Sylvie pushed open the glass door of Lavender Vinyl, the bell above jingling softly. The shop smelled of old records, wood polish, and a faint trace of incense. She paused, eyes sweeping the crowded shelves stacked from floor to ceiling with new and pre-loved vinyl. A pale, black-haired boy with an emo vibe — Royale — stood behind the counter, his attention glued to his phone. The faint drone of metal music hung in the air.

"Wow, this place is... cool! Very gloomy chic! Like stepping into a music crypt," Sylvie said cheerfully.

Royale barely glanced up, offering only a grunt. "Welcome. Don't touch anything unless you're buying it."

Sylvie grinned, undeterred. "Got it, Mr. Sunshine! Just browsing."

She moved to a nearby shelf and flipped through the records. The album art caught her eye — skulls, demons, apocalyptic landscapes. "Wow, it's like a horror movie marathon in vinyl form... Ooh, is that a goat on fire?"

Picking up a record depicting flames, skeletons, and a guitar-wielding demon, she held it up. Royale's brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at her.

"That's Goatfire Eclipse. Classic black metal. Probably not your thing," he said monotone.

Sylvie mockingly gasped. "Hey, don't judge me! I could totally get into... Goatfire Eclipse. Sounds festive."

She set it back and wandered to the "Pop & Miscellaneous" section, where bright, colorful covers clashed hilariously with the shop's dim lighting. She picked up a vinyl with cartoonish art.

"Oooh, what's this? 'Bubblegum Dreams: Hits of the 80s'! This looks fun."

Royale finally looked up from his phone, eyes narrowing like she'd just insulted his existence. "You're kidding."

"Nope! Who doesn't love a catchy tune? Bet even you sing cheesy pop in the shower," Sylvie teased.

Royale put his phone down and leaned on the counter, expression utterly unamused. "I don't sing. Period."

Sylvie smirked. "Aw, come on. Not even a little 'Oh Mickey, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind'? Admit it."

"Please stop," he snapped.

Sylvie laughed, returning the record, when her eyes caught a "Mystery Box" labeled with a handwritten sign: "5 Random Records – Spin the Wheel of Musical Fate!"

Her face lit up. "What's this?! A mystery box? I love surprises!"

Royale sighed heavily, grabbing one from under the counter and sliding it over. "It's just leftover stock. Most people return it. Your funeral."

Sylvie opened it right there, pulling out records with exaggerated reactions.

"Yeehaw! Okay, country's not my vibe, but maybe it'll grow on me!" she said, holding a country album.

"Whoa, back to the goats on fire again. Cool, cool..." she added, holding the death metal record.

"'Songs of the Animal Kingdom'? Awww, this one's adorable!" she exclaimed, waving the children's record.

Royale pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. Sylvie grinned, holding the animal album dramatically.

"Bet you didn't expect 'The Duckling Parade', huh? You should play this sometime. Really sets the mood."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," he said dryly.

Sylvie paid for her mystery box, waved as she headed for the door. "Thanks for the vibes, Royale! Next time, I'll bring you some bubblegum pop to brighten your day."

"Don't. Seriously, don't," he called after her.

The door jingled shut behind her. Royale leaned on the counter, shaking his head, but a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"Bubblegum Dreams, huh? Unbelievable," he muttered, flipping his phone back up as the faint sound of death metal filled the room.

Sylvie pushed open the door, balancing her bag of vinyls from Lavender Vinyl as she hummed a tune from her new collection.

"Azule? I'm back! You won't believe what I found today. Wait until you hear this one record—it's got fire-breathing goats on it!" she called out cheerfully.

She set the bag down and looked around the apartment. The living room was strangely quiet. No sign of Azule in his usual spots.

"Azule? ...Azule?" Her voice faltered, unease creeping in.

Her heart skipped a beat as she hurried to the bathroom. Empty. The kitchen? Empty. She frantically checked under the table and behind the couch.

"No, no, no... where could he—"

Suddenly, a faint humming drifted from Noir's room. Sylvie approached cautiously and peeked inside.

There he was—Azule, sitting on a stool by the window, his scales glistening softly in the fading light. Noir stood before an easel, paintbrush in hand, carefully adding strokes to a nearly finished portrait of the merman. Silence hung in the room, but the air was calm and serene.

"Oh, there you are! I thought I'd lost you. What's going on here?" Sylvie asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

Azule glanced over, his expression shy but pleased. Noir huffed without looking away, completely absorbed in his work.

"Lost him? Please. He's right where the art demands him to be. I mean, look at this symmetry! His features practically scream, 'paint me,'" Noir said.

Sylvie stepped closer to study the painting. Noir had captured Azule's otherworldly beauty perfectly—his shimmering scales, deep curious eyes, and the gentle curve of his fins. The canvas seemed to glow with a faint, magical light.

"Wow... Noir, this is incredible. I didn't know you could paint like this," Sylvie breathed.

