Chapter Text
The storm hits harder than he could have ever expected.
Suguru barely has time to shout before the wave catches him — a mountain of fury, crashing over the deck. The world lurches sideways. The ropes slip from his hands. The wind tears the breath from his throat.
Then he’s in the water.
Darkness above, darkness below. Choking. Heavy. Endless.
He kicks, gasping through salt and panic, but the ocean is a cruel goddess when she wants to be. She drags him down by the ankles, filling his ears with roaring static, binding him in freezing chains.
Something brushes his leg.
Suguru thrashes instinctively — panic stabbing his lungs — but the touch comes again, surer this time. Steady.
A hand.
When he blinks the salt from his eyes, he sees it — sees him — blurred and brilliant through the water:
A face.
A boy.
Silver hair floating like a halo, eyes bright even in the murky dark, blue and endless and curious.
Suguru’s lungs burn.
His body gives out.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
When Suguru sees him, it’s through the glare of sunlight and the smell of salt.
The sound of waves hitting the shore breaks through his ringing ears, the feeling of the cool water against his feet enough to wake him up further.
Above him hovers a man with eyes bluer than the ocean herself, and hair so white it could shame the heavens.
There’s a curious tilt to his head, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed like he’s trying to piece together Suguru’s very existence.
When Suguru opens his mouth to speak, the only thing that comes out is a garbled cough, followed by a heaving breath.
"Woah! Are you okay?" the man asks — voice melodic, brimming with energy, too bright for the storm around them. "I thought I saved you pretty quickly, but I guess you still kinda drowned."
Suguru watches as his peachy-pink lips curve into a gentle smile.
He clears his throat, struggling upright onto his forearms. His eyes catch on the sharp line of the man’s jaw, trail down his throat, his shoulders, his torso, his waist—
And then.
Below the waist, where legs should be — a shimmery tail, long and rippling in shades of white and blue, swishing lazily through the surf.
Suguru stares.
"You—you're—?" he chokes out, eloquent as ever.
The stranger shrugs, smiling wider.
"How else would I have conveniently been floating around when you fell in?"
Suguru thinks it’s funny — the casual sarcasm — but he doesn't have the energy to laugh. Instead, he exhales sharply and just stares at the glimmering scales where legs should be.
"Mermaid," he whispers.
The other man nods. "Yes. Are you scared?" he asks, tilting his head again.
Suguru thinks about it.
About the old warnings, the sailor’s tales of creatures that sing you to your death — too fast to catch, too beautiful to trust, too hungry to love. Too dangerous, too wild, too free.
But to him?
The boy in front of him doesn’t look hungry.
He looks like the sea itself — vast, wild, waiting. Exciting.
"No," Suguru says simply.
The man blinks, surprised. "Aren’t you supposed to be?"
"Maybe. But do I have a reason to be?"
The mermaid smiles again — softer, smaller this time.
"No," he says. "Not with me."
Suguru nods.
Somehow, amid the backend of a storm and the uncomfortable weight of his wet clothes, Suguru feels warmer than he has in a very, very long time.
The man’s tail flicks lazily in the surf, sending tiny droplets of water splashing against Suguru’s arms.
He watches them drip down, catching in the folds of his sleeves, soaking into the fabric — and for a moment, he forgets he’s supposed to be shivering.
The mermaid cocks his head again.
"You’re weird," he says cheerfully, like it's a compliment. "Most humans either scream or try to stab me."
Suguru snorts under his breath. "Sorry to disappoint."
The mermaid smiles — slow, dazzling, a little mischievous.
"S’okay," he says. "You’re kinda cute for a human, so I’ll let it slide."
Suguru blinks.
"Cute?" he repeats, incredulous.
"Yeah," the mermaid hums, spinning a lazy circle in the shallows. His hair fans out around him like a halo, catching the faint light breaking through the clouds. "Cute. All messy and grumpy and wet. Very charming."
Suguru stares at him for a long moment, deadpan.
"Are you always like this?"
"Only when I'm bored," the mermaid says brightly, grinning with all his teeth. "And right now you're the most interesting thing on this whole beach, so."
He floats closer — just a little.
Close enough that Suguru can see the fine scales dusting the bridge of his nose, the faint glow of bioluminescence pulsing under his skin.
Suguru shifts onto one elbow, watching him.
He doesn’t say anything.
The mermaid seems to pick up on it — the way he’s being studied — and his smile softens a fraction.
"Don’t look at me like that," he chides, redness painting his freckled cheeks.
"Like what?" Suguru asks, following a drop of water down the side of his face.
"Like you’ve never seen something strange before."
"Maybe I haven’t."
The mermaid’s smile grows.
"Well, you’re pretty strange to me, too, human. I guess we’re each other’s firsts."
Suguru laughs under his breath at the innuendo.
"What’s your name?"
The mermaid’s eyes widen a little. Like he wasn’t expecting the question. Like no one's ever bothered to ask before.
For a heartbeat, he just blinks at Suguru.
Then he parts his lips. "Gojo," he whispers. "Satoru."
Suguru feels something click inside him — soft and inevitable — like the waves settling against the shore.
He says it once, just to taste it:
"Satoru."
The mermaid beams, bright enough to outshine the storm clouds.
"See?" he says. "Not so strange after all."
Suguru huffs — amused despite himself.
"You’re the one with the sharp teeth, fishboy."
Gojo laughs — a real, delighted sound — and Suguru finds himself smiling too, helpless to stop it.
"Well, what’s yours, then, sailor?"
"Geto," he says, family name heavy on his tongue. "Suguru."
"Suguru," Satoru purrs, letting the flavor of his name wash over his tongue. He hopes it tastes sweet.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
The tide is creeping higher now, lapping at Suguru’s ankles with chilly fingers.
He shifts, trying to stand, and Gojo floats back a little to give him space — tail flicking lazily, droplets catching in the low afternoon light.
