THYME'S POV:
Confusion. That's what makes someone do something utterly, devastatingly unexpected. Who would ever have guessed that the shared wave of inexplicable grief at a place neither of us consciously remembered would lead to something so wildly, terrifyingly beyond our control? 'I've never been in this place before,' I murmured, my voice cracking, a raw sound I barely recognized as my own. The words were a plea, an unanswered question tossed into the vast, indifferent expanse of the ocean. I pulled back from Meta's embrace, just for a moment, needing to see the beach scenery once again, as if the shimmering horizon held the key to this unbearable ache in my chest. There was something forgotten, something vital, that I needed to remember. This wasn't just sadness; it was a desperate, clawing hunger, urging me to discover something hidden, something lost. But what was it? My eyes scanned the gentle curve of the shoreline, the soft foam of the waves, searching for a sign, a flicker of recognition that never came..
"Thyme?" Meta's voice, a soft, low rumble, pulled me back. It wasn't the teasing, arrogant tone I'd grown accustomed to. This was different. It was warm, impossibly soft, like the first rays of dawn after a long, cold night. And when I turned my gaze back to him, still tear-streaked and confused, I couldn't explain what was happening. His eyes, the ones that had always held that infuriatingly confident, almost dangerous glint, now met mine with a depth I hadn't seen before. They seemed so captivating, pulling me in, drawing me deeper, as if I were being hypnotized by a silent, ancient spell. I felt my whole body getting warm, a flush spreading from my neck up to my cheeks, despite the cool sea breeze. My heart, which had just been pounding with inexplicable grief, now hammered against my ribs with a frantic, exhilarating rhythm. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. My mind, already a swirling fog of confusion, went completely blank, leaving only instinct. One overwhelming desire.
We kept silent, the space between us charged, the air thick with unspoken questions. I felt Meta's hands, so warm, so strong, slowly cup my cheeks. His thumbs gently brushed away the lingering tears, a tender, possessive gesture that sent shivers through me. Stop him, Thyme, a tiny, frantic voice screamed in the deepest corner of my mind. Don't let him do what you are thinking. Don't let this happen! But my body was not responding. It felt heavy, rooted, almost eager. My mind was still not working, a beautiful, terrifying void. All I could register was the raw, unadulterated yearning in his gaze, a mirroring of the chaos in my own heart.
His head tilted, slowly, agonizingly slowly. My breath hitched in my throat. I watched, mesmerized, as our lips began to move, drawing closer, inch by agonizing inch, until they softly, irrevocably touched.
The moment our lips met, an electric current surged through me, but it was immediately overwhelmed by a tidal wave of extreme sadness. My eyes, already damp, flooded again, tears streaming, hot and endless, down my face, even as his lips pressed against mine. The emotion was so overwhelming, so vast, it felt like a lifetime of suppressed longing breaking free. It was as if we had missed each other for an eternity, as if we had known each other in a past too distant to recall, as if we were lovers who had been yearning for this precise touch for so, so long. I didn't understand it. It was so confusing, so unexplainable, a paradox of pure sorrow and profound connection. But one thing I knew, with a certainty that transcended all logic: I had missed this kind of warmth. I had missed the softness of his lips, the gentle pressure that seemed to promise an end to a loneliness I hadn't even realized I carried. We continued, a breathless, tear-soaked dance of lips and souls, until the desperate need for air forced us to break apart.
I immediately turned my gaze, my head snapping to the side, away from him, away from the raw intensity of his eyes. My cheeks burned, a blush that had nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the shame, the confusion, the electric shock of what had just transpired. What the hell did happen? Why did I kiss him? Why was I feeling like this? The questions screamed in my head, a frantic chorus against the quiet hum of the ocean. My heart was still a frantic drum against my ribs, echoing the unreadable expression I knew must be on his face.
"Shit! Why did I do that?!" The words burst from my mouth, unfiltered, a raw explosion of panic and mortification. My hands flew up, a desperate, frantic urge to bang my head against something hard. The dashboard of the car looked so inviting, so solid, a perfect surface to pound away the overwhelming embarrassment. I actually leaned forward, my forehead hovering inches from the polished wood, when a terrifying thought slammed into me. Wait, this car! It's… I immediately pulled back, my hands hovering protectively over the pristine surface. "I didn't intend to damage you," I whispered, practically stroking the dashboard like a terrified cat. "Please, please don't get any damages." The sheer, horrifying price tag I'd mentally assigned to this vehicle was enough to completely overwrite the kiss for a glorious, fleeting second. But that bastard, Meta, would not let me have even a moment of peace.
