He met her at the bar.
Her hair was long and white, much like Tatsumiya's, but her eyes were a bright blue, and she wasn't a oarfish, but a salmon shark.
While the two of them were slightly intoxicated, they both, at least, seemed to have the right amount of sense to navigate the streets of Deep Sea Town and back to her home.
It was a small house, just one story, with only a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. Still, there were pictures everywhere, of her and a man, a tiger shark by the looks of it. Sometimes they were alone in the photos, but in most of them, they were standing together, one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders or her sitting in his lap, arms hanging around his neck and her lips planted on his temple.
Old ventured to guess from the ring on her finger that the man was her husband, but it didn't stop him from being any less rough with her, nor her with him.
They were both mostly teeth and nails, clawing and biting at one another's skin, pulling each other's hair. By the time they had gotten to the actual sex, they were covered in scratches and bruises and bites and blood, and, fuck, did it feel good.
They spent some time afterwards simply lying on top of her bed, staring at the ceiling, breathing heavily.
There were several minutes of silence before she crawled back over to him, body pressed against his side, mouth on his shoulder. Kissing. Biting.
He wanted to imagine she was Tatsumiya, but her lips were thicker, her breasts much larger, and she wasn't serving as a very good substitution for the oarfish.
Lazily, his eyes drifted over to the clock on the wall, amongst the sea of picture frames. Two in the morning. "When you thinking he'll be back?" He really didn't feel like getting in the middle of some sort of martial dispute.
"Not for a long while," she breathed against his skin. Her teeth sunk into his skin, drawing blood, and she lapped at it with her tongue. "He's never home; probably out sleeping with other women."
While she continued her biting and kissing, Old rolled his head to look at the ceiling once more. "Isn't that what you're doing?" He asked. She looked up from her work. "Sleeping with other men?"
Her mouth drew into a tight line, and she held herself up on her elbows, her arm pressed against his. "Yeah, well you're the first one," she admitted, staring at his face. "It's just, like..." Her mouth moved, but no sound came out, like she was trying to find words. Finally, she started speaking again. "He tells me he loves me, every day, and so we get married, but then, we just... lose it." She sighed, rolling onto her back and joining Old in staring at the ceiling. "Maybe I'm just hoping he'll find out, and that it'll make him want me again. Or maybe I just want to fill the void."
What a horribly lonely woman.
Perhaps she was telling him that he was just a substitution for her husband, but Old couldn't find himself caring. After all, that's what she was to him: a substitution, a distraction.
He pulled himself up slightly, crouching over the woman, and ran his hands through her long white hair. While it was matted and tangled from his roughness, it at least seemed familiar, beautiful and Tatsumiya-like.
"Wanna go for a second round?"
She blinked up at him, and then a tiny smile crept up her lips. "Why not?"
He couldn't remember if he'd used protection or not.
He didn't find himself particularly caring, though.
