notes: Possible trigger warnings: drinking and slight depression.

It was definitely the teeth.

Most humans had rounded, softer teeth, with fragile enamel that forced them to brush every night, or face the consequences at the dentist. And the blow to their bank account. Merfolk, on the other hand, had the most nightmarish teeth that Lea had ever had the misfortune of seeing his life. Unlike humanity's omnivorous appetite, the merfolk primarily lived off mosses, seaweed, and other greens that could be found around coral reefs and such. Despite having the full capability of living in deep sea environments, they preferred coastlines. They also rarely ate other fish, making their sharp, serrated teeth—like a shark, only worse—useless to their lifestyle.

While mother nature had proven more than once that she was occasionally nonsensical-after all, why did merfolk need a chest for lungs, AND gills? Why did they have a belly button, if they were born from eggs? Lea had so many questions for mother nature at this point, it wasn't funny anymore—usually, there was a reason for most things. Human teeth were the way they were, because they ate plants and small prey, hundreds of thousands of years ago, before McDonalds was a thing. Merfolk teeth made no sense.

Lea regretted ever deciding to make his paper on merfolk teeth, of all things.

Having grown up in a city, hundreds of miles inland, the only water being manmade lakes and gym pools, Lea had been aware of his disadvantage when moving to the coast. He was very much a landlubber—he could hardly swim without choking on water. The stuff HATED him.

Moving to an entirely new place, just for a view of the ocean during the sunsets, oranges and pinks reflecting off a chaotic mess of gray, jagged boulders crashing against water—or the other way around, whatever—with the knowledge there was an ancient race of mysterious, magical beings that lurked right under his feet? It was worth every risk, every scare, every moment he'd thought: "This is it. I've finally gone too far."

He balanced studying for college with working part-time for an old fisherman (he called himself Diz and hated every single one of Lea's golden jokes about The Old Man and the Sea), and walking the seashore. There was a good deal of silently asking the ocean not to rise up and swallow him, too. A confident sort of respect seemed to radiate off the people who had grown up in the town their entire life; they knew the ocean, the ocean knew them, and they both left each other alone.

Lea, historically, was bad at leaving things alone. When he'd said that, mostly in jest, earlier that week to Old Man Diz, the man had gotten the strangest look. It was like anger, but sadder, and gone in a second—just like an ocean swell.

"Best leave the deep sea to herself," said Diz, gnarled hands wrapping up nets and ropes, some of which Lea might be able to name now, unlike two months ago. "I had an apprentice who couldn't leave well enough alone, once. The reckoning came for him."

Despite himself, Lea asked, "What happened to him?"

"No one knows," said Diz, giving a sardonic chuckle. "The body never turned up."

"Oh," he said—really, what was he supposed to say to that?

"Enough reminiscing," said Diz, leaving Lea to think they really ought to reminisce more, if those were the kind of things Diz considered "light reminiscing," gesturing to the cage of crabs they'd caught that morning. "Get that for me. I'll tie up the ship."

Let it never be said he couldn't listen, so Lea did as he was told and tried to put the matter away from his mind.

He lasted about two days.

There were records available to the public, and those that were not, and it was to Lea's great advantage that he was very good friends with the police chief. Cloud Strife was very honest about his feelings toward the entire investigation, leveling Lea with a look over his fine, wire-rimmed glasses, before giving him permission to go through the unsolved missing persons list.

In the past five years, several hundred people had gone missing on Destiny Bay, ninety percent of those disappearances a direct result to a foolishly advised, late-night walk by the water. Lea realized, a little late, that there was wisdom to Diz's warnings. No one could really track the disappearances—murders, though no one was willing to say it-to the merfolk, but it was blindingly obvious. Most of the missing cases were people who were born and raised by the ocean, and knew better than to go out during bad weather. Several disappeared on clear days.

After a few days of wandering through research, trying to track down people who'd known those who went missing, he noticed something slightly off. People didn't just refuse to call out the merfolk on the missing persons-they refused to call them merfolk at all. Not a single person said "merman," or "mermaid," or any other variation.

