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Beomgyu has always had an affinity for the sea, the ocean.
Not once had he sailed on top of it, at least not when he could remember it, but the sight, the scent, calmed his mind, soothed his soul, called upon his deepest desires. Sometimes, when he’d peek over the walls surrounding their little village and gaze upon the rolling waves, he’d feel like he was being pulled in, a gentle melody urging him to run and never look back.
Never before had he answered that pull, content with watching the mesmerizing sea foam lick the shores, hypnotized.
—
Beomgyu’s fists were clenched, trembling, as mocking laughter filled his ears. His mind was buzzing, anger overflowing, his senses overwhelmed as he watched the tavern goers rip his prized sketchbook apart, pieces of yellowed pages scattered into the air. Beomgyu winced when he saw the newcomers and servers step over his art, muddy footprints marring his careful ink strokes, the paper now crumpled, his drawings unrecognizable.
He wanted to scream his lungs out, say all the words that were taken from him months, even years ago. He wanted to cry, let out all the grief and anguish he had been holding back for so long. He wanted to rage and lunge at the men in front of him, scratch until he drew blood, punch until he could hear their bones crack under his touch. But he held himself back, she wouldn’t have wanted for him to fight.
The torn spine of his sketchbook was thrown into his lap, along with the few pages they only ripped and haven’t shredded. There was an ugly sneer on his tormentor’s face as he hissed at Beomgyu.
“I knew you were demented, but for you to actually believe in these stupid fairy tales too? What are you, a kid? Mama’s little boy, can’t even do anything by himself? Needs mama to hold his widdle handsies so he doesn’t cry?” Their faces were so close, they were all so close, dark shadowy hands reaching out to him, wrapping around his limbs, squeezing. The man in front of him leaned closer, a nasty smell wafting off of him as he spoke, “Oh right. mama isn’t around anymore, is she? She left you. She didn’t want you, so she went and took a dive off the cliffs.”
Tears welled up in his eyes, fingers squeezing the pages in his hands, creasing the paper even further.
“Aren’t you going to say anything? Or did your mama beat that out of you, too?”
A sob wrenched its way out of his throat, to the utter glee of everybody around him. Beomgyu wished for the floor to cave in and take him, or for it to take all of them instead. But God wasn’t merciful and he was left sitting on the tavern chair, tear tracks running down his face, snide laughter and talk all around him.
The clock struck seven when Beomgyu got up from the rickety chair, clutching the remains of his artwork to his chest as he made his way out of the tavern. He kept his head down, eyes on his own feet, not only because he didn’t want to look at any of them anymore, but also because a single moment of inattentiveness would have him tripped up and lying on the ground, the source of everybody else’s amusement.
“Beomgyu, wait!” He didn’t bother turning around, Kai’s voice was recognizable enough. The younger boy ran after him, tavern doors creaking loudly as he pushed them shut. Then, Kai was next to him, grabbing onto his shoulder.
“I’m sorry about them, Beomgyu. You know how they are, they like to… joke around. Can I see the drawings, please?” Beomgyu looked at him through his hair, eyes bloodshot, sad.
Slowly, he relaxed his grip on the crumpled pages, letting the younger grab a half-of-a-page, studying it closely. It depicted a silhouette in the water, wide eyes hidden behind pale messy hair, a strong torso above the water surface, scales peppering its sides. Whatever he had managed to draw of the tail under the water was now on the tavern floor, possibly burned in the fireplace instead. Before it was torn apart, Beomgyu was planning to polish up the details, ripple the water surface a bit more, try to perhaps remember what the creature really looked like under the night’s sky. He supposed it didn’t matter anymore, his memory didn’t serve him well nowadays, overshadowed by the increasing want to disappear.
“It’s pretty. You can redraw it, I’ll even get you some new paint to colour it?” Kai said, stroking his thumbs over the drawing gently. And Beomgyu would have almost relented and agreed, anything to keep Kai happy, but the younger wasn’t done talking. “Your imagination is so amazing, I wish I could come up with things like this.”
Instantly, Beomgyu snatched the page from Kai, hugging it even closer, tighter than he had held it before. He glared at the younger, settling into a disappointed frown as he walked away. He could hear the crunch of the grovel behind him as Kai took a few more steps before he stood with his arms folded, a dejected look on his face.
“I don’t want to agree with the drunkards, but you can’t seriously believe the mermaids are real? It’s just a silly tale, Beomgyu…” but Beomgyu tuned him out, instead shuffling along the winding path from the village, looking down at the sprawling beach below. He had wanted to turn around, spit out all of the hurt built inside of him, take it out on the one person he had thought of as a friend, who had come to disappoint him yet again. But she wouldn’t have wanted him to.
The clouds above him were dark, thick with rain. By the looks of it, it would start pouring any second and Beomgyu was running now, hoping to heaven and hell all at once that he wouldn’t trip on any of the misaligned stones and that he’d make it in time. He was still a long way off from the lighthouse and if he didn’t manage to cross the field lining the beach before the rain came down, his usual safe path would be blocked by torrents of raging waters. Then, only the rocky plains south of the beach would remain, with all of their sharp, deadly beauty. And as much as Beomgyu hated his existence in this village sometimes, he didn’t want it to end with his neck broken, swelling up on the ocean floor.
Now that he thought about it, tt was an evening similar to this one when Beomgyu saw them for the first time. Back then, he had been sitting in his small work room in the lighthouse, preparing the oil lamps for the night. The sun was slowly, lazily climbing behind the horizon when Beomgyu leaned out of the window, his hair tousled by the salty ocean wind. The deep waters ahead were painted in gorgeous hues of yellows, oranges and reds, leftover sun rays peeking through the clouds, waves crashing onto the beach shores.
He itched to draw it, his sketchbook laying open just a few feet to his side. He had almost stepped away to get it when a strange shimmer among the tides caught his attention. Standing on his tippy toes, Beomgyu leaned further out of the little window, squinting his eyes at the suspicious movement underwater.
The blue hour had passed by long ago and it was getting too dark to see properly, but the slick gleam didn’t escape him even in the dimness of dawn and Beomgyu’s eyes went wide when he finally spotted it. A body emerging from the water, strong muscles pushing against the waves. For a second, Beomgyu was filled with chilling fear, was that a person? A villager, perhaps, getting washed ashore? Instead, a gasp echoed in the room when he saw a hint of shimmer beneath the surface, a twisting darkness moving down below. He followed along the length of it, hand covering his mouth when the shadowy mass connected with the pale torso, slick scales blending into soft skin. There wasn’t much time to look closer, the creature’s head snapped up towards him, their eyes meeting for the slightest moment. Then, they were gone, a hint of a submerging tail fin all that was left of them.
A mer.
Beomgyu has heard stories of them before, tales told by the tavern’s patrons when their blood has been thinned enough by the alcohol. Everybody regarded the stories as myths, just silly sayings to pass time on the ship. Nothing to take note of, nothing to be scared of. After all, mers didn’t really exist, did they?
But there Beomgyu was, staring at the spot the mer had disappeared from, only foamy waves remained.
And it happened again. Multiple nights, one after another, Beomgyu would come to the lighthouse early, he would sit on the windowsill and wait. And he saw them, magnificent beings hidden by night’s shadows, coming up in between the sharp rocks in the shoals, some only for a brief moment spent above the water before he lost them amongst the ocean again, others sprawling their torsos lazily on heated rocks for minutes at a time before they dived back in.
Beomgyu drew them, pages and pages filled with bare bodies in the water, shadowy tendrils instead of their tails. Oh, how he wished to see one of them in full. In every story he heard, a mer’s tail was the most beautiful sight one could ever come across. Shimmery, colourful scales shifting shades in the light, delicate fins and strong muscles that allowed them to traverse the seven seas. But Beomgyu never did, the mers careful not to stray too far up the beach, keeping their tails hidden within the ocean depths, the evening dusk covering them from his eyes. Still, Beomgyu drew and yearned.
Back to the dreadful present, snapping his head out of the clouds of his fantastical memories, heavens weren’t on his side today. Beomgyu was silently cursing the gods in his mind when the clouds above him burst in a shower of ice cold rain, the heavy downpour soaking him from head to toe in seconds. He mourned his already barely salvageable drawings when he came to a sudden stop at the edge of the beach, seeing the water levels already rising, the muddy path through the field getting flooded rapidly.
