Notes: This takes place post-canon and post-Reincarnation, but it makes no reference to it so you don't really need to have read it to understand. (Though you probably do need to read Requiem & Assento dele if you want to know about Iméon lol).
Iméon makes a cameo here, but I have to precise before this surprise anyone that I refer to him with masculine pronouns in this fic. I don't usually have much trans headcanons but Iméon is one of the few exceptions, because I admit that when I first read Assento dele I… just honestly thought he was a trans man, so I was surprised when the backstage went against it afterwards and said he identified as a woman. Especially after learning he IS canonically trans in Seventh Lair, and then given I've just finished that game not long ago I'm… now really kind of struggling to see him otherwise. Of course it still seems like he's a woman in FataMoru canon so it's fine if you don't see it that way (and hey, I did write a Femslash February fic a year ago with Iméon in it so lol), but yeah when it comes to me now in my head Iméon is generally nonbinary trans masc haha.
Also, I wrote Iméon here with the idea that he remembers his past life and original meeting with Michel in the mansion, just like he does in that short story Tír na nÓg in the aftermath of Ending 5.
"I will not."
"Come on! Just a little bit! We don't even have to go that far!"
"Absolutely not."
"You already went to all the trouble to come here! You can make this last effort!"
"I said no."
"Not even for me? To make your wife happy…?"
Giselle leaned towards him, her face only inches away from his and her big, shiny jade eyes looking straight into his own. He would dare to say her tone sounded a little suggestive and, admittedly, with the way her swimsuit's cleavage was wide open and brushing against his torso, it did feel a little distracting.
Still, he ignored it. No amount of suggestive bikini would let him do what she wants.
"I'm sorry, but if my wife wants me to go swim in the sea, then she'll have to find another partner."
Giselle's seductive expression dropped from her face, and instead she glared at him, puffing out her cheeks.
"But it's only the three of us here! And Iméon already spent the morning swimming and is too tired, so I won't find anyone else!"
Michel sighed, trying his best not to let himself give in just because of Giselle's pleading and disappointed tone. Why did she have to sound like that when she was only talking about going to swim in the sea together? It wasn't the end of the world for her to just have fun on her own.
Seeking help, he threw a desperate glance at his best friend who was laying on the sand under the parasol, typing on his laptop with one hand and licking an ice cream with the other — thanks to a pretty impressive technique, he had to admit, and Michel didn't understand how he could do this without putting cream on every one of his keys — but the only response he got was a look from under his sunglasses that clearly meant 'dude, don't drag me into this.'
Well, fine. He had a thousands years of experience in how to deal with his wife, he didn't need Iméon's help anyway.
Probably.
"I don't understand why you need someone to go swim with you anyway," Michel argued back.
"Because it's more fun that way! And I won't just be swimming, we can play with a ball too!"
"…You realize that's not a good argument to convince me to join you, right?"
Giselle let out an exasperated sigh, and then to his surprise, she finally stood up; her long side ponytail flying around as she crossed her arms and threw a last glare at him.
"All right! Then stay here like an old grouch with your stupid book all on your own, while I'm going to have the best time of our vacations!"
And with this, she started running towards the sea without waiting for an answer. Michel, indeed, just stayed there with his stupid book and his mouth agape — how could this woman act like a twelve-year-old when she was now twenty-six was truly beyond him — until he heard Iméon chuckles next to him.
"I don't want to hear anything from you," he said dryly to his orange-haired friend.
"I haven't say anything."
"You thought it very loudly."
"Well, maybe." Iméon lifted his eyes away from the computer's screen and looked at Michel. "What I was thinking, actually, was that it's really funny you're okay with sacrificing your life, fighting a wicked witch and her murderers and breaking a thousands-years curse for this woman, but somehow going to swim with her in the sea is too much for you."
Michel groaned, then put down the book on his towel. "I've already made more than enough effort by coming here. You know how much I hate the beach anyway."
Well, maybe 'hate' was too strong of a word — but he certainly wasn't fond of it. His parents never brought him there when he was a kid — except on some rare exceptions, they've never been big on going anywhere during vacations in general — and especially because of his albino condition going to a place where the point was to stay exposed to the sun for a long time was, to say the least, not ideal. Thanks to the modern era's treatment his body was definitely better at handling sunlight, but it still could get troublesome if he stayed out there for a long period and could cause complications if he wasn't careful. That was why, in the five years he and Giselle had been together, they'd only been in fairly close locations — except for that one time they went to Spain and Belgium and the two times at the mountains in the Pyrenees.
