It's too early for her to be awake; that's for certain.
Selphie stretches cat-like in her bed, clasps her hands above her head and points her toes, yawning in distaste at the clock next to her bed. There are a few patches of scattered sunlight on her floor and they bounce over her as she picks up yesterday's skirt and pulls it on, painting her shoulders and knees in vibrant, daytime tints. She closes the blinds before she leaves, feeling just a little bit lonelier for it.
She forgoes shoes today, mostly because the sand is still cool and it wouldn't be right to come home without tracking small remnants of the sea up the stairs with her: pebbles that stick in between her toes, seaweed that trails from her ankles. It's almost regrettable when she climbs into her boat and gets a splinter in her heel. Island folk are supposed to be immune to things like broken seashells and sunburns and splinters, she thinks indignantly. But it's not such a big deal. She can always ask Tidus to get it out, later.
The beach stretches on ahead of her, somehow daunting this morning. A shudder runs through her, and she wishes she had brought her rope, to be able to break the stillness of the scene, the sea so perfectly calm she can't tell it from the sky. She steps onto the pier and stares out at nothing, unblinking, waiting for anything to pop out and break her line of sight. Nothing does, and eventually the bland, bleached colors hurt her eyes and she has to blink, somehow angry, sitting down and crossing her arms over her knees.
"You alright, girlie?" says Wakka from behind her. She doesn't flinch, just nods obligatorily. He sits beside her cross-legged, draping his hoodie over her shoulders. She hadn't noticed she was cold.
"That's not a yes," Tidus says, prodding her in the stomach until she giggles.
"Today feels wrong," she tells him, sobering, and he tilts his head pensively.
"You might be right," he says, "but I don't know why."
"You two just don't know how to think positive, y'know?" Wakka chides them, flinging his arms out for emphasis. "It's just quiet, is all. Hey, I read a poem once where the water looked just like this."
"Like you know poetry," says Selphie, rolling her eyes.
"I do!" Wakka insists earnestly, "no, really, it goes 'the fragile splendor of the level sea—'"
"That's such a lie," Tidus teases him. "Stop making stuff up."
"I'm just trying to add some class to you losers," he sniffs, leaning into Selphie so she can pretend to comfort his mock-anguish.
"It is the water, though," Tidus says finally. "That's what's weird." Selphie nods and looks out, can't help but feel like she's waiting for an arrival, a silhouette on the horizon.
"We're probably just imagining things," she shrugs, squeezing Wakka's hand. "Here, look, I got a splinter this morning, can you get it?"
Tidus takes her foot in his lap and she tilts her head back, feeling the sun warm her for the first time this morning. The waves crash in the distance and she smiles.
"You feel like going swimming?" Wakka asks no one in particular.
"Maybe later," she answers, "but this is fine for now."