"You should go," Gojo says, not unkindly. "You humans don’t do too well in the cold."
Suguru opens his mouth to argue, but before he can speak, a voice carries down the shore:
"There! Over there—!"
Suguru stiffens.
He recognizes it — the harsh bark of his quartermaster, the shouts of men scrambling across the rocks to find him.
His heart lurches.
When he turns back to the water, Gojo’s expression has changed — the easy smile gone, replaced with something tighter, more wary.
"They’re looking for you," Gojo says softly.
Suguru reaches for him, instinctive.
"Wait—"
But Gojo is already moving — a quick flick of his tail, a shimmer of white-blue under the surf.
His fingers slip under the waves like smoke.
Suguru watches — helpless — as the ocean swallows him whole.
And when his crew reaches him a minute later, dragging him up from the rocks with rough hands and relieved curses, Suguru barely hears them.
He only hears the whisper of the tide.
Only feels the absence of wide blue eyes.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
The sand is still damp under Suguru’s boots when he slips away from the ship that night. His muscles ache, salt crusts the cuts on his palms, and he should probably be sleeping — but instead, he finds himself retracing his steps back toward the rocky cove where he first woke after the wreck. The storm has passed; the night is calm, almost mocking in its quiet. He steps carefully over the wet stones, searching the shoreline, searching the tide, for any sign of white hair or flashing silver. There’s nothing. Only the crash of the gentle surf and the low groan of the wind across the rocks.
Suguru waits.
He sits down, damp sand soaking through his pants, arms wrapped loosely around his knees. He waits until the moon rises higher and the stars scatter overhead like spilled salt. He waits until the cold starts to creep under his skin again.
"Satoru," he says once — just to the ocean, just in case.
No answer.
He exhales, long and low, and rises to leave. His heart is heavy in his chest, heavier than it has any right to be.
But just as he steps away, he hears it — a soft splash, so faint it could almost be imagined.
He turns.
And there, bobbing just offshore, is a familiar shape — silver hair catching the moonlight, a blue tail flashing under the water.
Satoru.
Watching him.
And swimming away before he has the chance to dive in.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
The days that follow blur together in a slow, aching rhythm. Suguru returns to his ship, to the endless busywork of life at sea — tying down sails, hauling crates, mending ropes with raw fingertips. His hands move by memory, but his mind is always elsewhere. They’ll be docked in this town for a few weeks, and Suguru almost wishes they were already on their way out. Every time he leans over the side of the ship to check a knot or toss a bucket of water back overboard, his gaze lingers longer than it should, scanning the shifting water, hoping for a glimmer of white-blue scales.
Small things start to pile up — driftwood tangled with bright shells snagged in their nets, pieces of coral lodged between the planks — and without thinking, Suguru starts pocketing them. Tiny souvenirs of something he’s not even sure was real.
At night, he dreams of laughter echoing over the tide. Of slender fingers threading through his own. Of ocean-wet hair brushing against his shoulder, the soft pressure of a hand guiding him deeper, deeper.
He falls asleep on the deck more than once, curled against the mast, sand in his hair and salt drying on his lips.
When the other sailors joke about it, he smiles and shrugs it off.
But inside, he can’t help but think about the white-haired, blue-eyed mermaid who saved him.
Satoru.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
Satoru keeps his distance.
He tells himself it's safer this way.
That humans don't love what they want. That it's better not to be caught, not to be seen, not to hope.
But he can't help it.
Night after night, he drifts close to the ship, hidden beneath the rolling waves. He watches Suguru as he leans on the railings, staring into the sea like he’s searching for something he doesn’t know how to name. Watches him smile at nothing. Watches him pocket small shells and stones like he’s building a shrine he doesn’t understand.
The ache in Satoru’s chest is worse than the cold.
He could reveal himself. Could swim to him. Could reach out and touch.
Could brush through the knots in Suguru’s long black hair, kiss his fingertips and hold his face in his hands.
But every time he rises toward the surface, he hesitates.
Maybe Suguru’s forgotten him.
Maybe humans aren't meant to long for the sea, only to fear the things within it.
So Satoru stays in the deep.
Waiting.
Hoping.
And wondering how much longer he can bear it.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
Suguru leans against the railing, eyes heavy and tired. It’s been a little over a week since the shipwreck, and every night, he dreams of Satoru. He feels a little silly, frankly — Suguru has loved many men over many years, has spent nights tangled in sheets that aren’t his own and left them before the sun rose. Satoru and him shared only a minor conversation, didn’t even touch, save for the grip Satoru must’ve had on him to bring him to shore. Suguru wishes he would’ve been conscious enough to remember the feeling of Satoru’s hands on him. He hasn’t slept much in the last week, but when he does, it’s so he can see his mermaid.
His thin linen pants blow with the ocean breeze, white tunic doing little to warm his body against the weather. His crew sleeps under the deck, tightly quartered and effortlessly peaceful. The salt air fills Suguru’s lungs, melodic crashing of the waves against the beach prettier than any symphony. He wishes there were blue eyes looking out at the moonlight’s reflection on the ocean next to him.
"You planning on sleeping tonight, Geto?"
The loud, unmistakable voice of his crewmate, Yuji, interrupts his yearning.
Suguru turns, taking in all of Yuji’s overgrown hair, such a unique color that it almost looks pink. His outfit is similar to Suguru’s own, but dirtier, tattered, like Yuji still doesn’t quite know how to protect himself from the laborious work that is sailing. He’s young, Suguru knows, but wiser than he lets on. At twenty-five, Suguru is far from old, but he’s been on the ocean for so long that he doesn’t know anything else. Yuji, on the other hand, is freshly eighteen, desperate to get away from the coastal village he grew up in and see more of what the world has to offer. He’s wild, a little impulsive, and Suguru can’t help but feel a little paternal over him. The kid can handle himself, he knows that, but Yuji reminds him so wholly of himself, and he wishes there was someone to watch out for him when he was that young. He wants to give Yuji the mentor that he never had. He wants Yuji to find a home in the ocean, to see her as a long lost friend and his crew as the family he grew up without.