However, if Michel wasn't someone who really liked to go anywhere for his days off, Giselle clearly wasn't the same. Her family as well hadn't been the kind to travel much, but she'd always really loved the sea, so she had wanted to go there for a while now; thus, this year, when Michel was able to obtain a rare full month out of work, he'd made sure to rent them a cozy place in Le Havre. They'd originally asked Morgana to come with them, but she'd refused, and in her stead Iméon accepted to stay with them only for two weeks.
Giselle had been extremely excited about the prospect of their first holidays at the beach, especially after such a long time of wanting to go there — and Michel had been happy to see her like that, he truly had.
Even so, that didn't mean he had to comply to every single one of her demands — and going to play and swim in the sea was one thing he really didn't feel like doing. He just couldn't stand swimming as well as the immensity of the ocean, and the salt always itched at his skin; he didn't seen why he couldn't simply stay on the beach, reading under the shadow of the umbrella.
But according to Giselle it wasn't fine, and Michel had the distinct feeling that Iméon was actually on her side for this one. Well, Iméon was, in fact, on Giselle's side on most things — some loyal best friend he was.
"Precisely. If you've already made the effort of coming all the way here, then you might as well go all the way out and put at least one foot in the water."
"Why are you so insistent on it? Did Giselle pay you?"
"I don't need her to pay me! She's much cuter than you so of course I'll always agree with her on everything."
Michel leveled a stern look at Iméon, who only winked and grinned back mischievously. It wasn't unusual either for him to throw some playful, flirty comments at Giselle, which only seemed to amuses her. Obviously, he knew those were just meant in jest — and he half-suspected he and Giselle had formed some sort of pact behind his back to specifically get on his nerves about this — but that didn't mean he still had to be fond of the perspective of someone else flirting with his spouse.
"It's a vacation you prepared specifically for you wife," Iméon continued. "I don't see how going into the water would be such an extra chore for you. Honestly, I don't understand why you're so insistent on not swimming and playing around. Just let it go and have some fun for once, man."
…Well… To say the truth, Michel wasn't entirely sure either.
He didn't like the sea. Wasn't fond of the beach either. And well, he did have a pretty good reason for not wanting to swim — but it wasn't like he was completely avert to the idea either.
He had no specific trauma related to the ocean, in this life or the former one. In fact, in the past he had never even seen the sea, as he'd never even been allowed to leave the Bollinger mansion's grounds, or even his chambers' grounds.
…Maybe that was partly where the issue laid.
The child he had been in the Middle Ages only knew of the ocean and the beach what he'd read in books — and, in one rare occasion, what Didier had been able to tell him after he'd come back from one of his trips. Stories narrated in broad letters what this vast blue expanse looked like without him being able to truly picture or grasp it.
The only time he'd been able to truly spectate the sea, he suddenly realized, had been during the Maid's tale of the Second Door, when he'd been plunged directly into Pauline's memories.
And while that peculiar story had been drenched in blood and tragedy and that just the thought of it sufficed to make him feel nauseous, but reminiscences of the grand blue water was ingrained in his brain — the only beautiful point of light of this miserable period.
He never would have thought at the time that he'd be able to go to the beach in presence of Giselle, to whom he was presently married to.
He'd gotten so used by now to their present life, even though that was still a miracle in more way than one; maybe he'd even grown too complacent in it.
Would his past self had the luxury to ponder whether or not he should comply to one of his wife's demands he judged trivial? Wasn't triviality specifically what they'd fought so hard to reach?
"I just…"
He didn't know what he was about to say. But either way, Iméon didn't let him try to figure it out as he suddenly rose up, taking the laptop under his arm and sliding his backpack on his shoulder.
"Well, whatever. I've had enough beach for today; and that's a problem between you guys." He glanced down at Michel from behind the sunglasses — and there was an odd shine in his green eyes that made Michel wonder if he'd been able to figure out what was going on through his head. "I'll go back at the apartment now. We're still going at the restaurant to eat mussels tonight, right? Of course I'll let you pay, you know I'm always broke."
And with this, Iméon waved at him and turned around. Michel was about to reply he could make an effort to at least pay for one thing —which he hadn't so far even in the whole week they'd spent here — but then again, he and Giselle had been the ones to invite him.
He let out a sigh, then directed his eyes towards the ocean. The sun was starting to hit really hard and the heat made his head feel a little dizzy.
They had settled in a corner of the beach with very few people — it was mostly on them here, honestly — and as he looked ahead of him, he could distinguish Giselle's silhouette in the sea far away, the water almost reaching her chest. She walked slowly through the boundless ocean, fighting the waves, then suddenly leaned down and dived into the surface. She rose up a few seconds later, and her ponytail suddenly went undone, her long black hair ending up cascading behind her back.