They were the heartless.

"The problem," said Cloud when Lea had asked about searching the water, "is that we cannot prove it was them at all. There's no proof. So, what? They go missing by the water—nothing about that implicates the merfolk, who live a few miles away from the shore. Saying that people who go missing in the water must be a victim of merfolk, is like saying merfolk who go missing by shore must be a victim of humans."

"They probably are," said Lea, feeling as though the entire thing was far simpler than Cloud made it.

Cloud's growing scowl warned Lea that he was going nowhere, so he changed tactics.

"Has anyone tried to contact them? Maybe they have people missing, too?"

"Communication is impossible. They don't get close enough to shore to make contact—and I'm not sure they even speak," Cloud added with some sheepishness.

Lea returned home that day, empty-handed and confused. His laptop was partially open, glowing pale yellow by the window, a constant reminder of the paper he wasn't working on. The chair creaked when he sat, hands positioned over the keyboard, only to pull them away.

Orange juice sounded good. So did vodka. Lea poured himself both.

In the end, instead of working on his paper, or doing anything productive, he curled up with his screwdriver. The window was open, letting in dusky evening light. Malaise set in and Lea knew that paper wouldn't be anymore written than it was yesterday, or the day before, and it would be another day wasted. A mirthless laugh burst from stiff lips, a heavy curtain of hypocrisy settling over his thin shoulders. He thought of the last words he'd yelled at his parents and tipped the drink back all the way.

He tossed the glass in the sink, before he was tempted to drink himself into a stupor. There was a pile of laundry that needed washing—the paper needed proofreading—he needed to do the dishes—and write more for his degree—he needed to check on his bank account; Vanitas had visited last week and Lea had a bad feeling about it—and the college degree wasn't going to write itself. Half tearing his hair out, Lea stuffed his old shorts in the laundry and grabbed a shirt—

There was a knock at the door.

He heaved a weary sigh, tugging out his wallet, cringing at the emptiness of everything. Resigned, he dropped the laundry and went to answer the door.

"Roxas, man, I don't have any—"

The woman who greeted him was, decidedly, not Roxas. For one, she wasn't blond, and secondly, she was a lot taller. Also, she was a woman. Lines around her spoke of countless nights without sleep, gray streaked through her hair. She was wringing her hands, so twitchy that Lea was feeling nervous watching her.

"You're… not who I was expecting, sorry," said Lea, rubbing the back of his neck, itching to close the door. He couldn't believe there was a time when he'd jumped at the chance for any kind of company. "Have a good night?"

"Wait—" said the woman, scrambling for the door. He stopped and she threw a furtive look over her shoulder, as though afraid someone was watching. "We need to talk."

"Do we?" said Lea flippantly, alcohol taking some of the sting off the words. "I've got a paper to not work on."

"Please, I heard you were going through the missing persons cases," she said, taking another step closer, so that he could smell the laundry detergent that clung to her clothing, and strawberry lotion. Something about it struck him as terribly familiar. "The water disappearances."

"Look, I—it was just a passing curiosity," he said, searching desperately for an excuse to leave. The oven being on, or a pot boiling, the kettle on fire, anything. "I didn't want to stir up anything."

"I'm not asking you to solve the cases," she said, hands shaking, eyes wide in her pallid face, "but please, please, tell me: did you see the name Sora on there?"

"There were over five hundred and sixty-seven people on that list," said Lea, the warmth of the screwdriver vanishing, replaced by a chill. "He might have been."

"You remember the name, don't you?" said the woman. "Sora. My son, Sora."

Lea's hand tightened on the door, rooting him to place. All at once, he knew where he recognized the smell. It was the same kind of detergent Roxas wore—the lotion he used when his skin was dry.

"You're Roxas's mum," he said, the words tumbling out weakly. "I didn't—Sora's your son?"