"Don’t worry about me," he waves his hand, trying to ease the young sailor’s concern. "I’ve just got some thinking to do."
Yuji hums and tilts his head. "You’ve been thinking more than usual these days."
Suguru chuckles. "What’s that supposed to mean, kid?"
Yuji laughs, shrugging. "Dunno, just… for the last few days, you’ve been staring out at the horizon like you’re waiting for a lover to return from battle."
That’s quite the comparison, but Suguru supposes he does look a little pathetic to the average man. He’s never been good at hiding how he feels, anyway.
"You’re funny, Yuji. I’m okay. Get some sleep, or I’ll make you wash my section of the deck tomorrow along with yours."
Yuji groans and rolls his eyes, comparing Suguru to something along the lines of a "grouchy old man" and patting him on the shoulder. They bid each other goodnight, and once again, Suguru is alone, just him and the sea.
He stares out at the water, sees the waves crashing against rocks, and yearns. Wants. Waits for a sign that doesn’t come. He dozes off just as the sun rises.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
The next day, Yuji must feel bad for him, because he washes Suguru’s portion of the deck anyway. He makes a mental note to treat him to a meal when they venture into the next few towns.
In the evening, he picks at his meal, the same selection of tightly packaged meats, beans, and the occasional slice of bread, if Suguru’s lucky. The crew worked tirelessly all day, so they get the night off. Captain Yaga is not a gracious man, most would say, but he does care about his crew, even if he pretends not to. Haibara rallies a few other crewmates to journey down to the town square. Nanami refuses over and over and instead takes a walk to a library. Yuji and his older brother, Choso, venture out to… somewhere. Suguru has no clue where they’re going, but he’s sure they’ll be fine.
That leaves him alone. His crew asked him to join them, but he refused, saying he’d go to bed early tonight and get some rest for the first time in a while. Except that was a lie, because instead, Suguru plans to wait by the rocky stretch of beach that he was saved by Satoru, grasping at nothing but a small sliver of hope that he’ll see those cerulean eyes and snowy hair again. So, he makes himself comfortable in the sand, listening to the waves against the shore and feeling the easy breeze blow his hair out of place. He waits for what feels like hours, but in reality, it must’ve only been a few minutes when all of the sudden–
Suguru doesn’t think.
He just moves.
The second he hears the splash — that soft, familiar ripple breaking the surface of the cove — he’s pushing through the wet sand, stumbling knee-deep into the surf without even pausing to breathe.
There he is.
Floating just offshore, silver hair glowing under the moonlight, tail flicking slow and uncertain under the water.
Satoru.
Suguru freezes for half a heartbeat.
And Satoru —
Satoru looks just as startled.
Like he hadn’t expected to be seen.
Like he hadn't expected to be wanted.
They stare at each other across the small stretch of sea.
The distance feels both impossibly wide and heartbreakingly close.
Suguru swallows.
His throat is dry, even with the ocean all around him.
"You came back," he says quietly.
Satoru's mouth lifts — hesitant at first — then blooming into a real smile, bright and devastating.
"I could say the same about you," he calls back, voice carrying soft over the water. "You humans don't usually come looking for trouble."
Suguru huffs a breathless laugh, something tight in his chest loosening.
"Maybe I'm not a very good human," he says.
Satoru tilts his head, considering that — and then, slowly, he moves closer.
One careful flick of his tail, then another.
Rippling toward him until Suguru can see the tiny droplets clinging to his eyelashes, the way his chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths.
Suguru holds his ground, waist-deep now, hands half-curled at his sides.
He doesn't reach. Doesn't rush.
Lets Satoru come to him.
When he does — when he finally closes that last sliver of space between them — it’s with a look on his face like he’s afraid one wrong move will send Suguru bolting back to shore.
Suguru just stands there, letting the waves rock them gently together.
Closer.
Closer.
Until Satoru’s hand brushes his wrist — featherlight, testing.
Suguru lifts his hand slowly, gives him his palm.
And when Satoru laces their fingers together, Suguru exhales — a shaky, broken thing — and squeezes back.
Neither of them speaks.
The ocean hums around them, pulling at his clothes, tugging at Satoru’s hair.
Above them, the stars blur and tilt.
It feels like the whole world is holding its breath.
And for the first time since the wreck — since the near-drowning, since the empty days that followed — Suguru feels something settle inside him.
Something warm.
Something unfamiliar. Something welcome.
"You didn’t have to come back," Satoru says finally, voice small.
Suguru smiles — tired and real.
"Neither did you."
Satoru’s fingers tighten around his own.
"I guess we're both bad at staying where we’re supposed to, then."
Suguru thinks about that — thinks about everything he's been taught to fear, everything he’s been told to run from.
He lets it all drift away with the tide.
"I’m okay with that," he says.
And Satoru laughs — pure, bright, delighted — the sound buzzing through Suguru's ribs like a song.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
They don’t let go for a long moment.
Their hands stay tangled together in the shallows, waves lapping at their wrists, neither of them quite sure what to do next.
It’s Suguru who finally speaks, voice a little rough around the edges:
"So… do mermaids usually make a habit of saving shipwrecked idiots?"
Satoru huffs a laugh, flicking water at him with the tips of his tail.
"No. I only save the cute ones," he says breezily.
Suguru blinks at him. "Oh yeah? Then where are all of your other washed up sailors?"
"No one’s ever been pretty enough."
Suguru bites back a grin, shakes his head — and Satoru beams, so bright it could split the sky.