She looked ephemerally beautiful under the sunset, like some sort of mystical mermaid. And as he stared at her swimming in the ocean and disappearing through the waves, an odd feeling of uneasiness set in his stomach.
Whenever she would plunge under the depths, a vague feeling that she would never resurface again overwhelmed him. That she would simply vanish, aspired by the waves and the darkness of the ocean's abyss.
A ridiculous fear, maybe — but he'd never been very good at trusting fate for not taking away his source of happiness, and he wouldn't be surprised if it betrayed him again. This came accompanied with a childish sense of possessiveness, of not wanting letting anyone take her away from him, not matter if it was the sea or the sunset or the world itself.
But more than that, he felt a pang of guilt and pain in his chest at the sight of her lonely silhouette. Her long hair flying to the wind reminded him of a long braid, an old maid outfit and a pair of jade eyes without any trace of light in the closed walls of a ruined mansion.
Giselle's silhouette should never looks lonely like this. Not ever — but certainly not because of a whimsical caprice of his.
Maybe Iméon was right on this one, after all.
He sighed, got rid of his shirt, and then ran through the beach; the sand felt warm and soft under his feet, as if it was welcoming him back to where he belonged.
"Giselle!"
He shouted her name as soon as his toes were washed over by the waves, and the young woman didn't even got the time to turn around in surprise that Michel was right there, throwing his arms around her waist from behind.
He heard her gasp; felt her warm and wet skin under his hands; did his best to ignore the cold and salty sea grabbing his body. Giselle didn't seem able to react for a while, until finally he released his grip on her and she turned around. She looked at him curiously, her long wet dark hair stuck to her face and shoulders. He then didn't hesitate and leaned down to kiss her.
"M-Michel?" She finally exclaimed once they separated. "What—"
"Sorry. I… have a confession to make."
Giselle tilted her head, her eyes growing even more confused by the minutes. Their faces were still only inches away from each other, but he looked away, embarrassed.
"I… don't know how to swim."
For an instant after that, Giselle stayed completely silent. There were no sounds besides the seagulls' cries and maybe some children's laughters far away — until he heard a snort, and when he dared to look at her she was actively giggling.
"For real?" She ultimately let out.
"For… real," he admitted. "My parents never took me to the beach and I… well, I always skipped whenever we'd go to the pool at school, so…"
Giselle started laughing even harder, and Michel did his best to not snap something dry at her for it, because he kind of felt like he deserved it a little.
"You could've just said so!"
"Yeah… I guess I could have, but it's… kind of embarrassing."
"Sheesh! Of course not! A lot of adults don't know how to swim either; it's nothing to be ashamed of. You know, it could be a good opportunity to learn. I'm sure Iméon would be okay to teach you as well—"
"Please don't tell him. I-I mean… I'm not really interested in learning, and… I still don't like the sea, you know."
"But it's important to know how to swim! You could need it one day and it could save your life. …And you say that, but then why did you come here into the sea in the end?"
He hesitated a little — then looked straight into her big green eyes, and decided to be honest.
"It felt like the sea was taking you away from me. And… I didn't like seeing you all alone there. You… looked lonely."
At first, she looked a little surprised; and then her face slowly softened, her eyes shining with affection in that way she used whenever she thought he'd said something cute or childish. Which it absolutely was in this case, to be fair.
She cupped his cheek, raising her body on her tiptoes, and kissed him gently. Her lips tasted of salt, but for some reason right now it didn't bother him much.
"Well, that's fine," she declared. "You don't need to learn right now. We can just play around in the sea without swimming."
"I suppose… we can do that."
He admittedly wasn't that keen on doing this, but now that he was literally waist-deep into the ocean it wasn't like he could refuse anymore. So he kissed her again; on the cheek, and then on the forehead, making Giselle giggles — before they retrieved a ball on the beach to go back and play around in the less deep area of the water.
And, to his shock, after a while he actually ended up having fun; overtly laughing whenever Giselle would threw the ball at him or managing to even beat her a few times — and they stayed there up until the sky started to get dark.
When they met back with Iméon at the restaurant tonight, his friend smiled widely at him, announcing proudly that he'd won the bet he'd made with Morgana that Michel would even end up going into the sea if his wife asked it.
And Giselle's laughter and her hand in his and the fun of the afternoon still present in his mind was enough that this wasn't even enough to annoy him in the slightest.