"I don't know what to say, kid," Meta's voice, smooth as silk, cut through my internal meltdown, laced with that infuriatingly calm amusement. "Is my kiss that terrible that you need to curse me and then weirdly caress my car, or is it so good that it broke your brain?"
Every drop of blood in my body seemed to rush to my head, my face burning, a supernova of pure mortification. This was so unbelievably embarrassing! Was he serious? He still had the nerve, the unmitigated gall, to make fun of what just happened?! My fists clenched, itching to connect with that perfectly sculpted jaw. But then, a flash of something I'd seen in a dozen series played in my mind: exorbitant medical bills. If I hurt him, I'd probably be charged so much for his hospital stay, I'd be working off his expenses until I was old and grey. My fantasy of punching him evaporated like mist in the morning sun.
"Yes, your kiss was terrible!" The lie was out before I could even process it, a desperate, pathetic attempt to regain some semblance of dignity. Immediately, I flung open the car door and bolted. The warm sand greeted my feet, and I scrambled towards the shore, desperate to put as much distance as humanly possible between myself and that infuriating man. I wanted to forget what happened. I wanted to forget the way his lips felt, the overwhelming sadness, the confusing warmth, everything. I wanted to smash my head on the ground, but everything I saw was soft, yielding sand, the vast, uncaring sea, and in the distance, that gleaming, impossibly expensive car. Maybe the water could help wash away the mortification? But then, another horrifying realization hit me. "Shit!" I didn't have any extra clothes with me. How could I return home, soaking wet, looking like a drowned rat after the most humiliating morning of my life?
"I HATE THIS DAY!!!!" I roared, my voice raw, straining against the vastness of the sea. I needed to get all my frustration out, every ounce of it. Why the hell was this happening to me?! Why did I always end up in the most ridiculously embarrassing situations? I kicked the sand repeatedly, a furious, impotent dance, until my legs ached and my breath came in ragged gasps. I didn't even realize that bastard was watching me, leaning casually against the car door, until his voice, calm and laced with that familiar, infuriating chuckle, broke the spell.
"Are you done getting out all your frustration, Snotty Kid?" He chuckled again, a deep, mocking sound that vibrated right through me.
"CAN YOU STOP CALLING ME SNOTTY KID?!" I yelled back, whirling around to face him, my chest heaving. "I'm not a kid anymore, and most of all, I don't have a snot in my nose!" The indignation was pure, unadulterated.
"Fine, I will stop," he said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face, a smile that made my stomach clench with an uneasy mix of dread and something else... something warm. "But..."
What does this bastard want to say now? I whispered to myself, already bracing for the next verbal assault.
"BUT?!" I prompted, impatient, watching him, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Instead of calling you Snotty Kid," he purred, taking a slow step towards me, "I will call you... Hungry Baby."
My jaw dropped. My ears rang. "Wh... wha... what did you say?! Are you making fun of me?! Seriously?!" The blood rushed back to my face, hotter than before. He couldn't be serious. This was beyond humiliating.
"Somehow," he admitted, his smile widening, completely unrepentant. "But everything I say is true, true. You seem like you are always hungry and—"
Before he could continue, before he could add another syllable of his infuriating logic, my traitorous stomach, choosing the absolute worst possible moment in the history of the universe, let out a resounding:
"Glorp... glorp..."
The sound echoed in the sudden quiet, a booming, undeniable protest from my perpetually empty abyss. My face flamed. Shit! Of all the times! Of all the conversations, you choose now to make a sound?! Meta threw his head back, a loud, booming laugh escaping him, genuine and utterly uninhibited.
"See?" he managed between laughs, wiping a tear from his eye. "You are always hungry."
"Shut up!!!" I screeched, stamping my foot in the sand, my embarrassment reaching critical mass. He just kept laughing, doubled over, and I wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
He finally straightened, though a lingering smile still played on his lips. His gaze, still intense, shifted, becoming uncharacteristically serious. "Also," he said, his voice dropping, suddenly firm, "I always take responsibility for my actions. What happened earlier is unexplainable, but still, I made that action, and I don't regret it. So, starting today... you are mine."