A smirk tugged at Noir's lips, still focused on the brush strokes. "Didn't know? I've told you about my artistic genius multiple times, Sylvie. You just don't listen."

Azule shifted slightly, tilting his head toward the painting. In soft, broken English, he murmured, "It... look like... me?"

"Exactly like you, Azule. Noir's got quite the eye," Sylvie said warmly.

Noir stepped back, wiping his hands on a rag, tilting his head critically. "It's not perfect yet, but it's getting there. Honestly, it's hard to capture just how... alien he is. The way the light hits his scales—it's like he's glowing from the inside out."

Azule blinked, unsure if that was a compliment. He reached out to touch the canvas but hesitated, glancing at Sylvie for permission.

"Go ahead, Azule. It's okay," she said gently.

His fingers brushed the dried paint, and a quiet smile spread across his face. "It... good. Noir... good."

Noir scoffed, cheeks tinged with color as he looked away. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. I'm not taking requests or anything."

Sylvie teased, "Awww, look at you, Noir. A true Renaissance man. I didn't know you had a soft spot for marine royalty."

Noir rolled his eyes. "Please. I'm just documenting history here. When the world finds out about him, this'll be worth a fortune."

Sylvie ruffled Azule's damp hair, grinning as he leaned into her touch. "Well, lucky for us, the world doesn't have to know. Not yet."

Azule's deep eyes flicked between them, full of quiet gratitude. Noir glanced his way once more, then picked up his brush again.

"Alright, hold still, fish boy. I need to fix that fin. It's looking a little lopsided," he muttered.

Sylvie laughed. "Good luck getting him to sit still. He's got the attention span of a goldfish."

Azule tilted his head in confusion. Sylvie giggled, patting his shoulder. "Gold... fish? What... that?"

"I'll show you later. For now, just sit tight, okay?"

Later..

The room was dimly lit by a single lamp perched on the counter, its soft glow barely cutting through the shadows. A slow drip of water echoed in the stillness as Sylvie sat on the edge of the bathtub, her eyes fixed on Azule. He rested in the salty water, his once-vibrant scales dulled and lifeless. The bath wasn't enough—she could see it, feel it in the heavy air.

"This isn't right... I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this," Sylvie murmured to herself, her brows knitting in worry as she cradled her head in her hands.

Azule shifted slightly, sensing her turmoil. His webbed hand, weak and fragile, stretched out to brush gently against hers. His voice, broken but tender, cut through the silence.

"Syl...vie? Sad?"

She forced a small, fragile smile and squeezed his hand with quiet resolve.

"I'm fine, Azule. Just... thinking."

Her heart ached as she looked down at him. His glow had faded; his breaths were labored. She bit her lip, struggling to hold back tears.

"I don't know what to do, Azule. I want to keep you safe, but... you're not meant to be here. This isn't your home. It's just... a stupid bathtub."

Azule's eyes blinked slowly, filled with understanding. His damp fingers lifted to her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn't even realized had fallen.

"Home... here. Sylvie... here."

His simple words shattered her resolve. A shaky laugh escaped her, tears now freely falling.

"Azule, you don't get it! I don't know how long I can keep hiding you. Noir's been suspicious, Frost is going to catch on, and Cinder... who knows what he'd do if he found out. And Mr. Sketch... he's out there looking for you. If he finds you—"

Her face buried in her hands, her voice muffled, she whispered, "I can't lose you. I just can't."

Azule watched her with softened eyes, then shifted closer, the faint sound of water rippling between them. His hands cupped her face, warm despite the cold water.

"Sylvie... strong. Azule... trust Sylvie."

She met his gaze, tear-streaked but steady. His broken words carried the weight of a promise, and a fragile hope flickered inside her.

"But what if I'm not strong enough? What if I fail you?"

"No fail. Sylvie... care. Azule... live."

The simplicity of his words hit her harder than any fear. She nodded, a trembling smile crossing her lips.

"You're too good for this world, you know that?"

Azule tilted his head, confused but smiling faintly in his own unique way. Sylvie laughed softly, wiping her eyes.

"Okay. One step at a time. We'll figure this out. I'll figure this out. Just... hang in there, alright? Promise me?"

He nodded, a small smile blossoming. Their foreheads pressed gently together — a quiet moment of trust and comfort. The weight on Sylvie's shoulders felt lighter, if only for a moment.

Later, in the living room, a single floor lamp cast soft shadows across the space. Sylvie sat wrapped in a blanket, a mug of tea warm between her hands, though her mind was far away. Across from her, Noir leaned back in an armchair, relaxed but thoughtful. The faint drip of water echoed from the bathroom, breaking the quiet.

"You've been quiet all evening, Sylvie," Noir said gently. "Is it about him?"

She looked up, conflicted. Words caught in her throat, but she finally nodded.

