious as he imagined it to be, and as he splashed his face with the marble sink's waters, he questioned the perplexity of the ordeal. Something was off and as cliched as it was, he could not quite place his finger on it.
He had hardly allowed his foot to press against the cool tile of the kitchen when civilization's briefest confrontation began.
"Eridan," His father's voice was gruff. "You're late." The eldest Ampora was perched across the room, his face buried inside the creases of a newspaper. "You'll miss the bus." His words were stately and matter-of-fact, as they always were. This terseness, Eridan felt, was familiar.
"I'm going," came the schoolboy's murmured reply. He felt his words had fallen on deaf ears, but perhaps he simply wasn't speaking loudly enough. Either way, he had dealt with his father for the day and was relatively glad to be getting out of the house. As he left, fresh air flooded his nostrils, mixing with seasalt in a manner that convinced him the atmosphere was a professional bartender, throwing together perfect blends of intoxicating fragrances. In past mornings, he'd walked alongside a girl and discussed the very idea. Today, he walked alone with heavy footing.
The bus stop wasn't far, but to get there required a bit of a climb. The saltwater river that cut through the backyards of the townspeople had necessitated the building of an elevated city, as to avoid flooding. As Eridan climbed, he considered life without the river. Its constant noise and seemingly magnetic pull on children created a need for near-daily Asprin doses, but it provided permanency and simplicity in an ever-changing world.
Change. Something about the word reminded him of the curiosity of his morning's routine. "There once was a girl," he mouthed. He had reached the bus stop and was standing alone in the bright of day. "A girl," This time he spoke audibly, albeit quietly. As he waited, with clouds drifting in unidentified shapes overhead, the girl from memory made her way towards the stop. Her hair bounced with shiny curls, a wonderfully natural result from living on a riverbank. She was a gorgeous thing and Eridan had to consciously keep his mouth shut about it. On the surface, he appeared transfixed by her beauty and by her radiating positivity. Deeper, there was sadness. Sadness and rage.
She chose to stand beside him. "Good morning Eridan," she said, a cough rising and falling in her throat all at once. A breeze blew through them, ruffling their hair and carrying away the conversation. She tried again. "It's lovely out today." Eridan's eyes showed registry of her words, but he turned his head and shifted his gaze.
The girl pursed her lips before speaking. "I don't suppose you're acting all hurt because of me, are you?" After shooting off the target for so long, she skipped right through the outer rings and hit the bullseye. Her question triggered reply.
"I'm not hurt, Fef," he grunted, tapping the hinge on his glasses. "It's called anger. Big difference." He fell silent once more. Feferi scratched her forehead but said no more. It was best to leave him be. Their fallout was not mendable at this point, she acknowledged that. The two shared nothing more than wounded glances for the following minute.
The bus came and went in seconds.