"So he was on the list," she whispered, covering her mouth. "He was on the list. Those—those monsters took him. They took my SON—"

"Look, Mrs. Roxas's Mom-"

"Sola."

"Sola," said Lea, internally questioning the wisdom of someone named Sola calling her son Sora, "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you want me to—"

"I don't want anything," said Sola hastily, reaching passed the door and gripping Lea's forearm with surprising strength. Her eyes were imploring. "Please, do nothing. So many have died to those heartless—I don't want another person following my son's—my son's fate."

He could see Roxas in her eyes, soulful and kind. There was hardness in her face that had nothing to do with the weathered, sun-beaten tan, that also reminded him of Roxas, tampered by an unideal life. She was short, slim, but rugged.

"Take care of yourself, son," she said, patting his forearm, drawing herself up, piece by piece, and gave him a smile must have felt like hell.

Lea bid her farewell—she nodded mutely when he asked if she'd be alright walking home alone—and he closed the door. He stared out the window, watching until Sola vanished around the corner of the block, and let the blinds fall. Roxas never said anything about another brother.

He poured himself another screwdriver.

Next morning was a day off, so Lea had plenty of time to himself. Usually, that meant he went bar hopping with Roxas, but today Roxas was working an overtime day and let him know—very vocally—what he thought about it. Chances were, the establishment wouldn't have a worker sooner than later.

Lea, already tired before ten o'clock in the morning, decided against the noisier part of town. A part of him, the part that hadn't lost anyone important to him, was tempted to go by the water. The threat wasn't personal—he knew that was the only reason he even considered it. If Roxas, or Sola, or anyone in town, knew his train of thought, they'd have him hogtied to the nearest plane set course for a landlocked city.

It was a good thing, then, as he turned sharply down toward the shore, that the townspeople could not read minds. There was the constant sound of waves crashing on rocks, growing into a steady roar the closer he got, the wind smelling of sea salt and fish. It made him think of the old kiosk in the town square that sold sea-salt ice cream, just like the kind he used to eat in Radiant Garden. The ice cream was a little taste of home.

The ocean reflected the sky in a murky gray, looking more like a giant gravy bowl than an ocean. (Now he wanted some of Ma Florina's gravy and biscuits.) A few gulls circled overhead, but aside from that, the beach was deserted. Grainy sand crunched under his feet, a few shattered sand dollars washed up. Sometimes, the hollow splashing of water against the shore sounded like fingers slapping the ground. He could imagine fins darting through the water, ghastly limbs, twisting and bending like fishes' tails, curling in the depths.

He had only seen a merperson once, in a school textbook. They had been grotesque, a corpse found washed ashore, mottled gray skin and thin silver hair. Those awful teeth had protruded from dried lips. Gold and silver scales had lost all its luster, but Lea could imagine that in its prime, the creature had been dazzling.

Splash-crash, splash-crash—the ocean's chaotic dance of push and pull never ceased. Lea stopped in place and contented himself to listen to the sounds. The wind, the waves, the cry of a gull, the whoosh of something large bursting out of the water.

His eyes flew open, scrambling away from the ocean, heart leaping into his mouth.

There was nothing.

Fists clenched, prepared to fight for his life, he desperately searched the shore, the water, the rocks, everywhere something might hide, and found nothing. A whole lot of nothing.

He pressed a hand to his heart, willing it to slow down.

Could merfolk hear heartbeats?

Could merfolk hear at all?

An airhorn bellowed behind him.

Lea screamed.

Vanitas tumbled out from behind a tree, rolling on his back, laughing so hard there were tears streaming down his face. In the space of a second, he flew to his feet and ran, as Lea recovered and his target narrowed to one scamp of a brat. Even as Vanitas ran for his life, giggles and snorts escaped, tripping over branches and underbrush.

Of the two of them, only one was blessed with height and legs, and it was not Vanitas. Lea caught up in three bounds, reaching out and snatching Vanitas clean from the air, ripping the airhorn from his hands. With a snarl, he tossed it away. He picked Vanitas up by the back of his jacket, holding him at eye-level.