"W... wa... wait what?!" My mind reeled. Did I mishear him? Was the sea air making me hallucinate? No, I hadn't. I was sure I heard him correctly. "You are mine." The words hung in the air, possessive, terrifying, and utterly, bewilderingly romantic. I was too embarrassed and too confused by what was happening. My whole body felt like it was burning up from the sheer, overwhelming blush. Without thinking, pure instinct driving me, I turned and launched myself into the incoming wave, wanting nothing more than to hide from this impossible, baffling, utterly humiliating situation. The cold shock of the water was a welcome, if temporary, escape from the scorching heat of my own embarrassment.
I think I need to get out of the water. My lungs were burning, a desperate, searing ache that screamed for air. Arggg! Why now, of all the times? Muscle cramp? Seriously? A sharp, sudden spasm ripped through my calf, tightening like a vice, dragging me deeper, faster. Shit! I'd jumped into the deeper part of the waters without thinking properly, without a single coherent thought beyond escaping Meta's infuriating declaration. Now, the blue-green world was pressing in, suffocating.
"Sh... blub-blub... it," I choked, water filling my mouth, hot and stinging against my tongue. My arms flailed uselessly, battling against the insistent pull of the cramp and the crushing weight of the ocean. Someone help me... please... "Hel... blub-blub... p... me," The desperate cry bubbled out, swallowed instantly by the relentless water. I knew it was dumb to scream for help when I was underwater, but pure, unadulterated fear was tightening its icy grip around my heart.
The earlier warmth, the flush of embarrassment, the bewildering confusion from the kiss – it all vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, bone-chilling cold. The sorrow I'd felt just moments before, a strange, abstract pain, now morphed into a stark, terrifying certainty: I was going to die. The cold was absolute, seeping into my very bones. Panic, raw and primal, clawed at my throat. I don't want to die yet... Is this the end of me?
My vision started to tunnel, the edges of the watery world fading into a blurry gray. I was losing consciousness, the frantic struggle of my body slowing, growing heavy. And then, as the last vestiges of awareness slipped, voices, sharp and distinct, began to echo inside my head. Were they real? Or was I hallucinating, my mind unraveling in its final moments?
"I Love You, Thyme!"
"You should give him to me, I'm begging you."
"I will make sure you suffer!"
"I'm sorry..."
"I hope you were never born."
"Please don't leave me!"
"I will kill you!"
"You are a liar!"
The voices swirled around me, a cacophony of adoration, hatred, pleas, and condemnation, each one a fresh stab of confusion and terror. They were so real, so vivid, yet utterly nonsensical in this moment of impending death.
I was going deeper and deeper, sinking into the abyssal quiet. No one was coming. No one was willing to help me. The frantic hope, the desperate plea, became a silent, internal scream. Someone please save me. META, please save me. My chest was tightening, an unbearable pressure squeezing the last, precious air from my lungs. It was empty now. Utterly, completely empty. Everything was getting darker, the light from the surface a distant, fading memory as I sank deeper, and deeper, until the world dissolved into an impenetrable, terrifying black.
The darkness was a physical entity—absolute, crushing, and colder than I could have imagined. I was sinking, swallowed by an ocean that felt as thick as oil, the weight of it a final, suffocating shroud. Just as the last spark of my consciousness fizzled, a powerful force seized my shirt, yanking me from the abyss. Air! A glorious, desperate, burning gasp of it! I couldn't see, couldn't think, but I was alive. Someone had saved me.
"Kun! Wake up!" The voice was a low, rough growl, so urgent it felt like a physical blow. It was disturbingly familiar, an echo from a place in my mind I didn't know existed. Why did it resonate with such a chilling sense of dread?
"What the hell happened to you?" Another question, sharp with an impatient anger. And then—a pressure on my lips. Warm, insistent, and utterly violating. Is he kissing me? The thought was a surreal bubble in my waterlogged brain. Who is this bastard? Saving my life only to kiss me?
"Kun!" he barked again, the name a dissonant chord. A fresh wave of real panic, colder than the water, washed over me. I tried to push him away, to fight back, but my arms and legs were disconnected, heavy appendages that refused my commands. They felt like they were filled with sand.
"Kun!" For the third time, that strange pressure. But it wasn't a kiss. It was rhythmic, forceful. A blast of air, not passion, was being forced into my lungs. The horrifying realization pierced through the fog like a shard of ice: mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The intimacy was gone, replaced by a clinical terror. But why 'Kun'? Who the hell was Kun?
"Kun! Please, wake up!" His voice, now scraped raw with desperation, seemed to snap a wire in my brain. Sensation, agonizing and slow, trickled back into my limbs. A thousand needles, then a deep, throbbing ache. A violent spasm ripped through my chest.