They float there awkwardly for a moment longer, swaying with the current, neither moving to leave.
Finally, Satoru kicks his tail in a lazy arc and bobs a little closer.
"Teach me something," he says suddenly, blurting it like it’s a dare. "Something human."
Suguru blinks again, caught off guard.
"Like what?"
Satoru shrugs — shoulders dipping, hair dripping into his eyes — and he looks so young like that, so earnest.
"I dunno," he says. "Anything. Whatever you guys do up there. I wanna know."
Suguru stares at him.
At this ridiculous, gleaming creature who saved him, smiled at him, waited for him.
At this boy — this person — who he was raised to be scared of, curiously and innocently asking him to teach him "something human." Whatever that means.
"Alright," Suguru says eventually, wading a little closer until they're both anchored knee-deep in the water.
He reaches for his belt, unfastening the rope he'd used to tie his soaked shirt tighter around his waist.
Satoru watches, curious.
"This," Suguru says, holding it out between them, "is called a knot."
Satoru tilts his head.
"Looks like string."
"It's more than that," Suguru says, wrapping the rope around his hand, demonstrating slowly. "You tie it a certain way, it can hold an entire ship steady. Keep it from getting lost."
Satoru’s eyes are huge now — fascinated.
Suguru smiles, just a little, and tosses the loose end of the rope toward him.
"Here," he says. "Try."
Satoru fumbles.
A lot.
It takes him three tries just to figure out how to loop it around his fingers without dropping it back into the surf.
Suguru steps closer, laughing under his breath.
"Here—let me—"
He reaches out, guiding Satoru’s hands with his own, moving slow, deliberate. Their fingers brush. Stay.
Satoru’s breath catches — just a little — and he looks up at Suguru through a wet curtain of hair.
Suguru pretends not to notice how pink the tips of his ears have gone.
(He notices. He absolutely notices.)
"There," Suguru says softly. "You’ve got it."
Satoru grins — triumphant, proud, like he just conquered the entire ocean — and god, it’s stupid how much it makes Suguru’s chest ache.
They stand there, tangled in each other and in a crooked, clumsy knot that would absolutely never hold a ship, but it’s the first thing that is theirs, together.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
"Okay, okay, that’s enough," Satoru says, tossing the rope aside with no ceremony at all.
Suguru raises an eyebrow.
Satoru’s practically vibrating with excitement, water swirling around him in lazy circles.
"Teach me one of your pirate songs!" he demands. "You know — the ones with parrots and treasure maps and drinking rum and stuff!"
Suguru blinks at him slowly. "That’s... not exactly how it works."
Satoru clasps his hands together, eyes huge and sparkling.
"Pleeeeease," he says, dragging the word out obnoxiously. "C'mon, Captain. You can't deprive me of the culture."
Suguru sighs — long-suffering — but he can feel the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I’m not even the captain of my crew."
Satoru shrugs. "Don’t care. You can be my captain."
Suguru tries to hide the blush that burns his cheeks.
He glances around — the beach is still empty, the waves the only audience.
And then, because he’s a fool, because he’s already willing to do whatever his mermaid wants:
He sings.
Low and rough at first, like a memory half-forgotten — an old sea shanty, something passed down from sailor to sailor under drunken moons.
Satoru listens like he’s hearing a spell.
His mouth moves along — silent at first — then joining in, loud and off-key and bright, splashing him with water on purpose halfway through a verse.
Suguru splutters, shoves him, and Satoru just laughs harder, tail slapping the water like a drumbeat between them.
"You’ve got quite the voice," Satoru says, nodding at him in approval.
"Oh, be quiet, fishboy. You asked for it."
Satoru smiles beautifully. "Yes. I did. Thank you."
Suguru nods. "I have a question."
Satoru looks at him, wide and wondering. "Ask away."
Suguru looks him up and down. At the entire length of his pale body, the iridescent glimmering of his tail in the water.
"Do mermaids actually have powers?"
Satoru laughs. "No. We aren’t magic. Who told you that?"
Suguru shrugs. "All of the human folktales paint your kind as some sort of sorcerers."
Satoru considers the idea. "A sorcerer? Really?" He shakes his head. "Sorry, captain. No magic from me. Perhaps in another life."
Suguru chuckles at the comment. He’s sure Satoru would do just fine with sorcery.
Satoru opens his mouth again. "The only thing mermaids can do is, um– go on land. If we want to."
Suguru tilts his head. "Like, as a human?"
Satoru makes a little noise of disapproval. "Not quite. Well, actually, kind of, I guess. We can transform our tails into legs. Human legs, like those you’ve got there."
Suguru’s jaw drops, just a bit. The old wive’s tales never mentioned that.
"Really? Have you ever done it?"
Satoru shakes his head again. "No. There’s never been a reason for me to."
Suguru meets his eyes. His next words are spoken nervously. "Is there a reason now?"
Satoru smiles shyly. "Yes. There might be, as long as he promises to help me."
"Of course I’d help you, little fish."
Satoru looks unimpressed. "Little fish?"
"Yes. You have a tail, and gills, and you live underwater. Fish share those traits, do they not?"
Satoru supposes he’s right. He grumbles.
"Don’t laugh at me."
"I won’t."
Suguru stands, giving Satoru space within the shallows. It’s quick, the way he takes a deep breath and lets his tail melt away into a pair of long, pale legs, shiny with a shimmery quality that helps maintain Satoru’s overall ethereality. He’s as naked as ever, beautiful and smooth and untouched. Suguru has to force himself to look away.
"Oh– um, you, do you– do you want some pants, or something?"
Satoru tilts his head. "Pants?"
Suguru nods, eyes closed. "Yes. Pants. To cover your legs. And your– your. Yeah."
Satoru laughs. "Aren’t you well spoken? No, I don’t care. Bring me some for next time. Do you mind?"
Suguru shakes his head. "No."