Worrying his lip between his teeth, Beomgyu turned to the crooked path in between the stones littering the beach. With a sigh, he walked on, carefully making his way over the slippery rocks beneath him.
He was rounding a corner behind a tall boulder when he heard it. A voice, screaming, calling for help. Beomgyu recognized it, the voice being one of the many taunting leers who had mocked his art in the tavern today. He peeked behind the boulder, coming eye to eye with the drunkard, the head fisherman of the village, the one who tore his sketchbook apart right before his face. The fisherman whose hands were scraped bloody as he held onto the ground below, desperately fighting against the pull of the water around. Or was it really the water?
“You!” he shouted, a raw, desperate rasp in his voice, face suddenly hopeful as he spotted Beomgyu ahead of him, pulling himself atop the rock with a new-found strength. “You’re- you’re the lighthouse kid! Come here, help me out of here!” he barked at Beomgyu, the terror slowly leaving his body.
And perhaps Beomgyu should help, he knew for sure that she would’ve wanted him to help. But she wasn’t here anymore, was she? The man said it himself. So Beomgyu did not move. He didn’t outstretch his hand to let the man take it, didn’t walk up to help him, carry him away from the danger. Beomgyu stayed in place, eyes locked on something, someone behind the man, twin irises lurking in the shadows among the waves.
He felt as if he was glued to the spot, even when the drunk man began cursing at him, clearly agitated that Beomgyu wasn’t doing anything. But Beomgyu didn’t care, the man’s words were fuzzy in his head, lost in the haze. The only thing clear in his vision were those eyes, dark and piercing, seemingly even amused.
Then, in a flash, the man’s incessant shouting ceased, a single chilling shriek leaving his lips before his throat was snapped right then and there. Beomgyu’s chest tightened, his stomach suddenly queasy as he watched the darkness getting closer, the creeping silhouette turning into a face, twinkling eyes framed by ink-black hair, gold scales scattered across the cheeks atop a razor-sharp, cherry-red smile.
As he watched the creature push itself forward, he didn’t dare move. He had wished to see a mer’s tail for so very long, and now, seeing the black mass peppered with gold slithering through the shallow water, perhaps even twice as long as Beomgyu was tall, he was mesmerised.
And he still didn’t move a muscle when the mer swam up to the now dead drunkard, webbed hands coming up to cradle his head. Beomgyu watched the mer in front of him pointedly lick his glinting teeth, eyes widening when they tore into the man’s throat.
Beomgyu had been so very wrong. This was no mer. This was a siren.
Mers were supposed to be gentle beings, shy but playful, helpful. In tales, they would guide lost sailors to land, guard their ships from danger, all while frolicking under the sea’s surface. But this, the dark eyes and darker scales, with knives for claws and teeth, blood on their tongues, this was a siren. A royal being of the ocean, one regarded with fear and respect, deadly beautiful. Beomgyu heard of the siren song, a sound so enticing one would gladly follow it across the world, up until their final breath. A sweet melody one pays with their life to hear.
Beomgyu felt his breath leaving his lungs, replaced by icy fear, his veins freezing over as he watched the siren chew on his fellow villager’s flesh. And yet, he couldn’t look away. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to, the siren’s eyes still locked onto his own. He couldn’t help but feel a sick, vindictive pleasure from the scene.
This was only one of the many who had scorned him for his very existence, who mocked him for just being alive. Who taunted him, knowing he wouldn’t talk back, who ridiculed his late mother, tainted her memory with their ugly words. It was an awful feeling, in a way, the electricity that raised the hair on his arms when he heard - and saw - bones breaking, the water and sand around them dyed red.
Beomgyu felt like he was standing there for hours when the siren finally dropped the body to the ground, letting the waves wash it away. Then the sharp eyes turned to him. His mind screaming at him to move his legs, run, reawaken his survival instinct, anything. But Beomgyu was strangely at peace, even as the siren crawled closer to him, creeping over the blood-stained sand.
With its torso fully on the beach, most of its tail still hidden in the shallows, the siren beckoned him closer with a single finger and Beomgyu followed. He walked, took the few steps needed to stand in front of it, lowered himself to his knees before it. Obedient, without a single command needed. The siren’s grin widened as it pushed itself up, chest to chest with Beomgyu. The rain was heavy over their heads, harsh wind carrying with it the scent of saltwater and iron. As Beomgyu looked at the siren’s face again, he took in the grotesque magnificence of raindrops washing away the thick, fresh blood on its face, rivulets of crimson flowing down its chin, throat, torso.
Suddenly, there were sharp claws digging into his jawline, the siren gripping his chin tightly as it studied him, dark eyes tinged in a manic sort of amusement as it turned him from side to side like a life-sized doll. Beomgyu held back a gasp when their gazes met, an irresistible pull forbidding him from looking away. Then, for the first time, the siren spoke.
“I can’t seem to decide, are you brave or stupid, little one?”
Beomgyu tensed up at the siren’s words, its voice a deep, masculine rasp, a strange echo-y quality to it, as if there were two of it speaking at once. It messed with Beomgyu’s head in a strangely pleasurable way, his mind fuzzy, thoughts muddled, yet his body was warming up, it was as if he was burning up from the inside.
He could feel the siren’s claws scraping over his cheekbones, they were nose to nose now, its ice-cold skin sending shivers down his spine. He supposed he should be shivering, trembling, for an entirely different reason, such as the carnivorous deadly beast in front of him, possibly planning its next dinner course, him being the main ingredient. Yet he couldn't bring himself to look away, to run, to think of his rapid heartbeat as anything other than bizarre excitement. That tempting voice rang through his ears again.
“Have you ever heard you should run from a siren, little one? It saves lives,” it was a sultry whisper, one that made his legs weak and his head dizzy, the siren’s lips so close to his own he could almost feel the words.
“It certainly could’ve saved that one, if I haven’t been waiting for him for a while now. So, have you?”
After a brief second of contemplation, Beomgyu shook his head no, watching the siren tilt its head, a morbidly curious smile stretching over its bloody features.
“You watched me feast on one of your fellow nosy villagers. Why didn’t you run then?” Beomgyu felt heat rising to his cheeks, flushed despite the rain having soaked him through to his bones. His heart was hammering against his ribcage, as he pulled away from the siren, much to its obvious displeasure. Its playful grin morphed into a horrifying grimace and Beomgyu almost expected it to kill him right then and there, but then its eyes fell upon his hands, still clutching onto the waterlogged pages from his sketchbook. Slowly, carefully, he unfolded one of the most intact ones, presenting it before the siren. One of the freezing hands left his jawline, gently caressing the blurred shapes on the paper, a flash of recognition in its eyes.
“You’re from the lighthouse.” A nod. “I’ve seen you before. I may not enjoy parading myself above the surface during the day like my brethren and children, but I’ve seen you. The silent lighthouse keeper watching them from afar.” The page was pushed back into his chest, the siren careful not to ruin the fragile paper any more than it already was. Beomgyu watched the tenderness in its gestures as it tucked the page back against his chest, treating it as if it was something precious. It made him ecstatic and enraged all at once, the sweet appreciation for his craft, opposed by the knowledge that even a murderous beast that feasted on flesh and blood was kinder than his fellow villagers.
The siren’s hand dropped back down to its side, Beomgyu’s skin cold where it had touched his skin. Then, it pulled away completely, disappearing back amongst the waves, quicker than Beomgyu’s eyes could keep up with. As if charmed by a spell, as if there was a thread pulling him in, Beomgyu ran into the water, wading in until he was waist deep, his hand outstretched. He tried to shout, but his vocal chords were rusted, unused for many years, unwilling to produce a sound louder than a whisper. Still, his desperate attempts caught the siren’s attention, its head popping up mere feet away from him, the tail a mile-long shadow behind it.
“You should run along now. Not many get away from me with their insides intact,” it chuckled, showcasing its razor sharp teeth, glinting in the moonlight. But Beomgyu was relentless, taking yet another step into the cold ocean waters, his pleading words a mere hiss against the overwhelming crashing of waves. The siren swam up to him, hands scaling up Beomgyu’s body before coming to rest against his shoulders, chest pressed up against his.
“You don’t want me to leave, little one?” it asked, head tilted, eyes wide, a mocking tinge to its distorted voice. Beomgyu shook his head, daring to hide his face in the crook of its shoulder, his skin scalding against the icy one of the siren. He heard a deep chuckle next to him, a raspy, magical sound that he wished to listen to forever; it echoed in his mind, seeping through his veins, settling in his whole body. He felt dizzy, his whole world was swimming in front of his eyes, unable to focus on anything but the siren, the deathly beautiful siren.