"Any last words?" he growled.

"Yes, yes," said Vanitas, fighting a grin, doing his best to look scared. "You scream like a girl—wait! Mercy!"

Fifteen minutes later, bruised and scraped from an "accidental" tumble down a short hill, they burst into a local coffee shop: Global Coffee. Global Coffee was not just a coffee shop, nor were they global, but the owners of the establishment always had a good laugh when they explained the inspiration for the shop's name. "We're like a planet," she would always say, pulling Ventus over. "We have the atmosphere—" she would hook an arm around Terra's neck, dragging him down to eye-level, "the landscape," and then beam out, "and the liquid for all the coffee you could ever want!" It had quickly become Lea's go-to café for coffee and breakfast.

They were greeted by Aqua, who waved briefly before returning to take a customer's order. Lea tossed himself into the nearest chair—with a perfect, clear view of the oceanside, he noted with some dismay—and grabbed a menu.

The top of the menu was pulled back, Vanitas's finger hooking over Beefy Buddy Specials, a single dark eyebrow arched.

"You look at the menu?"

"I, unlike you, have not lived here my entire life," said Lea, yanking the menu away. Still a little shaken, he ordered the first thing on the list and hoped it was palatable. So far, Aqua, Terra, and Ventus hadn't let him down.

Vanitas rolled his eyes.

"They've only been open a few months. You've been visiting almost as long as I have," he said, "and didn't you have some kind of special memory?"

"It's selective," Lea snapped defensively.

"Selectively inconvenient," said Vanitas.

"I'm going to drown you, brat."

"Bring it!"

Before Lea could make good on his promise, the bluster left Vanitas quicker than the sails of a ship falling empty on a dead day. Sometimes, Vanitas had a flat-eyed look, as though he only ever pretended to feel anything, and there were moments he forgot to fake it.

"I know my mom visited you yesterday," said Vanitas, tilting his head, as though the angle would give him a better chance at seeing the truth in Lea. He had never had a real reason to be unnerved of Vanitas before, but now he felt the wariness that a lot people expressed about him—the way his golden eyes reflected nothing. "She was pretty shaken up when she came back. What did she ask about?"

Lea grabbed a napkin in lieu of anything else to fidget with, only for Vanitas to snatch it away.

"I don't—"

"It was about Sora, wasn't it?" said Vanitas in a great rush. His hands were white-knuckled on the napkin, shredding it to pieces. An aggravated flush appeared high on his cheeks, stark against his sunless pallor and black hair. "It was about Sora. What did she want to know?"

Again, Lea wasn't given a chance to speak.

"What do you know?"
His back hit the back of the booth. He hadn't even realized he was leaning away.

"I don't know anything," came flying out of Lea's mouth before he could think better of it. "I was looking through the missing persons cases, and your mom found out. Somehow."

"She's friends with Cloud," said Vanitas hastily. "What else?"

Lea gritted his teeth. "I told you. I don't know anything. There's a missing person case for Sora, but nothing else. No one knows what happened to him."

Vanitas's snarl was all teeth, feral eyes and canines that were a little too long for Lea's liking.

"They know what happened to him," he said, an audible tremor in his voice, control hanging by a thread. "It was one of those heartless bottom feeders."

That was what the file surmised, too.

Maybe it was the curl in Vanitas's shoulders, rearing for a fight, or the thought of poor Sola—having lost one son, at the risk of losing another to vengeance—but the truth weighed heavier than a sinner's prayer on his tongue.

"The investigators suspected human influence," he said, gut churning as Vanitas's eyebrows flew up, his mouth falling open. He looked as though somehow had spit in drink, right in front of him. "It looks like humans took him, not merpeople."

Vanitas stood so quickly that, had he been in a chair, it would have skidded across the shop. From the back of the café, Aqua looked up, frowning in confusion. Without another word, or warning, Vanitas turned heel and ran away, leaving Lea drowning in immediate guilt. There was no way to know if lying would help Vanitas, or if it would make the situation even worse. If Roxas had anything to say on the subject, he'd say the latter was true.