Satoru nods his head, looking up at Suguru from where he’s sat on his knees. Suguru tries desperately to keep his mind out of the gutter.
"Well, then, come help me. How the hell do you stand?"
Suguru can’t help but laugh. He takes both of Satoru’s hands in his own, sinking down to his knees across from him to show him how to get up. He lifts his right leg, then his left, and tells Satoru to do the same. He does, albeit shakily and unsure, and balances on his feet for a mere two seconds before falling against Suguru’s chest.
"How the—?" Satoru mutters, wobbling and scrambling against the grip Suguru has on his ribs.
"First time being bad at something?" Suguru quips, and he can’t help but laugh a little bit despite his promise.
"Fuck off, human. I’d like to see you swim."
Suguru is offended. "I can swim, thank you."
Satoru raises one eyebrow. "Didn’t you drown, like, five days ago?"
Suguru huffs. "No, a pretty mermaid saved me before I could."
"What a stupid mermaid."
"What an unlucky man."
Satoru smiles at him, staring down at Suguru’s booted feet and wiggling his own against the sand. He takes another deep breath and pushes off from Suguru’s chest, stumbling slightly in the surf before finding his center and, surprising even himself, standing. Tall, slender, radiant. He’s around Suguru’s height, all six feet of him, and he bites his bottom lip nervously. Suguru wants to kiss where his teeth pull at the skin.
"What now?" He asks, nervously meeting Suguru’s eyes.
Suguru takes two steps backward. "Follow me."
Satoru does. Uncoordinated, slow, awkward. But he walks. He takes two steps forward.
The sailor smiles. "There you go, you’re walking!"
Satoru laughs, staring at his feet against the shore and following the short path Suguru traces out for him. Suguru’s hands still hold his own, both for balance and for comfort. At this point, Satoru could probably, maybe do it on his own, but he doesn’t want to. No, he’s a selfish creature, and he wants Suguru’s warmth against his cool for as long as he can have it.
"Good job, Satoru," Suguru comments, voice warm and inviting. Even if Satoru wasn’t able to have human legs, he’d find a way to follow Suguru’s voice. It’s ironic, he thinks. Mermaids are supposed to be the ones with the songs, the haunting, enchanting voices that lead sailors and pirates alike to their deaths and disappearances. But right now, with Suguru throwing out gentle encouragement under his breath, voice honey-sweet and safe, Satoru feels like he’s the one being led to his demise. He’s never feared death, but if the way he goes is at the hands and voice of a kind, mesmerizing sailor, he thinks he would die happily. Suguru leads, Satoru follows, and together, they’re walking.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
Later, when the stars are peppering the sky and Suguru knows he should be back on his ship, Satoru has reverted to his tailed form and floats lazily through the surf.
"You’re not scared of the ocean?" Satoru asks, biting at the inside of his freckled cheek.
Suguru shakes his head. "No. I was raised on it."
Satoru raises his eyebrows. "Is that right?"
"Should I be? Afraid of it, I mean?"
Satoru shrugs, glancing up at him with a small, secret smile tugging at his lips.
"Come with me, then."
Suguru hesitates, just for a second, but slowly wades out further into the sea. Satoru grabs his hand, cool and sure, and tugs him along.
The water rises higher. His knees, his waist, his chest, his shoulders. He ducks his head, holding onto Satoru’s hand tighter.
"Close your eyes," Satoru whispers, voice a low bubble in his ear. "Trust me."
Maybe he’s a fool. Maybe this is where Satoru leads him to a cold, painful death. But he can’t find it in himself to care. So he obeys, and trusts his mermaid.
He feels the pull, the rush of water past his skin, the sensation of sinking and floating simultaneously. His body wants to fight the pressure against his lungs, but he stays calm, Satoru’s hand tight in his own tethering him to where he needs to be.
They glide under. The world shifts.
Everything is blue and quiet and endless and beautiful.
When Suguru opens his eyes, doing his best to ignore the sting, he sees Satoru smiling at him. His hair fans out like an angel, and bubbles dance around him like a theatrical ensemble.
He laughs — the sound caught and swallowed by the ocean — and kicks forward, following wherever Satoru leads.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
Coming up with cleverer and cleverer excuses to his crew, Suguru sneaks out of the ship and down to Satoru’s little stretch of beach every single night. His body yearns for sleep, but something flickering in his chest longs to be in Satoru’s presence. That part of him wins. Every single time.
Somewhere between the second and third meeting, they invent a language without realizing it.
A flick of Satoru’s tail underwater — follow me.
A tap against Suguru’s knuckles — slow down.
A brush of fingers against his wrist — stay.
Suguru learns the way Satoru tilts his head when he’s teasing, how his eyes crinkle when he’s trying not to laugh.
He learns that Satoru hums when he’s nervous — tuneless little melodies that drift through the shallows like smoke.
He learns that when Satoru’s voice goes quiet, low and steady, it means the tide’s about to change.
And Satoru —
Satoru learns the way Suguru clenches his jaw when he’s thinking too hard, how he hides his smiles by tilting his chin down and messing with loose strands of his hair.
He learns that Suguru hums under his breath when he ties knots — little half-songs he probably doesn't even notice.
He learns that Suguru never looks away from him first.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
Suguru starts bringing him things.
Little offerings, like he’s leaving tokens for a fickle god.
A brass button wrenched from an old coat.
A scrap of blue cloth the exact color of the open sea.
Once, a piece of sea glass smoothed into the shape of a heart — though he pretends that one’s accidental.
Satoru hoards them shamelessly.
Tucks the button into a crack in the rocks. Wears the cloth tied around his wrist until the salt bleaches it pale.
Presses the heart-shaped glass into Suguru’s palm one day without a word as they’re about to say goodbye for the night and swims away before he can see the way Suguru’s hands shake.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
One night, Satoru pulls him into the water deeper than usual, dragging him past the sharp rocks and swirling tides.