Then, Beomgyu’s head was turned by a surprisingly gentle hand, the hint of sharp claws on his jawline as his breath got stolen from his lungs- A pair of chapped, slick lips were placed on his in a chaste kiss, lingering taste of blood upon them. Before he managed to react, the brief pressure was gone, the siren quickly submerging back into the depths, a single sentence thrown over its shoulder before it vanished from sight.
“Let’s meet again, little one.”
On that dark, stormy night, Beomgyu watched the beacon of the lighthouse revolve, gifting its precious light of life to the dark seas ahead. He sat on the windowsill, the sound of heavy rain soothing his running mind as he frantically sketched what he could remember of the siren, worried that if he waited too long, the memory would fade away, disappear into the waves below. He drew its hair, dark as night, its sharp grin, bloody and beautiful, tendrils of shredded flesh hanging from its hands, blurry tail swirling in the water below. Yet as he went on, Beomgyu had a feeling that he wouldn’t forget the siren for a long time, even if he tried.
—
It had been days since his encounter with the siren.
Beomgyu sat in the tavern with Kai at his side, the rest of the villagers strewn around the room, its usual homey atmosphere tense and overwhelming, as if bathed in thick tar, dripping and sticking to the ground until Beomgyu could no longer move his legs.
The village chief stood tall at the bar, an imposing, proud figure amongst the chattering crowd. Next to him, cowering on a stool with a black handkerchief pressed to her face sat a woman. She was looking at the floor, eyes avoidant, but Beomgyu knew who she was, knew her face was a slim, angular one permanently etched into an arrogant frown, a barbed tongue spitting poisonous words to match it. The head fisherman’s wife - widow now, thought Beomgyu.
When Kai had come knocking on his door, telling him that the village chief had called for a meeting, Beomgyu had a good idea of what it was going to be about. Just as it had been days since he had seen the siren, felt its cold lips fall upon his, it had also been days since the fisherman left the village for a stroll he never returned from.
The chief had a troubled expression on his face, but with a single hand raised, the crowd around the tavern ceased their headless talks, turning their attention to him instead. A chorus of gasps, ranging from surprised to horrified, echoed through the room when the chief reached behind the bartop, pulling out a ragged, bloodied vest.
Up until then, there were only rumours whispered from ear to ear about the missing man, speculations on what might’ve happened to him. Beomgyu heard them without trying to, regarded as a mere shadow amongst the villagers when he wasn’t being taunted, ridiculed. He went unnoticed, especially when gossip was involved.
Beomgyu had heard how people thought the man had run away, leaving his wife and house behind for a young girl from a mainland town. Others had said he got too drunk and was sleeping it off somewhere in the forest, but with the days passing, he also saw their faces getting less sure and more pale when they stated their theories. A tavern patron or two mentioned the possibility of him simply taking a tumble off the cliffs, perhaps by accident, perhaps on purpose.
But now, staring at the half-shredded piece of clothing, one with the fisherman’s initials sewn into the fabric, old, dried blood staining the fabric, there was no uncertainty to be entertained. The claw marks were long and deep, framed by frayed threads and dried, black blood. The body in the vest would’ve had - did have - their insides pulled out, with how far the damage went and judging by the ghastly horror on his fellow villagers’ faces, they knew it. And it wasn’t by a mere accident.
Within seconds, those that didn’t have their lips sewn shut by terror or nausea, were shouting one over each other, swarming by the bar like insects to examine the claw marks, fingers pushing into the blood-coated fabric, stretching and ripping it further. Wild animals, they shouted. Wolves, bears, birds of prey. Beomgyu wanted to laugh, they all knew rather well they had no wolves or bears on the island. And while a large enough bird could kill the man easily, Beomgyu recognized the scent filling the tavern now. Tinged with salt, waves and something dark and dangerous, lurking far below the surface, not above it.
The siren’s portrait in his pocket felt as if it was trying to burn through the fabric of his shirt, wanting to show itself to the world, let them see the pitch-black sultry eyes, the bloody lips and sharp teeth, make them look at the face of Death after one taunted it for too long. To Beomgyu, it wasn’t a secret that the fisherman had liked to walk amongst the sirens’ beaches, sticking his nose in places it didn’t belong. He’d see him wandering around from the lighthouse window, walking around with a harpoon in hand, ready to throw and spear anything that would move wrong. On those days, he didn’t see the sirens playing in the waves. The siren’s words from that night made a lot more sense now, no predator would be happy with a vermin trying to stir up trouble in its hunting grounds.
Back in the tavern, away from his thoughts of the siren, Kai curled into his side, his eyes wide and teary. He was shaking as leaned further onto Beomgyu, seeking refuge in his friend’s arms, but Beomgyu couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but apathy, with a side of vengeful satisfaction.
—
Once upon a time, when Beomgyu’s mother was still alive and by his side, he had been happy. He used to be a lively child, full of wonder and words he wanted to share with the world. He would dance around with his mother when they walked down the street, sing with her as they tended to their small garden, giggle when she kissed his forehead goodnight.
They had little but each other, but Beomgyu never felt like anything was missing. His mother was a kind woman, always smiling, always cheerful. She never complained, not when she was left with a child in an unfamiliar place, working overtime for the bare necessities. She never cursed, never said a mean thing about a person, even when the other villagers would mock her and her humble home, when they would gossip about her soldier husband, when they would ridicule her son for simply existing. She kept a smile on her face, worked until her hands were dry and cracked, she shushed and comforted Beomgyu when the evil words poisoned his mind until he cried.
Beomgyu had never seen his mother cry, not like he had so many times. After all, as long as they had each other, she could bear anything, that’s what she had always said. His mother was a kind, strong woman full of love and happiness and she never shed a tear for Beomgyu to see.
Not until that night.
That one night when they woke up to harsh knocks on their door, Beomgyu’s mother gently smoothing her hand down his forehead, whispering for him to stay in bed, mama would take care of it , before she opened the door.
What followed were raw wails of despair and anguish as his mother glanced upon the dead, marred body of her beloved, dumped on their doorstep, wrapped haphazardly in a bloodied sheet by men wearing indifferent gazes, no kind words to be spared.
After that night, Beomgyu’s mother no longer smiled warmly, she tried to, at first, for Beomgyu at least, but he could see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes. She no longer danced or sang, only worked until her hands were bloody. Beomgyu’s mother cried at night, sitting in her small garden, away from hungry eyes and scathing tongues. He hated it, seeing her as a shell of what she once was. Not only that, but she was cracking under the pressure and he could do nothing to hold her together. Where she was once full of life, she stood empty and soulless.
As a child, Beomgyu got to know the feeling of hate. The burning red inside of his chest whenever he’d step out of their home, when he’d feel his mother’s hand squeeze his a bit too tight, when he’d see the pointed leers all around the village. He’d hear the awful things people said, he’d notice the way his mother kept her head down, never replied. He wanted to talk back, he wanted to shout, to curse, to fight. But his mother didn’t want him to, she would stroke his hair as she gently chided him for being rude. Over time, he stopped lashing out and she stopped talking at all. She stopped looking at him too.
Back then, Beomgyu would still try to speak to his mother, but her mind was never there, instead drifting somewhere far away, somewhere Beomgyu could not follow. It didn’t take too long before he stopped trying too, the ache in his chest whenever she wouldn’t even raise her head to look at him too great to bear.
Going out into the village for the sake of fun was a thing of the past too, if it ever was; he’d only head that way to store up on food, opting to otherwise avoid the filth the other villagers spewed his way. The days when his mother would stand beside him, when he wasn’t a head taller than her and her smile felt like a warm hug were gone, replaced by lonely ventures among the vultures and coming back to a frail woman who looked right through him.
Beomgyu had taken to walking on the beach instead, letting the waves wash away his thoughts, cleanse his soul from the pain of existence for a few mere moments. He would let his legs carry him as far as the light would permit, still arriving at their quiet home before the sundown, a diligent son, even if his mother’s wits weren’t around to witness it anymore.