The menu no longer looked so appetizing. Despite the growing nausea in his gut, he smiled up at Aqua—it must have looked awful, because she winced in sympathy—and ordered a coffee. When she didn't charge him, he knew he must have looked rough.

He took the coffee to-go and, telling himself very firmly that it wasn't cowardice, headed the exact opposite direction as Vanitas. Coincidentally, that meant he was returning to the beach. Lea had seen and heard more than enough about the ocean and her denizens for the day.

A couple miles outside the town was a park, full of nature trails through the forest, along with a few babbling rivers. After the last few months on the open ocean, Lea appreciated some small water.

There were a few breaks in the trail that allowed the walker to cross onto other paths, leading them to other parts of the park, and Lea—ever discontented with the present—swerved at the last moment to another trail.

It was a nice change for the whole of five minutes. A random dogwood was blooming, white flowers fluttering through the air. The sky, still gray and gloomy, was visible through the sparse pine canopy. Then, the blessed peace of the forest, punctuated only by the trills of birds and shuffles of wildlife, was brought to a screeching halt. He smelled fish first and knew he'd strayed close to the ocean again. It was all too tempting to turn on his heel yet again and find another thing to distracted his troubled mind.

He crept up to the waterline, pushing passed thin branches and snarls of briars. He hadn't known there was another bay in the area, let alone one so large. It was almost perfectly rounded, turned milky from the cloudy sky. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, the only sound other than the occasional lap of the waves against a murky shore. A few skeletal branches stuck out of the water.

It was creepy as all hell and Lea was having none of that today. He almost turned, almost left, but then he noticed the boathouse.

He must have left the park, because buildings of any kind were illegal on the protected parts of the land. Curious, despite his better judgement, Lea circled the bay to the dock. A single boat bobbed on the water, polished to a fine finish.

The forest thinned out into a small clearing. Once Lea was closer to the boathouse, it was clear it had fallen under disrepair. An overgrown trail led into the forest. Whoever owned it had not visited in many years. The dock, on the other hand, was in good condition. The wood looked strong and clean. He smelled sweet soap in the air, like strawberries—or something fruity like that.

Water knocked against the underside of the dock, always sounding deep and strangely hollow to Lea. From the dock, it was a straight shot to the ocean, the bay opening up into the endless, gray and blue horizon.

He closed his eyes, taking in the calmness of nature, listening for the wind and birds—and frowned when he heard nothing. The birds had gone silent.

He opened his eyes.

There was a blue creature at the end of the dock. It was gone quicker than he could see it fully, quicker than he could shout, leaving nothing to prove its existence than a ripple in the water. He frantically backed away from the dock, slamming against the boathouse, turning to run.

He stopped. It tingled down his spine, buzzed behind his eyes like an angry hornet's nest. Curiosity. He thought of Sora, of all the people who'd gone missing, and wondered if this was exactly what the felt the second before they died.

He turned around.

A pair of green eyes peeked over the end of the dock. They disappeared.

Letting out a breath that trembled uncontrollably, hands clenching and unclenching, he took a slow, deliberate step closer to the dock. The water stirred up. He waited for teeth and claws. What he got was another glimpse of blue and green.

It was agonizing to wait. He waited and waited, breath caught in his lungs, forcing himself to breathe when he got lightheaded. He waited for the creature to surface. It was only after a far-off rumble of thunder sounded, goosebumps breaking out over his skin as the temperature dropped, that it occurred to him the merperson had left.

He was forced to admit defeat when the first drops of rain started pattering down, but instead of going home, like a normal, sensible person, he retreated into the boathouse. There was nothing like watching an ocean swell. The water of the bay swayed, crashing against the dock and shoreline like drumbeats. Lea imagined the merperson being tossed around by the ocean's undertow.