"Koff! Koff! Haaack!" I convulsed, a torrent of burning, salty water erupting from my lungs, spewing onto the muddy ground beside me. My body bucked, desperate for oxygen as the world spun in a nauseating blur.
"Kun, are you okay?" The voice was closer, laced with a gruff, almost possessive concern. I blinked, my eyes stinging as the harsh, gray light resolved into the face above me.
My breath caught. My heart stopped, then restarted with a painful, hammering cadence. "Me... Meta?"
It was his face, yet it was terrifyingly wrong. The sharp jawline, the intense eyes, the intimidating aura—all there. But this version was brutalized. A jagged, angry scar, white and puckered, traced a vicious line from his cheekbone to the corner of his lip, making him look like he was in a permanent snarl. And where Meta's eyes held a calculated calm, this man's burned with a raw, untamed danger. He wasn't a university student. He was a predator.
"Wh... what's happening? Where am I?" Panic flared, pure and cold. This wasn't the beach. The air was thick and humid, reeking of decay and brackish water. We were beside a murky, slow-moving river, surrounded by dense, rotting foliage. The sun, the sand, Meta's car—all vanished as if they had never been.
"Am I going crazy?" The whisper escaped my lips, a fragile puff of air.
"Quiet," the Meta look-alike snapped, but his voice was deceptively low, a silken menace that was far more terrifying than a shout. The high-strung, violent energy crackled around him. He radiated the kind of authority that came from breaking things, from ending arguments with fists and weapons. He was something from a crime movie, a mafia enforcer who had just dragged a body from the river.
I scrambled backward on instinct, the wet earth cold against my palms. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, each beat a silent scream: He's going to kill me. He looks like he could kill me and not even blink.
He took a slow step toward me, crouching down so we were eye-level. His gaze was a physical weight. "You said a name," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "'Meta.' How do you know that name?"
My tongue felt thick, swollen, useless. I couldn't form words, couldn't think past the sheer, paralyzing terror of his proximity. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my limbs were still trembling and weak.
"You don't want to answer?" A ghost of a smile touched his scarred lips, a terrifying sight. He reached slowly, deliberately, into the waistband of his dark pants. My eyes widened at the sickeningly soft clink of metal. He pulled out a gun. A black, semi-automatic pistol that looked heavy and deadly in his hand.
My blood turned to ice water in my veins.
He didn't point it at me. Not yet. He pointed it at the ground next to my hand, the cold, black barrel glinting malevolently. "I'll ask you one more time. Who are you, and how do you know my name?"
"Ku... Kun, please calm down... I..." My attempt to placate him was a pathetic, trembling jumble of sounds. My own voice was alien to me.
His eyes narrowed. "That's not my name."
"BANG!"
The deafening roar of the gunshot exploded right beside my head. I screamed, a raw, animal sound of pure terror as splinters of wood from a rotten log a foot away sprayed my face. The smell of gunpowder, acrid and sharp, filled the air. The ringing in my ears was so loud it drowned out my own frantic heartbeat. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, streamed down my face, blurring his menacing silhouette.
"Pl... please don't kill me," I begged, my voice a broken whimper. I was no longer thinking, just reacting. I crab-walked backward, desperate to put distance between myself and the gun, my hands and feet slipping in the mud. "I thought... I thought you were someone else..."
Before I could finish, before my mind could process any of it, my heel snagged on empty air. I had scrambled to the very edge of a rickety, wooden plank dock I hadn't even seen. My balance evaporated.
"Shit!" the man snarled.
"SPLASH!"
The cold, shocking embrace of the river swallowed me for the second time. It was even more terrifying now. My clothes, already waterlogged, felt like they were made of lead, dragging me down into the murky depths. The terror from the man, the gunshot, the sheer impossibility of it all, had paralyzed me. I tried to kick, to fight, but my limbs were sluggish, disconnected, moving through thick mud. My lungs screamed for air that wasn't there. Darkness crowded my vision, pulling me under.
"Thyme!! Are you okay?!"
A voice—clearer now, stripped of the menacing growl, filled with frantic urgency. It was Meta. It was definitely Meta.
"Thyme, please wake up!"
His voice was a lifeline in the encroaching void, but was it real? Or was I just slipping deeper into a nightmare? My mind screamed, trapped between two worlds, unable to tell the monster from the savior.