One of these strolls, this time on a cloudy, rainy afternoon, brought Beomgyu a long way from the village without him even realising, body as if being pulled by a thread, the hum of the ocean guiding him along. He didn’t mind the rain, not even when it plastered his thin clothes onto his skin, his hair matted to his forehead, raindrops running down his cheeks. He didn’t notice he had walked so far, not until he stood under the lighthouse, its tower an imposing giant above the whole village.
And for the first time in months, Beomgyu felt at peace inside.
Despite the blinding light above him, the cold, stony walls encasing it, sharp rocks and tall waves crashing around the cliff it stood on, Beomgyu didn’t feel anything but the quiet calm in his mind, racing thoughts replaced by a strange sense of tranquillity, even amongst the rain thundering down on the ground all around him. Even when the old lighthouse keeper ran out, surprised to see the boy standing in front of him soaked from head to toe, even when the man shouted at him for being foolish and walking the beach in such weather, Beomgyu was at peace.
He had spent the night sitting at a table with the old man, a cup of warm tea in his hands. Even though the old keeper seemed fed up with him for a few moments, it was evident that he was more worried and shocked that Beomgyu had managed to stay in one piece throughout his journey. Back then, Beomgyu hadn't paid much thought to the anxious glances the old man threw at the rocky shoals outside of the lighthouse.
His trips to the lighthouse became a habit, even when he got scolded by the man for walking in the seemingly never-ending rain. Beomgyu would just wave his complaints away with a smile, instead prodding the man about his day, asking about more stories for him to listen to, shadowing him when he got up to tend to the oil lamps. It didn’t take long before it was Beomgyu tending to them instead, the old man’s voice a steady hum in the background as he worked.
The lighthouse became a sanctuary for Beomgyu. There, he was free of the mocking words, of the pointed stares, the judgement. He was free of his mother’s empty eyes too. Eventually, he didn’t walk home by sundown either. He’d spend his nights by the old man’s side, manning the lightroom while the man took him on a verbal memory trip, wistful sighs interlacing the wondrous stories. Beomgyu heard all about his childhood, his family that lived on the mainland, his life when he came to the village, how he got around to keeping the lighthouse and everything else in between.
Sometimes though, Beomgyu could see the sudden shift in the old man’s voice, his eyes as if looking straight through Beomgyu, aimed out of the lighthouse window, focused on something in the distance that Beomgyu couldn’t quite see yet. In those moments, he’d feel the palpable tension, the man’s urge to tell him a tale he hasn’t told out loud just yet, always stopping after the first few sentences.
Beomgyu spent many months working in the lighthouse, apprenticing by the side of a man who had learned to love him like a son, something his own father never had a chance to and his mother was forgetting how to. Any time Beomgyu would arrive at the lighthouse, face tired and words scarce, the old man would wrap him in a short hug, pat his back a bit too hard before forcing a cup of overly sweet tea into his hand along with a story to distract him. And as the time went by, Beomgyu found slivers of happiness sneaking back into his life.
But as Beomgyu had come to learn over the years, all good things have to come to an end someday. When he was starting to think this island really was cursed by the sea gods, he couldn’t remember the last time there was a full day without heavy rain and thunder following, fate hit him with a dose of cruel irony. Because it just so happened to be the first warm, sunny day in months when Beomgyu’s mother cracked under the ever growing pressure, succumbing to the icy darkness of the ocean’s depths.
That day, Beomgyu had broken down and cried like he hadn’t in years. He sobbed into the old man’s shoulder, wailed in a way he had last heard from his mother. It took hours for him to stop crying, whether it was the exhaustion in his body or that he no longer had tears to shed. Slowly, he had made his way back to the village, cold and miserable as he sat in the hauntingly empty bedroom of their, his, house. The numb chill didn’t leave, not when the old man brought his mother’s battered, broken body from the beach under the cliffs, not when they buried it together in the garden. Beomgyu weaved his mother’s favourite necklace in between twigs and sprigs of flowers in a tight wreath, placing it upon the grave, the last tangible memory he had of her, the real her.
The ugly, numb feeling didn’t leave when he drank his evenings away in the tavern either, Kai’s worried gaze on his back doing nothing to soothe the sting of the thundering laughter around him, nor did it leave when he sat in the lighthouse, looking out at the summer celebrations lighting up the same cliffs his mother ended her life on.
It only rooted itself deeper, burrowing under his skin, making its luscious home there. It spread through his body like poison ivy when a year later, the old man disappeared too, the only remainder of him an empty sketchbook he had left for Beomgyu.
Back then, Beomgyu shut himself off from everyone completely, sick of the barbed tongues of the villagers waiting for the smallest opening in his guard, of their leering grins waiting for him to break down in front of them once more.
He had a routine, he would wake up, tend to the house, nurse his mother’s garden, trying not to stare at her resting place for too long, lest he end up crying all over again. He would cook up a lackluster meal, only enough to sate the gnawing hunger, never enough to satisfy the greed for blood in him, something dark and large growing inside. In the afternoon, he would leave for the lighthouse, avoiding the eyes of the villagers as he walked by. Once in a while, he would stop by the tavern, going only to let Kai know he’s still alive, even if it was at the younger’s insistence. Even if he no longer answered anything his friend asked anymore.
As fate would have it, the rainy days on the island were scarce from then on.
—
Perhaps, if the villagers were kinder to them all those years ago, if they didn’t drive his poor mother to the point of insanity, Beomgyu would’ve been kind enough to help the man, or at least he would've been kind enough to tell them what had happened. But they weren’t, all they had to offer were heartless words and arrogant stares. So Beomgyu kept his silence, kept one hand over his chest, his heart, the folded portrait that was still in his pocket.
The arguments were still going strong when Beomgyu got up from the bench, sparing Kai a single nod before he made his way out of the village, back to the lighthouse. He walked swiftly, mentally listing what had to be done at the lighthouse that night, what supplies he’d need to store up on soon, but a movement in his periphery snapped him out of it, his head turning to the rocky shoals.
It should be embarrassing, the way he had looked over at the beach in search of the siren every day since they first met. Yet it was to no avail, no sign of those alluring eyes, pouted red lips or mile-long shadowy tail, no matter how much he wished for it to be there. Until today, that was. Because right there, behind the tall boulder where the siren took his first kiss, lay its majestic tail sprawled in the wet sand, black scales shimmering in the late afternoon sun.
In a matter of moments, he was standing in front of the siren, a dazed look on his face as it gazed at him, amusement clear in its eyes. The lazy afternoon sun painted its pale skin in hues of oranges and reds, black eyes glowing warm, its few scarce golden scales glinting in the sunlight. The siren had been nothing short of gorgeous at night, with its darker-than-black pupils blown and smile bloody, but seeing it now, sitting with its back against the rocks, warm and relaxed, Beomgyu had never felt closer to the supposed feeling of awe, of lust and love, ones he had only read and heard of.
He came to sit next to the siren, careful not to touch it, even though he desired to so very much - after all he hadn’t been permitted to. His resolve was broken when the siren’s tinkling laughter sounded in his ears, its head coming to rest on his shoulder.
“I’ve been waiting for you, little one.”
Beomgyu felt the blush rising to his cheeks, a bashfully deep shade of red, as he forced his body to relax against the siren. Their eyes met, the siren chuckling at the obvious flush on Beomgyu’s face before it pressed a small, quick peck on his lips, laughing when Beomgyu tried to chase after its lips as it pulled away. He was pushed back instead, the siren’s hand resting against his chest.
“What have you been doing, little one? Not causing trouble, have you? Telling the villagers about us, perhaps?”
Even though the siren was clearly teasing, Beomgyu sat up straight, immediately shaking his head a resolute no. He didn’t know why, but the thought of disappointing this beautiful being tore away at whatever was left of his heart. Hurriedly, he dug out the folded portrait from his pocket, shoving it into the siren’s hands, his breath baited as the siren calmly took it from him, elegant fingers and sharp claws careful not to rip the paper.
The gasp that followed filled Beomgyu with contrasting emotions, wonder and curiosity, did the siren like it? Dread and fear following, maybe it hated it instead? But then, a dazzling smile spread on the siren’s lips, so very different from the sharp, predatory one it had shown him last time. This one shone brightly, a certain fond quality to it as the siren stroked its thumb over the lines.
“That’s me,” it whispered, the smile never leaving its face, even as it gazed at Beomgyu for confirmation. He nodded, a shy little bop of his head as he tried to hide from the siren’s knowing eyes. “It’s beautiful.” A chaste kiss was pressed to Beomgyu’s cheek, the siren pulling away quickly to gaze at the portrait again.