Suguru goes, trusting him without hesitation.
They surface in a hidden cove, tucked away from the world — a pool of still, moonlit water surrounded by towering cliffs.
Satoru beams like a kid showing off a favorite toy.
"This is my favorite place," he says, voice echoing off the stone. "No one else knows about it."
Suguru stares around, overwhelmed by how quiet it is, how sacred it feels.
"You brought me here?" he says, roughly.
Satoru shrugs, trying to look casual, but his tail flicks nervously under the water.
"I guess," he says. "You seemed like you’d like it. I– I wanted to share it. With you."
Suguru smiles. He doesn’t say thank you.
He just floats next to him in the dark, heart pounding, feeling like something irreversible just shifted inside him.
There’s one night — late, as always — when they’re both sitting half-submerged at the edge of the cove, shoulders brushing.
The stars are smeared across the sky like spilled sugar.
The water is still and black and endless.
Suguru tips his head back to look at the constellations, and beside him, Satoru hums — soft and tuneless — not nervous this time, just content.
Their hands drift together without thinking.
Fingers brushing.
Tangling.
Suguru turns his head — just a little — and finds Satoru already looking at him.
Neither of them moves.
Neither of them speaks.
The ocean holds her breath.
They don’t know who moves first.
Maybe it’s Suguru — shifting just a little closer, breathing a little slower.
Maybe it’s Satoru — tilting his chin up, shoulders tensing like he’s fighting something and losing.
But suddenly, suddenly, the space between them is gone.
Suguru can feel the way Satoru’s breath catches — sharp and shaky against his mouth — the way his lashes flutter, the way his fingers tighten in the water between them like he’s trying to hold on.
Suguru exhales, slow and careful, giving him every chance to pull away.
He leans in —
Just a little —
Just enough for the world to tip sideways —
And Satoru lets him.
For one breathless, suspended moment, they hover there, noses almost brushing, the whole ocean silent around them.
Suguru closes his eyes.
Almost.
Almost—
But then —
at the very last second —
Satoru flinches.
It’s tiny. Barely there.
But it’s enough.
He jerks back — not far, but fast — a splash of water and a panicked little gasp slipping from his lips.
Suguru freezes, eyes flying open.
Satoru’s face is all open panic — wide-eyed and guilty, like he’s just shattered something he didn’t know was fragile.
"I—" Satoru stammers, voice cracking. "I— I shouldn’t—"
He ducks his head, hair falling into his eyes, tail flicking nervously in the surf.
Suguru feels something ache deep inside him — old and raw — but he forces himself to smile. Forces himself to be gentle.
"It’s okay," he says, voice low. "You’re okay."
Soft enough to coax skittish creatures from the dark.
Satoru shakes his head, still not looking at him.
"It’s not—" He stops. Breathes out hard. "It’s not safe," he says instead.
Suguru doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push.
He just sits back in the water, letting the tide pull at his clothes, letting the space stretch between them again.
Satoru rubs a hand over his mouth like he’s trying to erase the almost-kiss from his skin.
Suguru feels every heartbeat like a bruise.
But he stays.
And when Satoru finally dares to glance up again — miserable and uncertain — Suguru just smiles at him.
"I’m not going anywhere," he says quietly.
The relief that flickers across Satoru’s face nearly undoes him.
They don't try to close the distance again that night.
But they don't leave either.
They just stay there, adrift in the shallow water, breathing the same salt air, the same stubborn, stupid hope.
And it’s enough.
For now.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
When they part ways for the night, Satoru doesn’t dive deep. Not at first. He watches Suguru walk away, watches him pat his crewmates on the back and tinker with different parts of his ship.
For a second, Satoru almost considers swimming closer.
But then the fear creeps in.
Cold and heavy and sharp as a trident.
What the hell are you doing, Satoru?
He’s human. He has a life. A crew. A future.
You’ll ruin him.
You’ll drown him.
Satoru sinks lower, letting the ocean swallow the sounds of the shore. Where humans are told to never trust a mermaid, mermaids are told to never love a human. They’re cunning, heartless, explosive, ruinous. They’ll step on and dispose of Satoru’s fragile heart and soul before he even realizes that they have it, and then, whatever’s left of him is forced to watch from the waves as they leave him for something, someone, better.
The deeper Satoru swims, the clearer the panic sharpens inside him, slicing through every soft, pathetic, warm feeling blooming in his chest.
Perhaps Suguru is just being kind. Maybe he pities him. Maybe he doesn’t even really see him, the unnatural thing he is behind the sarcasm and glitter and unique beauty.
Satoru curls his tail around himself, deep enough under the surface that he’s allotted no sunlight from above. It’s dark and cold and lonely. But at least it’s familiar.
It’s safer, he tells himself. That it’s better not to hope. Better to stay hidden.
Somehow, despite his anatomy, he feels like he’s drowning.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
It’s been two weeks since Suguru’s ship first wrecked — and then docked — near Satoru’s stretch of beach. And ever since they found each other again that night, they’ve spent every night together, learning, swimming, talking, and pretending that nothing is between them. Suguru doesn’t know how much longer he can go without feeling Satoru’s touch, his kiss, his love, alongside his own. His mermaid is so beautiful, he outshines constellations and puts the ocean’s warning beauty to shame. Suguru is not a worshipping man, but he believes that, if given the chance, he would revere Satoru’s every movement. With every task onboard, he thinks of Satoru. His crew is starting to notice, they’d have to be stupid not to, and the teasing doesn’t stop.
"Who d’you keep jerkin’ off to every night, Geto?" says Toji, easily the most insufferable bastard Suguru’s ever had the misfortune of sailing with.