A seagull whipped by, riding the wind up and down through the clouds, and Lea realized it was more likely the merperson was doing the same in the water. He wondered if they enjoyed it, or if it was instinctual. There was only so much rain-watching he could do, though. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the messages.

Roxas was going out with Xion and Namine.

[come with?] Roxas had texted fifteen minutes ago.

[srry for late reply,] Lea sent as a preface for turning down the offer, [but i'm going to be working tonight. college stuff.]

Three dots popped up as Roxas began typing and Lea raised an eyebrow. Roxas had been waiting for a reply. The little dots hovered there for a few seconds. Lea pursed his lips, concern bubbling in his stomach, as a minute rolled by and Roxas showed no signs of stopping. He couldn't remember doing or saying anything lately; they'd spoken not too long ago. He almost broke out into a sweat, despite the chilly air, when the dots broke off.

[k]

[little shit]

[gotchu]

He pocketed his phone, looking back out at the lake. The rain hadn't let up in the slightest and he wasn't sure he wanted to run all the way back, soaked to the bone, and the patio roof was useless in the wind.

The door to the inside of the boathouse was easy enough to wedge open. He said a quiet apology to whomever owned the place, and squeezed inside. It was dusty, dark, but most importantly, it was dry. An old fireplace was covered in soot, ashes scattered over the throw-rug. Paw-prints dragged more ashes towards the kitchen. The place probably had been infested by animals many times over. His elbow knocked over a picture frame as he passed the table, glass shattering on the wooden floorboards.

He hissed as he picked it up. There was a photo of a young man with silver hair inside. He was smiling, arm-in-arm with a boy with blue eyes. Little seashells decorated the frame, faded pink and gold, in the shape of a heart. It was all very touching, and he cringed in regret at breaking it.

He set the picture back, carefully angling the photo away from the mirror, to protect it from further sun damage. Then, he moved to the fireplace, considering the possibility of him burning the boathouse down if he lit a fire. He was reaching for his lighter, when it occurred to him that most boathouses didn't even have fireplaces.

In the end, he decided against it. The rain let up not a few minutes later. He stepped out, sucking in a breath of crisp and fresh air. Despite the fact he'd wasted a good part of his day off, he was in good spirits.

He cast one more look at the lake, wondering if he'd imagined it.

No, he thought, smile fading, curling his fingers around his phone. He hadn't imagined it at all.

The following morning was just as gloomy as the first one. He returned home the previous night no less than a handful of minutes before Roxas and his friends showed up to keep him company. Despite the fact they'd probably come around to try and convince Lea to give them alcohol-they were technically of age, but all baby-faced, and often the baristas gave them attitudes—he appreciated the gesture.

Xion had drunk enough for three (Lea was getting concerned about her liver), Roxas sipped on a glass of wine, and Namine painstakingly put up with them, knowing she'd be their designated driver home. Sometimes, Lea thought they didn't appreciate her patience with them enough.

He woke to an empty house and a paper that was no more written that morning, than it was yesterday. A few paragraphs struggled themselves out, kicking and screaming the entire way, words forming deep scars on his soul, leaving him drained and dead. He snapped his laptop shut after three hours, rubbing his forehead against the dry, hammering pain in his skull.

Defeated, he flung himself on the sofa. His fingers dragged against his carpet, tangling in the long strands, closing his eyes. He was exhausted, and he hated that feeling, but also wanted to sleep.

Green eyes flashed across his mind.

Alertness lanced through his limbs.

It was a terrible idea.

It was, he thought, already pulling his jacket on and hopping across the room, fighting with his boots, the only idea.

Walking was the healthy thing to do, but Lea had spent most of the night drinking and gorging on Doritos, so he wasn't in a particularly healthy mood. He hopped in his rust-bucket car and started the ignition, doing a little prayer to any deity that might exist, like every time he tried to start it. The car stuttered awake, rumbling like an overweight cat with influenza, and he was off.