“No one drew me in this form yet,” it mused, tracing the lines with its careful fingers. Beomgyu cocked his head in confusion, mouthing a quiet “This form?” at the siren, his voice a scratchy hiss as he forced the words into being.
“Don’t overdo it, little one. I can hear you just fine,” a gentle smile lit up the siren’s face. “Do you have your pens with you?” Beomgyu nodded, reaching into the bag slung over his shoulder to pull out the pencils he carried around, showing them to the siren proudly. “Then finish the drawing, I’ll talk if you draw for me.”
Beomgyu settled back down, the portrait placed on his lap atop an old book, eyes flitting between the siren and the paper as he worked on detailing the rough sketch. It was a bit difficult, connecting the gory image on the paper to the beautiful creature perched at his side, but he managed, lining the individual hair pieces, smoothing the shading on its skin, fleshing out the marred corpse lying at its tail. He felt the siren’s gaze on his hands as he worked, sharp eyes tracing his every move with unabashed interest, a small quirk to its lips as it talked.
“This form isn’t what I was born as. I had been reborn as a monster, punished for something I couldn’t prevent, cast aside by the gods and humans alike.” The siren’s expression was bitter, old memories sparking a rageful fire in its eyes. “But the Sea, she saw something in me, gave me the chance to live as one of her children. She pulled me in from the skies graced me with a new form and a name to live by and honour.”
Beomgyu raised his head, looking at the siren in curiosity. It huffed in amusement, knowing what the question was without him having to speak a word.
“Thelxiepeia, that’s what she called me. Her first daughter, her siren. She gave me a song to enchant with, teeth and claws to mar with, magic to raise her waves with. Poor Sea never saw my hunger behind all the pretty things she gave me. Didn’t see it coming when I took over her.”
There was a small smile on the siren’s face now, wistful and proud all in one. Beomgyu looked away for a second, deepening the curl of his portrait siren’s lips, before returning his gaze back to the beautiful creature next to him.
Only to be struck by surprise, the vision in front of him as if blurry, not quite settled, the siren he had come to know replaced by a woman with long hair the colour of sunlight cascading down her bare chest, eyes as blue as the clearest lakes twinkling in mischief as they locked with his, a shimmery silver tail disappearing in the waters in front of them. Beomgyu gaped at the woman, eyes wide, not quite understanding what had happened, up until the vision started fading, sun yellow replaced by dark-as-night black, his siren chuckling in amusement as it looked at his bewildered expression.
“I was quite the sight back then, don’t you think?” The twinkling laughter brought Beomgyu out of his stupor. He knew the question wasn’t really meant to be answered, but he couldn’t help himself. Raising a single hand, he cautiously brought it to the siren’s cheek, thumb gliding over the smooth, warm skin, careful to avoid the small scales peppered up the siren’s throat and jaw. It leaned into his touch, eyes closing for a second as it nuzzled his palm, before opening again, the sharp gaze set on Beomgyu.
“Oh? Do you prefer me now, little one?” Beomgyu nodded, indulging himself a second longer before he let his hand fall, picking the pencil back up and resuming his work on the portrait. After all, the siren did say it would only talk if he drew.
“I am flattered. You see, what I just showed you was a mere illusion. The charm lets you see my different forms, but they aren’t quite… tangible. If you were to reach for my breasts, they wouldn’t be there,” the siren explained, settling its head back on Beomgyu’s shoulder. “But I would’ve had to take your hand off for such a rude gesture anyway, wouldn’t I, little one?”
The siren raised its own hand, looking at it against the slowly setting sun, the golden shine lighting up its webbed fingers, the razor-sharp claws glinting in the light as it moved the hand.
“It took me many years, decades perhaps, to create the me that I am now. The man who rules over the Sea, not the weak child the gods used to scoff at,” Beomgyu’s head shot up in surprise, a flush taking over his features in mere seconds. Yet again, it seemed like the siren heard more than his weak, unused voice. “Is that news to you, little one? What have you been calling me this entire time?” When Beomgyu’s blush deepened, the siren decided to take mercy on the poor fool.
“A long time ago, I cast Thelxiepeia, the Sea’s daughter, away, leaving her memory to rot on the ocean’s floor. I re-moulded and repainted my body, changed the very essence of my being, charmed my own creator until she breathed no longer… and I became Yeonjun.”
Yeonjun.
Yeonjun.
“Yeon… jun?” Beomgyu’s throat felt like a cracked desert floor, dry, parched almost when he spoke up, a raspy, low sound, no louder than the quietest whisper. Yet it made the siren, him, Yeonjun, look at Beomgyu with glee in his pitch-black eyes, and that was enough.
“I knew it’d sound wonderful in your mouth,” Yeonjun whispered, suddenly way closer than he had been a second ago. Beomgyu dropped the pencil into the sand next to him, back straight, head leaned back against the rock behind him as he stared at Yeonjun wide-eyed.
Within a few shallow breaths he managed to take, the siren’s plush lips were on his for the third time, yet feeling like it was the first time all over again. This time, Yeonjun didn’t pull away after a chaste press of their lips together, instead he pressed closer, one hand enveloping Beomgyu’s, the other having a gentle hold of his chin, a hint of sharp claws against his jawbone. A saccharine sweet sigh left the siren as he tilted his head, the tip of his tongue teasing Beomgyu’s lips, the startled lighthouse keeper finally finding the strength to move his body, immediately turning to face his body to the siren’s, kissing back with the hunger of a starved man.
Beomgyu’s arm wrapped around the siren’s back, his mind still present enough to avoid Yeonjun’s scales, lest the siren didn’t want him touching them as they kissed, tongues tangling in a sinful dance of lust, attraction, understanding.
If Beomgyu had the time to be thinking, to philosophise about his life right now, perhaps the charm that pulled him to the siren, to Yeonjun, wasn’t his song, but instead it was the feeling of being seen, of being understood and accepted. Of being talked to and not expected to answer, not shunned for the tragedies he had lived through, accidents he couldn’t have prevented, people he couldn’t save. Yeonjun didn’t call him slurs and names, he called him ‘little one’ in a sweet, low tone with a smile on his face. Yeonjun didn’t mock his drawings, tell him he was delusional - he held them as one would hold a newborn, something precious; careful, tender, loving. And Beomgyu yearned to be loved.
A prick of pain snapped him out of his thoughts, a sting at the tip of his tongue where he brushed it against Yeonjun’s sharp incisors. Beomgyu tried to pull away, but a hand at his nape held him back, Yeonjun’s plush, pink lips closing around the cut, licking at the trickles of blood. Beomgyu’s heart was beating madly, arousal replaced by tentative fear, his body locked in place as the siren continued to lap away at his tongue.
What had really been mere seconds seemed like hours to Beomgyu, but eventually, Yeonjun pulled away with a dazed look on his face, a crooked smile on his face, lips stained red. When their eyes locked, Beomgyu’s breath hitched, as if trapped in his lungs. Because right there, previously blanketed by the serenity of the late afternoon, was the deranged lust, the hunger he had seen the first night.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a part of him recognized the very real and very present danger right in front of him, but Beomgyu couldn’t move, wouldn’t move. Deep beneath, there might’ve been an urge to run, to save what he still could of himself. Yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to get away, and he didn’t want to either. He sat still, gaze pinned to the siren, beautiful and deadly, lips slick with his own blood and saliva.
Yeonjun smiled, leaning down to nose at Beomgyu’s forearm, tracing the prominent blue veins running down the limb. His pillow-soft lips followed, mouthing over the skin, raising goosebumps in their wake as they neared his wrist, the tip of Yeonjun’s tongue flicking around the raised bone there before his lips settled, a butterfly kiss placed on the pad of Beomgyu’s thumb. Yeonjun’s eyes flicked up to meet his, the siren’s amusement and glee almost palpable.
“You taste delicious, little one,” he whispered before biting the fingertip. It wasn’t a hard or a deep bite, Beomgyu had seen the siren rip a man’s throat out, he was sure Yeonjun could’ve bitten his finger off. Instead, he had but nipped a little, enough to draw a few drops of blood, a prick similar to that he had suffered from pens and needles many times.