And sure — he’s thought about Satoru like that before. How could he not? With that mouth, that laugh, that body built by the gods and the ocean herself. But he’s never touched himself to the thought. Not once. Not in the crew’s quarters, not anywhere. Some of these men have long since abandoned their shame — grunting into their fists under thin blankets — but Suguru has standards. Dignity.
When he does take care of himself — which isn’t often — it’s quick, clinical, and never with Satoru in mind. It feels wrong. Disrespectful, even. Like dragging something holy through the mud.
Satoru is… something else.
Something too beautiful to be reduced to the flick of Suguru’s wrist and a half-choked moan in the dark.
He won’t defile him. Not even in his mind. Not unless he wants him to, of course.
He levels an exasperated stare towards Toji. "No one, Fushiguro. Unlike you, I prefer to take care of myself in private."
Toji laughs, rolling his eyes and sloshing another load of soapy water onto the deck, carelessly enough to purposely splash Geto with some of the suds.
"You’re clearly pent up. Don’t hate another man for being able to get his dick wet when you can’t." Toji curls his scarred lips into a threatening smirk, encouraging Geto to snap back or punch him or take a musket to his temple. Geto considers doing all three.
"When was the last time Captain had you clean the chamber pot?" Geto starts, knowing just how much of a sore spot that is. "Oh, that’s right. You’ve been on shit duty since you got on this crew, Fushiguro. Do the women you fuck know that you dirty your hands with shit and vomit every day? Or do you keep that part to yourself?" Geto smirks at Toji’s angry huff, laughing under his breath as the other man turns back to his mop. That poor mop.
"Nice one, Suguru," Yuji kneels next to Suguru by their supply barrels, taking it upon himself to organize the casks of whale oil and molasses. Yuji works with more efficiency and accuracy than Suguru’s ever seen, and even though he has an older brother to watch out for him, Suguru loves the kid like he’s family. Choso joins them soon after, carefully coiling another cord of rope and adding it to the stack he’s already made. Choso is the quiet to Yuji’s loud, the patient to Yuji’s brash, and even though they found each other way later in their lives than typical siblings, it feels as though they were raised alongside each other and argued over toys like typical children.
"Thanks, kid. Working hard today, huh?" Suguru asks, patting Yuji’s shoulder. Suguru sorts through a barrel of apples to see if any are bruised or moldy, discarding the ones that are and secretly wishing he could feed them to Toji.
"Yes! Of course!" Yuji smiles, bright and unwavering, and Choso comes over to ruffle his hair.
"You know my brother. Never one to rest."
Geto shrugs. "Well, neither are you, Kamo. He is your blood, after all."
Choso laughs sheepishly. "Yes, I suppose so."
The three of them work silently, organizing barrels and securing them with Choso’s beautifully coiled ropes to keep them in place. Eventually, night begins to fall, the stars and cool breeze alerting the other sailors that it’s time for rest. For Suguru, however, it’s time to see his mermaid.
"Suguru, what are you doing every night?" Yuji asks, quietly, like he knows it’s something to keep to himself. He looks up at Suguru with wide, childlike eyes, curious and clearly worried about Suguru’s lack of sleep.
"I… go to see a friend," Suguru says, flitting his eyes from Yuji’s to the folded stack of sails to his left.
"You have friends in this village?" Yuji isn’t letting up.
Suguru laughs. "Yes, as hard as it may be to believe, I have friends."
Yuji starts to retract his words, but Choso wraps an arm around his shoulders before he can. "Let the man do whatever he’s doing, Yuyu. He comes back every day, so as long as he’s safe, we’ve got nothing to worry about, hm?"
Yuji nods, seceding his questions and letting his curiosity lose for yet another night. Suguru mutters a soft "thanks" in Choso’s direction, earning a wary look and nod. With that, Suguru cleans himself off as best as he can, checks his hair in a cracked oval of sea glass, and makes his way to his mermaid. For a while, they’ve met at Satoru’s secret cove, but tonight, Suguru has a feeling he’ll find him at their original spread of rocks and sand. At least, he hopes Satoru will be there. Every night, there’s an impending sense of doom that one day, Satoru will get bored of him and never resurface by his ship. That he’ll never see those brilliant eyes, hear that contagious laugh, see that infectious smile ever again. His mermaid, his Satoru, who Suguru supposes actually is not his at all. That realization hurts more and more every time he comes to it. He shakes it off, grabs a coat and some more rope (Choso would understand), and makes his way as quietly as he can off of his ship and down to the beach. He prays that a head of bright white hair will be there for him.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
Much to Suguru’s relief, Satoru’s already waiting.
Floating near the rocks, tail flicking lazy circles, trying very hard to look casual and not at all like he’s been here for hours, working himself into a nervous wreck.
Suguru approaches slower this time — cautious, careful, like he’s coaxing a spooked animal out of hiding.
"Hey," he says softly.
Satoru flashes a too-bright grin. "Hey, Captain."
They slip into their old rhythm — sort of.
Suguru teaches him how to tie another knot — this one meant to hold through storms.
Satoru tries to teach him how to read the tide by the smell of the air.
They splash each other, bicker, laugh.
But there's a new stiffness under it now — a new hesitation that wasn't there before.
Their hands brush once — accidentally — and both of them jerk back like they touched fire.
They don’t talk about it.
They don't talk about how close they came.
How close they still are.
Suguru notices the way Satoru keeps glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, quick and anxious, like he’s waiting to be told to go.
Satoru notices the way Suguru’s smiles have gotten smaller, sadder — like he’s holding something back, too.
Neither of them says anything.
They just keep pretending the tide hasn’t shifted beneath them.
Even though both of them already know: It has.
And no amount of pretending is ever going to pull it back.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
It’s Satoru’s idea, which should've been Suguru’s first warning.
"You said you wanted to see the reefs," Satoru says, grinning, spinning lazy circles in the water. "They're just a little deeper out."
Suguru hesitates.