"Yeah... it's about Azule. I just... don't know what to do, Noir."

He nodded knowingly. "You're worried about keeping him here. About what happens next."

"Exactly," she sighed. "He's not meant to live in a bathtub. He's meant to be free, out in the ocean where he belongs. But if I let him go..."

Her voice faltered. She stared down at the tea, clutching the mug tightly.

"If I let him go, I'll lose him. What if something happens? What if..."

Noir leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice was calm, measured, and carried a weight that cut through her doubt.

"Si tu aimes une créature autant, tu la laisseras libre."
If you love a creature so much, you'll set them free.

Her eyes widened at his words. A sharp pang settled deep in her chest. She blinked away tears, looking away.

"That's easy for you to say... you're not the one who has to do it."

"It's not easy, Sylvie," he said gently. "I know. But keeping him here—it's not fair. You've done everything you can for him, and he knows it. But you have to think about what's best for him, not what's easiest for you."

She bit her lip, emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "But what if he doesn't want to leave? What if he's happy here with me?"

Noir's expression softened. He leaned back, folding his arms.

"You've given him so much—a safe place, kindness, love. But happiness isn't about keeping someone in a cage, even if that cage feels like home. It's about giving them a chance to thrive."

Sylvie stared at him, his words sinking in like a quiet truth. Her fingers trembled around the mug, a tear slipping down her cheek, but she didn't wipe it away.

"I just... I don't know if I can do it."

Noir stood and came to her side, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His voice was soft but steady.

"You're stronger than you think. And you're doing this because you love him. He'll know that."

She nodded slowly, a mixture of heartbreak and resolve swirling within her. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself.

"I just hope I'm doing the right thing."

Noir gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, his eyes kind.

"You are. He'll always remember what you've done. And so will I."

The room fell into quiet once more, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air. Sylvie set her tea down and wiped her eyes, gathering the strength she needed. Noir sat back down nearby, offering silent support as she braced herself for the days to come.

The soft jingling of keys echoed down the hallway just before the door swung open. Rosie stepped inside, her coat draped casually over her arm, hair tousled and a little frazzled from the long day she'd had at work. The inviting aroma of something savory greeted her instantly.

In the kitchen, Carmine stood at the counter, expertly chopping vegetables. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms that flexed with each precise cut. Somewhere in the background, a Sinatra record spun softly on the turntable, filling the apartment with warm nostalgia.

"'Bout time you got home, Rosie!" Carmine called without looking up. "You're late. I was startin' to think I'd have to send out a search party."

Dropping her things on the couch with a tired sigh, Rosie replied, "Traffic was a nightmare. I swear, Carmine, I almost got into it with a cab driver today. He had the nerve to—"

Carmine cut her off with a grin, glancing over his shoulder. "Forget the cab driver. You eat yet? I'm makin' dinner. Thought you could use a proper meal after whatever they serve at that fancy office of yours."

Rosie smiled softly, moving toward the kitchen. "You're a lifesaver, you know that? What's on the menu tonight, Chef Carmine?"

"Chicken marsala," Carmine said, brandishing his knife playfully. "Just the way Ma used to make it. And before you ask, yeah, I got the good mushrooms this time — none of that canned crap."

Rosie laughed and leaned against the counter. "Is that your way of saying you don't trust my grocery shopping skills?"

Pointing the knife at her in mock offense, Carmine smirked. "I'm just sayin', last time you came home with instant mashed potatoes. Instant, Rosie. In this house? That's a crime against humanity."

Rolling her eyes but smiling, Rosie replied, "Alright, alright, Mr. Butcher Extraordinaire. I'll leave the kitchen to you. Speaking of which, how was work? Did anyone argue with you about the price of pork chops again?"

Carmine snorted, returning to his chopping. "Every damn day. Some guy wanted me to throw in a free sausage 'cause he's a 'regular.' Told him if he's such a regular, he should know we don't do freebies."

Chuckling, Rosie said, "You're impossible. Bet he didn't argue back, huh?"

Grinning slyly, Carmine said, "'Course not. One look at me, people know better. Besides, I told him if he wanted a discount, he could talk to you. That usually shuts 'em up real quick."

Shaking her head with laughter, Rosie replied, "You're unbelievable, Carmine."

Carmine set down his knife and stepped toward her, pulling her into a quick hug. He kissed her forehead gently, the tough exterior softening in the quiet moment.

"Just lookin' out for ya, Rosie. You work too hard. Somebody's gotta make sure you're taken care of."

Leaning into him, Rosie smiled. "I know, Carmine. And you do. Every day."

Carmine pulled back and gestured toward the dining table. "Now, go set the table before I burn the chicken. Dinner's almost ready."

With a mock salute, Rosie turned and walked off. "Yes, sir!"

Carmine watched her go, a small smile tugging at his lips before he returned to the stove, stirring the sauce as the warm croon of Sinatra filled the room.