Beomgyu watched mesmerised as the siren sucked on his thumb, tongue laving over the teeth marks, his own hands and claws wrapped around Beomgyu’s forearm, holding it in place. Yet Beomgyu couldn’t help but notice how soft, tender the siren was. Yeonjun was close to feasting on his blood, yet he only gently suckled on the thumb, careful not to tear the cut any further. He had his claws over Beomgyu’s lifelines, separated only by a few mere layers of skin, thin as paper. Yet Yeonjun cradled the limb close to his chest, hands cautious, kind, slow strokes of comfort over the tense muscle.
A few more seconds passed by them before Yeonjun pressed a butterfly-soft kiss to the cuts and looked up, haloed by the sunset with a satisfied smile tinged red stretched over his lips.
“Did you think I’d eat you, little one?” The siren’s hands cupped his face, caressing the flushed skin. It seemed as though he’d continue, but Beomgyu spoke up first, sure that the siren’s keen ears would pick up the sound of his weak voice amongst the tides beginning to rise around them. He wanted to hear it, needed to hear it. If he did, he wouldn’t mind being torn apart by the beautiful being that was Yeonjun.
“Beomgyu…”
“Is that your name, little one?” Beomgyu nodded, a small, shy thing, eyes avoidant when he heard the siren chuckling.
“Beom… Gyu. Beom-gyu. Beomgyu. Beomgyu.” Much to his dismay, the siren seemed perfectly happy to play around with his name, calling out to him sweetly, teasingly, Yeonjun’s voice like music to his ears. And despite the threat of painful, terrifying death still hanging over him, Beomgyu enjoyed the feeling of blood rushing to his cheeks as he leaned into Yeonjun, content to sink and lose himself in the siren.
Gentle hands he knew could rip him to pieces came to rest at the back of his head, fingers threading between his hair, softly scratching at his scalp. He was pulled in further, his forehead resting against the siren’s chest. There was a steady thrum of a heartbeat resting beneath, yet Beomgyu couldn’t compare it to any other heart he had ever heard. Instead of the dull, rhythmic thumps, he would swear he could hear the ocean roaring inside of Yeonjun’s rib cage, the sound, scent, taste, feel of waves washing over his senses before returning back, winding up to crash into him again.
“I don’t think I could eat you, little one. Even though I know you’d be delicious,” Yeonjun tilted his head down, leaning in to lick at the tip of Beomgyu’s ear, relishing in the full-body shiver of the man in his arms.
“I’ve grown attached,” there was a wistful tone to the siren’s voice, a tinge of regret enveloped by the heavy longing and want lingering on Yeonjun’s lips. “I like you, Beomgyu. You’re so lovely, little one. So gorgeous, so sweet. Always so careful with my kind, so nice to all of us. So romantic too, you even sat down for dinner with me last time,” Yeonjun’s hands continued to card through his hair, the sensation making Beomgyu’s breathing stutter, his own arms hanging limply by his sides, itching to touch.
The burning sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon, darkness taking over the sky above, painting the night an alluring blue. Waves were crawling further up the beach, spilling over sharp rocks, licking up Yeonjun’s black tail, swallowing the shimmer of gold in his scales. Beomgyu stayed silent, nuzzling further into the siren’s hold, ears straining to hear his voice over the trickling water.
“There is something inherently good about you, little one. So clear, so pure. You shine to me, like a lighthouse beam in the storm, isn’t that rather ironic?” The hands slid from his nape, instead tracing the angle of his jaw, raising his head up, wide, shy eyes meeting Yeonjun’s. Beomgyu felt like his soul was getting stripped naked, touched all over, searched.
“Humans are such vile creatures to me. You fight, kill, destroy for fun. You lie, you steal, you humiliate yourselves. Humanity is a pathetic mistake of the gods, one that shouldn’t have been forgiven so easily. I would say it’s foolish of me to like you. You’re a weak, puny human after all. But you’re strange, little one, I can’t help myself.”
In a single second, the world went silent. Beomgyu’s blood froze in his veins, suddenly noticing how the ocean was still, hauntingly so. The wind seemed to have gone quiet as well, when Beomgyu flicked his eyes to the side, not a single blade of grass seemed to be moving. While he usually found a sense of tranquillity in silence, this one made his hair raise on its ends, heart beating madly.
And then, he looked up.
Yeonjun’s pupils were blown, just as they had been on the night when he ripped into the fisherman’s throat. There was an eerie smile on his lips, sharp, not at all kind. The grip on Beomgyu’s face seemed to have gotten tighter, physically forbidding him from looking away. When Yeonjun spoke up again, Beomgyu couldn’t help but notice the jarring distortion in his voice, for the first time that day. Till then, Yeonjun’s tone was calm and warm, a hold handing his in the lazy afternoon, coloured in orange hues. But with the night came the monster in him, the terrifying beast that killed for amusement.
“You see, Beomgyu,” in the corner of his eye, when he dared to avoid Yeonjun’s piercing gaze, he could see the black shadow of the siren’s tail coiling behind him, tattered fins swishing around in the water, yet not a single sound could be heard. “I can feel something in you. A seedling, small and weak. But it’s there, so dark, so greedy.”
Yeonjun pressed closer, their noses touching.
“So,”
Beomgyu could feel his breath against his lips.
“Very,”
His lashes fluttered close, baiting his breath. Awaiting.
“Hungry.”
Yeonjun’s lips were on his, kissing him hard and deep, so different from the tender touches he had offered Beomgyu before. A slight sting moved across his jawline, the bubbling warmth of blood dotting the long, thin cut making him whimper. His hands were shaking, fingers digging into the sand below, scrambling for purchase. He could feel the razor sharp edge of Yeonjun’s smile against his lips, the siren pulling Beomgyu’s hands up, spreading the trembling palms over his own chest, guiding them down. He was chuckling, albeit not warmly, as they slid from soft skin to hard scales, Beomgyu’s body immediately tensing. Perhaps at the new feeling under his fingertips, most definitely at the knowledge that he was touching Yeonjun’s tail.
Their lips separated, a crude thread of spit linking their tongues before Yeonjun licked it into his mouth, putting on a show of swallowing it. Then, he turned back to Beomgyu with that unsettling smile.
“It’s so dark in there, little one. Ugly,” he laughed, dragging his claws over Beomgyu’s chest, ripping into the thin fabric of his shirt. “Yet so different from the darkness your dear fellow villagers carry with them. It’s so much more, and I know you’ll give into it. I need to see it grow, little one. I will force it, if I have to.”
Beomgyu cowered against the rock behind him, legs drawing in, a pitiful attempt at hiding himself from the beast that was Yeonjun.
“And when it does, I’ll take you with me. I’ll give you a song that will raise hell, shake the heavens and move the seven seas and I’ll listen to you sing it. I’ll make you into my sweet, little songbird and watch as you sweep over the lands.”
The predatory expression on Yeonjun’s face seemed to light up with excitement when Beomgyu shook his head, frame trembling under the cold, night sky.
“No? You don’t want to be my little songbird?” Beomgyu’s heart was trying to ram its way out of his chest. “You will be. I know you will. And I won’t have to wait long,” a firm peck was pressed onto his unresponsive lips before Yeonjun slithered back into the gloomy waters, the entirety of his body but his head hidden under the unmoving surface.
“You should go, little one. Your lighthouse is dark,” he laughed, eyes still not leaving Beomgyu’s. “I’ll be waiting for the show, songbird.”
In a flash of glimmering black, Yeonjun was gone, waves rushing back into movement, the sound overwhelming to Beomgyu’s racing mind.
Quickly, he scrambled to gather his supplies that were still strewn around on the little spot they have spent the day in, eyes widening when he looked at the portrait again. It seemed as if it was alive, the fisherman’s corpse vivid and bloody, Yeonjun’s graphite gaze and smile knowing, victorious.
Beomgyu folded the paper, shoving it between the book’s pages as he packed his bag, gripping it tightly, lest his trembling hands drop it. He ran faster than he ever did before, only stopping when the lighthouse’s doors were firmly shut behind him. He cussed at the spilled oil when he filled up the lamps, trying to slow his rapid breathing.
He didn’t dare look outside of the window that night.
—
Weeks had passed before he was brave enough to leave the lighthouse. During the lasst two, the creeping paranoia didn’t allow him to fill up all the lamps anymore, spending the nights with a single one by his side, lighting up the blank paper he had tried to calm his mind with. He slept through the days, cowered in the room’s corners during the cloudless nights. Maybe it wasn’t even bravery that made him leave, more like the persistent ache in his stomach. After all, food in the lighthouse was already scarce before his run-in with Yeonjun.