The park rolled into view, a cheerful yellow sign peppered with bullet holes welcoming him into the park. He was fairly certain Vanitas was to blame for the bullet holes. It was foggy on the trails. The ethereal cry of a veery resonated through the pines. Rainfall pooled in hollowed tree trunks, dripping from leaves and leaving silvery dewdrops on the petals of blue and orange flowers.

Nothing had changed on the bayside. He kept a sharp eye trained on the water, occasionally looking toward the woods, only to whirl around, hoping to catch the merperson by surprise. There was only the slight ripple of wind on the bay and the odd seagull. Nothing jumped out at him, least of all an merperson.

He made a beeline for the dock. The greenish water around it, murky and dark, was placid. Water like that had always creeped Lea out, now being no exception. Everything was quiet. Even the birds seemed muted, blurred in the background, as he stared into the depths of water.

There could have been someone looking directly back at him.

He imagined eyes in the dark, loose hair tumbling in the water, weightless and graceful. For all the deadliness of reality, the legends of merfolk spoke of beauty. Sometimes, Lea was torn over whether he was glad or disappointed the legends didn't live up to the truth. The creatures were ugly and that helped dissociate the fact they were people, with thought and feelings—presumably, at least. Were they beautiful, it would be a spectacle. It would be a struggle. Lea had always loved pretty things.

Defeated by the silence, Lea sighed and settled down. He mashed his cheek against his fist, glaring balefully at the bay. He'd wasted his time for nothing.

"Could've at least humored me," he said to no one.

Fog was pouring over the bayside. It was a sight to behold. Lea grumpily squinted at it.

There was a splash to his left. He jerked upright, twisting around so quickly, it was a wonder he didn't break his back.

Ripples disturbed the water by the dock.

"C'mon," he whispered shakily, leaning forward, hands braced on the dock. A primal part of him, an instinct old as time, was screaming at him to run. He toyed with forces beyond him, it said. He was a fly in the bed of a spider, slowly drawn in by the gleam of dew in the morning.

Like the birds, his voice of common sense was muted.

"Are you there?"

He spoke no louder, yet somehow shattered the atmosphere.

Yesterday, he'd seen nothing more than green eyes, shyly peering over the edge of the dock. There had been a few splashes, maybe a glimpse of a tail, but nothing more. Lea would have to earn the creature's trust, draw it out of the water. He didn't know if merfolk liked human food, but if they did, Doritos would make a nice bribe. Maybe chocolate.

There was another ripple in the water, a forceful and deliberate stroke, splashing up on the dock. It was directly beneath him, like he'd wanted, but he was no longer sure he wanted it.

He imagined pale hands reaching and grasping and tearing him into the water, choking, struggling. It was just a flash of an aborted thought, never truly formed, but it grasped his composure with skeletal hands. While he didn't think he could fight off a merperson in their natural habitat, he didn't want to put himself at a complete disadvantage, either, and shed the heavier layers of his coat and sweater. All he had on under was a T-shirt. The air was cold and unsettling.

The water exploded.

He launched himself back, slipping on the dock, cursing loud and viciously.

The figure pulled itself halfway up the dock, hands clawing in the wood, close enough to grab his ankle. He flinched back, rearing up to kick, to punch, wishing he'd brought a weapon—wishing he'd bought a weapon, long ago, to bring—

When the water didn't immediately close around him, Lea slowed down enough to take stock of what was happening. Reality had turned into kaleidoscopic nightmare, filtered with panic. The haze cleared into sharp relief, into wide eyes and brilliant emerald and blue.

It was too much to take in at once. Lea's brain threw up a white-flag. He covered his mouth and didn't know why.

The face was a bastardization of human, delicate boned, and oh, the scientist part of Lea rationalized, lost in a wave of horrified clarity, it made sense. They lived in water, a weightless environment. They were often speculated to be like sharks, but they had more in common with fish. Covered in muscles, yet fragile.

Blue hair framed the creature's face, cast in a gray pallor, pointed ears jutting out. Under a pair of human-looking lips was a pair of serrated, deadly teeth.

"Breathe," the creature spoke.