He’s strong — stronger than most sailors — but deep water is still deep water.
It’s colder out there. Darker. Unforgiving.
Satoru notices the flicker of doubt and nudges him with the tip of his tail.
"Hey," he says, teasing. "You scared?"
Suguru rolls his eyes, shoving him back — but he’s smiling, and it’s real.
"Lead the way, fishboy."
Satoru beams.
They dive.
At first it’s easy — exhilarating, even. The water is clear, the moonlight cutting ribbons through the dark blue. Satoru swims ahead, weaving between rock formations, beckoning Suguru along like a siren. They take breaks when Suguru needs a breath. It’s rhythmic, comfortable.
Suguru follows his mermaid, kicking strong, heart hammering with adrenaline.
But then—
The current shifts.
Stronger. Faster. Pulling at his legs, dragging him sideways into a maze of sharp coral and blinding waves.
He tries to kick free — tries to surface — but uncertainty slams into his whole body.
Up or down? Left or right? Which way is out—?
Panic claws up his throat. His chest tightens. His vision blurs.
Suguru has always trusted the ocean. Despite her dangerous depths, her ever changing tide, all of the harmful creatures that live within her — the sea is where Suguru has always felt most himself.
But now he can’t breathe. His chest hurts with the lack of oxygen. It burns. His eyes are everywhere and nowhere, he doesn’t even know if they’re open anymore.
Where is Satoru? Is this when he leaves him? Is this when he realizes that Suguru is nothing but a weak, meager human? Is this it?
His mermaid. Where is his mermaid?
It’s cold. God, he’s so cold.
Suguru’s lungs are on fire. He’s tired.
He can't.
And then—
Hands.
Familiar hands, grabbing his shoulders, steadying him.
A flash of silver hair through the murk.
Satoru.
Suguru clutches at him instinctively, fingernails digging into damp skin, and Satoru doesn't flinch.
He just pulls. Strong. Certain.
Dragging him up, up, up — until the surface breaks over them like glass shattering.
Suguru gasps — sucks down air so hard it burns — and before he can even process it, Satoru’s there, cupping his jaw, pushing his wet hair off his forehead with trembling fingers.
"Hey — hey, you're okay," Satoru breathes, frantic. "You’re okay, I’ve got you."
Suguru stares at him, still half-dazed.
Satoru’s face is tight with fear — real fear — like the thought of losing him was worse than anything else the ocean could’ve done.
"Suguru," Satoru whispers, voice shaking. "I’m not letting you drown. Not now. Not ever."
Suguru doesn't know if he moves first — if Satoru does — but somehow, somehow, they end up pressed forehead to forehead, breathless and clinging to each other in the bobbing tide as Satoru’s tail keeps them both afloat.
And for a long time, neither of them lets go.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
A few nights later, they sit beneath a stormy sky.
"Are you the only one around here?" Suguru asks.
Satoru glances up from the tidepool. "Only what?"
"…Mermaid," Suguru clarifies.
Satoru shrugs. "No. There are others."
"Your family?"
That gets a reaction.
Satoru flinches — barely — but it’s enough. "No," he says curtly. "Haven’t seen them since I was a kid."
Suguru frowns. "Why not?"
"I had a complicated relationship with them."
"Have you… tried to talk to them?"
The second the words leave his mouth, he regrets them.
Satoru’s face goes flat. "Wow. What a revolutionary idea," he deadpans. "Thanks, Suguru. Really original."
"No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that—"
"Do you still talk to your family?" Satoru cuts in, his voice tight, teeth clenched.
Suguru hesitates. "I haven’t been back to my village in years. I’ve been at sea."
"But you miss them, right?" His voice is already laced with venom.
"Yes," Suguru says. "Of course I do. My parents, my sisters—"
Satoru lets out a bitter laugh, sharp and cold. "Must be nice."
"I didn’t say—"
"I don’t miss mine," Satoru snaps. "And I don’t want to find them. I don’t care if I ever do."
Suguru stares, stunned. "You can’t mean that."
"Why? Because it makes me a bad person? Because it doesn’t fit into your little idea of me?" Satoru’s voice shakes. "You think you know what it was like? You think you get to decide how I should feel?"
"I wasn’t trying to decide anything," Suguru says, throat tight. "I just—"
"You don’t know me," Satoru cuts in, eyes glittering. "You think you do because I let you into my ocean. Because I saved your life. But you don’t know a damn thing about me."
There’s a pause — ugly and heavy.
"You should go back to your ship."
Suguru’s heart drops. "Are you serious?"
Satoru throws his hands up. "Sorry. Forgot. You land-dwellers and your perfect little lives. You get to leave when you want. You get to come back. You get to pretend your world is so tragic and suffocating—"
"Don’t talk like you know me, either," Suguru snaps, eyes narrowing. "You think just because I live on land that I’ve never suffered?"
Satoru glares at him. "Oh, poor little sailor boy. Trapped in your big wooden boat. How devastating."
That’s it.
Suguru stands, fists clenched, brushing sand off his trousers with shaking hands. "I hope you think about what you just said."
Satoru looks up at him, eyes flashing — and for just a second, Suguru swears there’s moisture clinging to his lashes.
"Yeah?" Satoru breathes. "You too."
Suguru turns and stalks away, rage crackling under his skin like lightning in his veins.
Behind him, the sea rumbles.
But it doesn’t come close to the storm inside him.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
When Suguru returns to his ship, he doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t eat, despite Yuji’s worried glances.
He just lies there, staring at the wooden ceiling above his cot as the hull creaks and groans with every wave.
Sleep doesn’t come. It never does when Suguru feels like this — not quite angry, not quite sad. Anxious. Hollow.
Outside, the ocean howls.
And somewhere beneath the surface, a pair of blue eyes blur against the salt.
Crying where no one will ever see. Alone.