Either way, Beomgyu set out in the early morning, just after the sun had risen, exhaling in bone-deep relief when he saw that the grassy path along the field wasn’t flooded. He could avoid the rocky shoals for a bit longer.
He walked at a brisk pace, despite the field ahead of him being safer than the beach, he couldn’t shake the feeling of Yeonjun’s pitch-black irises on him, couldn’t get rid of the echoing distorted voice in his ears. He felt like he was being watched, listened to, followed in every of his movements.
The short, stone wall circling the village came to view, dissipating the pressure in Beomgyu’s chest by the smallest bit. He dragged his feet through the opening, too tired, hungry, shaken to pay attention to the haughty, mean stares thrown at him from the people already out and about.
If he was feeling a bit more himself, he would’ve noticed there was something different about them today.
The world around him was loud, too loud, yet it did nothing to drown out Yeonjun’s taunts and offers, the siren’s words sticking to his brain like sap, lazily dripping back and forth, slowly taking over him.
The buildings passed by him, so did the villagers. For a second, he thought he saw a familiar dress in the corner of his eye, a pair of earrings or a bracelet, but he couldn’t be bothered to raise his head.
Within seconds, minutes, perhaps hours of walking, he came to a stop in front of the tavern, brows furrowed in confusion. In front of him stood Kai, wide eyed, a shocked gasp escaping his lips just as the tray of glass in his hands plummeted to the floor, shards spreading over the ground between them.
“Beomgyu?” Kai sounded surprised, startled, almost unsure. Still, he nudged the fallen tray to the side with the tip of his shoe, taking small, slow steps closer to his friend. Careful hands settled on Beomgyu’s shoulders, Kai’s eyes taking in his face, lingering on the closing cut lining his jaw before a relief poured into his expression as the younger enveloped Beomgyu in a tight hug.
Beomgyu felt like he was being squeezed to death, his subconsciousness picturing subtle images of Kai’s arms morphing into a midnight-black tail instead. Still, he returned the hug, patting the younger on his back when he heard the first sob leave Kai’s trembling form.
They stood there for a few long moments, Kai periodically pulling back to look him in the face, an emotion close to disbelief on his face. Beomgyu’s legs were getting painfully numb when Kai spoke up again.
“Where were you? You were gone for more than a month, Beomgyu. Everybody thought you were dead!”
Kai seemed genuinely angry, concerned when he asked. There was clear desperation in his voice as he questioned the older, hands still clutching Beomgyu’s own. The grip was tight, too tight.
And as much as Beomgyu tried, he couldn’t push back the ugly thoughts. The bitter knowledge that nobody bothered to try and check up on him, even after a month had passed by. Not even his sweet little Kai.
Tearing his hands out of Kai’s grip, Beomgyu nodded, a single polite bow of his head, before he turned away, walking on despite the screaming ache in his legs, despite Kai trying to grab the back of his shirt, still vying for any semblance of an explanation.
Beomgyu winded his way between the morning crowd, averting eyes from the bewildered villagers around, focusing on trying to squash the growing feelings of anger building inside of him. The ones that were dark, greedy, so very hungry, at least according to Yeonjun.
The storming conflict within him rose again. The deep unsettlement, the fear of Yeonjun and his words, his actions, his sheer conviction that Beomgyu would snap, it was battling the devoted fancy he had come to feel for the siren, the admiration, the lust. Obsessive love, even. Was it possible to love a monster? One you’ve only truly met twice, only dreamt of it otherwise, phantom touches sticking to sweaty skin?
As much as Beomgyu tried to let go of the thoughts, to snap himself out of the Yeonjun-induced stupor, he couldn’t. He would swear he could hear the siren laughing from those rocky shoals all the way here.
It seemed like the village spun around him, buildings and people swimming, flying by yet never moving. He didn’t know how long the usual five minute trek from the tavern to his house took him, he couldn’t care anymore. All Beomgyu wanted to do was tear into what little food he had left, change into a shirt that didn’t carry the salty, alluring scent of Yeonjun on it and sit in his mother’s garden, feel her presence. For the first time in years, he felt like he needed it to keep himself alive.
Any sense of peace Beomgyu felt with the beach leaving his sight evaporated when he came to stand in front of his house.
The anger that was simmering gently underneath his skin quickly overboiled into burning rage, his hands shaking as his eyes fell on the door broken out of its hinges, propped up against the outside walls, windowpanes smashed to pieces. It took a few short, staggered steps for him to see the full extent of the damage.
Save for a few busted pieces of wood, the house was bare.
There wasn’t much in it to begin with, apart from old furniture and handmade trinkets and decorations his mother put up and he never had the heart to take down. None of that remained, the floor dusty and dirty with mudded footprints, scrapes and marks of heavy objects getting dragged over it stretching all over the room. His old drawings and paintings, previously hung on the walls, were torn to shreds, pieces of paper and canvas sticking to his boots as he walked further. The door to the bedroom was left ajar, showing a pitiful room, one that used to be full of presence, only ghosts remaining.
Beomgyu’s chest got tight, remembering the few precious things they’d had, the ones he could no longer see anywhere in this room. He though of his mother’s lovely dresses, ones she had brought from the mainland and only wore during festive occasions, made from colourful fabrics, with delicate embroidery and pretty ribbon bows. The jewerly his father gave her, shiny gems in shinier metal, dangling earrings that twinkled in the gentle light when she put them on. The ones she had locked into a box long ago, a teary promise to her husband that she’d only put them on again once he’d come back to her.
With clenched fists, he tried not to tear up as he passed the smashed bedframes, shards of broken glass crunching beneath his feet, tentatively opening the flimsy door to the garden behind the small house.
A wail broke out of his lips when his parents’ graves came to view, the grass and flowers blooming over them trampled, years old dirt disturbed, dug up, then thrown back haphazardly. The humble wicker-weaved markers he and the old man made together were pulled out and thrown aside, the tight weaves loose and sad. And amidst the broken flower stems lay his wreath, torn in halves, the remaining twigs and dried flowers falling apart, just like his own world was right now. The necklace he had braided into it was missing.
A single, lonely smidge of hope in him had Beomgyu falling onto his knees in front of the graves, hands digging into the dirt over them, desperately wishing to feel the cool leather of the necklace’s string, the smooth surface of its pendant. He could barely see through the tears gathering in his eyes, pained whimpers escaping his lips as he dug further, deeper, the filth coating his forearms, smudging the fabric of his pants. But as minutes ticked by, he couldn’t feel anything but the scrapes and cuts dotting his fingers, fury and anguish blinding his mind as he finally let the tears fall.
Beomgyu collapsed next to his mother’s grave, forehead pressed against the cold, hard ground as he cried. He clutched the wreath’s remains in his hand, crushing the fragile leaves to dust, but he couldn’t let go, couldn’t help the wails and screams escaping his lips. Burning hot tears cascaded down his cheeks as he let his trembling body fall to the ground, curling into himself with the crushed wreath held tightly against his chest.
He always knew the village wasn’t fond of his family. They had made it clear so many times before, but for them to turn into savage rampaging beasts the second they felt like they could get away with it? A new wave of sobs racked through Beomgyu’s body at the thought.
He had tried so hard, they all have. To work, to smile, to say the right things, to be nice, to be accepted. For years, he ignored the nasty glares, he held back his venomous thoughts and words, he kept quiet when mocked, kept his temper calm even when his life’s work was getting torn to shreds in front of him. He had always tried to convince himself the others were good people at heart, they must’ve been, right?
Now, laying in the remnants of his family’s life and happiness, the childish naivety he tried so hard to upkeep was getting drowned out by the raging storm inside him.
Beomgyu’s skies were no longer calm and baby blue, they were red, blood-red, Yeonjun’s laughter echoing like thunder.
Yeonjun.
Beomgyu wanted to rip his hair out, tear up his insides, lay himself to waste. Yeonjun had been right from the very start. From the night he murdered the vile fisherman in cold blood, to the afternoon where he preached about the ugliness in humanity and Beomgyu wanted so badly to cover his ears and run. He should’ve listened, should’ve gone with Yeonjun.
Yeonjun.
He needed to find Yeonjun.
A deep-seated pain crackled through his body as he shakily got up, propping himself up on his own dirty knees, bloody hands gripping onto the muddy fabric. He staggered back into the village streets, so overwhelmingly aware of everything around him now. The twinkling earrings and swishing dresses, the fancy bracelets around wrists, everything he used to see in the safety and comfort of his mother’s closet was now being paraded around the village crudely and shamelessly. They all looked at him with disgust on their faces, sneering at him as if he was a measly maggot crawling through the streets.
A visceral anger sweeped through him when he spotted the dead fisherman’s wife, his mother’s necklace hanging around her neck. He wanted to snap it, hear the crunch beneath his fingertips, watch her drop dead. The woman looked him straight in the eye, an ugly smug expression on her face as she cocked her hip, taunting him.
Once, perhaps, Beomgyu would’ve let her. His mother wouldn’t have wanted him to fight, she didn’t like violence. But now, he saw red as he marched up to her, smearing filth and blood all over her pale, fragile throat as he tore the necklace off of it. The woman was screaming her lungs out, probably cursing Beomgyu to hell and back as she dramatically clutched at her collarbones, but he couldn’t care less as he made his way back out of the village, obsessive whispers of “they took her,” and “he was right,” under his breath.
Beomgyu was halfway down the winding path leading from the village to the beach when he heard a familiar voice call after him, thundering footsteps getting closer and closer. He didn’t turn around.
Kai’s hand grabbed at his wrist, the younger pulling with all his might to make Beomgyu face him, his grip tight, constricting. He looked terrified to see the foreign expression on his best friend’s face, at the crazed rage sewn into it as Beomgyu raised his head to meet his gaze.
“Beomgyu, what are you doing? What was that, you could’ve hurt her!” And Beomgyu regretted not resisting harder. He had been a fool to think Kai would understand. After all, Kai hadn’t gone after him, he hadn’t stopped the village animals from rampaging his home. He let them take her, take everything Beomgyu had left of her.
“What is going on? First you disappear for so long, then you act so strange and now you’re being violent? I don’t recognize you anymore,” Kai cried out, desperately searching for any semblance of warmth in Beomgyu’s eyes. He found none, startled by the sudden words from Beomgyu’s mouth, the voice he hasn’t heard in months, perhaps years.
“You let them.”
“Beomgyu, what-”
“You let them take her! He was right, he was right about all of you!” Beomgyu was near screaming now, his voice strained and raspy, his throat feeling like it was tearing at the seams as he yelled. Kai’s eyes were misting over as he took a few steps back, fear he had never thought Beomgyu could make him fear enveloping his body.
“Who was right, tell me what happened Beomgyu, please!”
No longer able to string words together between the wails, Beomgyu dug out the cursed portrait from his pocket, throwing it at Kai’s chest before he ripped his wrist out of the younger’s grip, taking off in a desperate run towards the beach.
He didn’t pay any mind to Kai’s horrified gasp, nor the shaky questions that followed. He ignored the harsh pants as the younger tried to catch up with him. Instead, Beomgyu screamed.
“Yeonjun!”
His bag was thrown off to the side, hitting the ground with a soft thud.
“Yeonjun!”
Staggering, he tugged off his boots, bare feet hitting the wet sand as he dragged his tired body over the beach, scrambling for support on the tall, imposing rocks around him.
“Yeonjun!”
Beomgyu fell onto his knees, no longer able to hold himself up, hand still clutching the necklace as if it was a lifeline. Kai had caught up, falling onto all fours next to him, holding the crumpled portrait of a siren enjoying its gruesome dinner between his fingers. He was deathly pale, horrified, only flushed because of the physical strain. His voice was winded, harsh when he spoke again.
“What is that drawing, Beomgyu? Why would you draw something so…” Kai panted as he unfolded the portrait on the sand in front of them, eyes filled with a mix of horror and disgust as he traced the bloody contents of the paper, his stomach swimming in nausea at the uncanny, repulsive details. “I-I know they weren’t… the nicest to you. But this? How would you feel if someone mocked your mother’s death like this?”
Beomgyu scoffed, crawling closer to the sea, itching to feel the sting of saltwater on his open wounds, finally answering the pull that had been tugging at him for so long.
“Beomgyu, I don’t recognize you anymore! This is so vile, so awful, what is wrong with you-”
“I’d say it’s a rather accurate depiction.”
Two pairs of eyes snapped towards the source of the voice in unison, one wide in terror, the other in conflicting resentment and deranged want.
Perched upon a stone was Yeonjun, beautiful, otherworldly Yeonjun, licking what looked like fresh blood off his fingers. His gaze, clearly amused, was set on the two of them as the tip of his tongue collected the last drops on his sharp claws, the siren seemingly enjoying the sudden hitch in Kai’s breathing. Beomgyu, meanwhile, watched the slow, almost teasing movements, just as he had on the first night, so horrified, yet mesmerised, excitement rushing through his veins.
The air suddenly got colder, reminiscent of the eerie atmosphere Beomgyu felt when Yeonjun talked to him last time. The siren’s eyes were now devoid of any previous glee, only annoyance and silent anger remaining as he looked straight at Kai. The younger boy was frozen still, unable to look away, unable to run.
“My soft spot for your dear friend is the only reason I haven’t torn your vocal chords out yet, you rude vermin. Don’t you dare sully his lovely work with your crude insults.”
The earth seemed to quake at his words, distorted and blood-curdling. Beomgyu felt like his own chest was getting constricted, the air sucked out of his lungs, the electric fear that only Yeonjun brought out in him running amok on his skin, yet he couldn’t get enough of the feeling, not when he knew how sweet, how gentle the siren could be.
As if a switch was flipped, the pressure dissipated when Yeonjun set his eyes on Beomgyu, his gaze softening, a peculiar fondness in it, even if the hunger in Yeonjun was still obvious. He outstretched his hand, a small smile on his red-stained lips.
“Now, my little one. What made you scream your pretty lungs out for me? I could hear you miles away.”
Beomgyu pushed himself closer, the water lapping at his open palm, burning the bloody cuts on his hand as he raised the other one up, the torn necklace held in-between his fingers. Yeonjun leaned forward from his comfortable perch atop the rock, eyes curious, searching. With a tilt of his head, he gestured for Beomgyu to speak.
“They took her,” he repeated for the thousandth time that day, the smile on Yeonjun’s face stretching wider.
“Did they, little one?”
“They destroyed her,” the desperation in his voice blended into unabashed rage, his tone drowning in emotion as he shed tears he didn’t know he still had.
“So evil, aren’t they?”
“They destroyed me!” Yeonjun was grinning now, his eyes fond, yet pitying. Beomgyu didn’t pay any mind to it, he no longer felt like he could.
Beomgyu enveloped the pendant in his bruised hands as he staggered onto his feet, taking slow steps closer to Yeonjun. The water reached up to his waist when he couldn’t walk anymore, face to face with the siren, a shaky exhale escaping his lips when Yeonjun’s arms wrapped around him. With no will or strength to hold himself up anymore, he collapsed into the siren’s embrace. His soul felt at peace, at home even, crying into the siren’s shoulder.
Yeonjun’s hand was gentle as it came up to stroke his hair, the sensation familiar, calming. With his lips brushing the skin of Beomgyu’s ear, he spoke.
“Cry it out, my little songbird. These are the last tears you’ll shed for this ugly world.”
Beomgyu felt the steady pressure of Yeonjun’s tail slowly coiling around his legs, strong and unyielding. Weeks ago, he would’ve been afraid, struggling and fighting against it, yet now, he welcomed the feeling. After all, did he even have anything to lose anymore?
“Do you want to go with me, Beomgyu? Will you become my sweet songbird?”
Their eyes locked, the world as if slowing around them as it had so many times before. Beomgyu’s breath hitched when he felt the tender caress over his tear-stained cheek before he leaned into it, nuzzling the siren’s palm as he nodded.
The hum of the sea became loud, overwhelmingly so as Yeonjun enveloped him whole. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Kai’s screams, but when Yeonjun’s lips came to rest on his, he let them fizzle out, getting lost in the siren’s taste instead.
As Beomgyu’s vision slowly went dark, Yeonjun’s eyes found Kai over his songbird’s shoulder, the young boy curled up on the sand, scared, helpless.
With a sharp smile, he pointed his clawed index finger at him.
“You should run along now. Save yourself, if you can. He’ll come for all of you soon enough.”
The cold, ruthless grip of the ocean enveloped both him and the trembling songbird in his arms when Yeonjun dove back into the depths.