Lea let out a hard breath, going lightheaded. He sucked in another mechanically.

"You TALK-"

His voice shot up several octaves in a way it hadn't since he was fourteen. It was enough to shock him out of stupor.

The merperson—merman? It had sounded male, but Lea didn't presume to know the intricacies of their genders. Did they have gender identities like humans?—slid its hand back, lowering itself back into the water. While Lea wouldn't pretend to be able to read merfolk emotions, that look was distinctly unimpressed. Even terrified half to death, that stung his pride.

"Wait," he said, scrambling forward again, having well and truly lost his mind. "You're a—one of them."
"Well spoken," it said, less sarcastic and more lightly teasing. The slightest smile played across its lips, and in that instant, Lea was lost.

He needed to get out of there.

"I understand humans are known for their oxymoron," said the creature, as Lea braced to run, "but I question your telling me to wait, only to leave."

Lea gaped, wordless.

"No, really," said the creature. "Please, explain. Is it some new-fangled human thing? Or are at you so stunned, you can't speak? It's the last one, isn't it? It's always the last one."

"In my defense," said Lea, because trust his mouth to run away from him, "I didn't know you could speak before now."

"Me? Or my entire species?" said the creature. "Mutes exist. And deaf people. Are you one of the equality-hating humans? You can leave now."

"No!" said Lea, thinking maybe he was a walking, talking conundrum, because he'd been trying to leave a moment ago. Now, he was trying to defend his own honor. "No. I'm—I don't know where to start-" he broke off with an incredulous laugh as his brain bluescreened again. "I don't know."

"Why don't we start with introductions?" said the creature. "Like civilized people?"

Lea nodded several times. He was starting to feel acutely foolish. He wished he'd worn a different shirt; he was sure there was a stain from the screwdriver he drank last night.

"And since you're the one who barged so rudely into my space, you can go first."

Lea balked. Then, he chastised himself for balking.

"I'm Lea," he said, blessedly not stuttering. "I'm a student of the University of Destined."

"The last part means nothing to me."

"You said you would introduce yourself, too," said Lea, withholding feelings of betrayal, in case it wasn't one. He was, however, fully ready to leap on the train of "you tricked me" and "you're a hypocrite for talking about double-standards," and so on.

The creature looked at the dock, to the forest, back at the water, as though Lea wasn't the only one considering running away.

"You may call me Saïx."

Saïx tapped black-nailed fingers on the dock.

"You can also stop calling me "it" in your head—no, I'm not a telepath, it's just written on your face."

Lea snapped his mouth shut, flushing hotly. He hadn't felt so flustered since middle school. If it wasn't for Saïx being fully capable of tearing him apart with his little finger, Lea would have argued.

"Sorry," he blurted out, instead; well and truly loathing how every ounce of suave drained out of him in shocking situations. "A merman wasn't on the agenda."

Lea really hoped Saïx was a merman. He looked vaguely masculine, if he was going off the pectoral muscles.

"If I wasn't, then why did you return?"

"Man, you really don't let up?" said Lea, managing a strained smile.

Saïx fell silent, nothing but the ripple of disturbed water and the far-off shriek of a seagull for noise. It lasted long enough that Lea wondered if he'd crossed some sort of line in merfolk etiquette. To his horror, he realized they probably did have some sort of etiquette. He was terrible enough at human etiquette, let alone a whole other species. He'd be offending people left and right.

"I am sorry."

Lea blinked once—twice.

"What?"

"You heard me," said Saïx, sinking a little lower, enough that Lea leaned in a little more, willing him not to leave. It was too soon—Lea was just starting to formulate words for sentences for questions. "I have not spoken with another person in a very long time."

"Yeah, well, I'm not much better," said Lea. "No judging here."

"No judging is… good." Saïx trailed off, painfully awkward.

"This is the longest conversation I've ever held with a merman," Lea breathed, smiling in earnest, now that he was pretty sure Saïx wasn't going to kill him. "Well, you're the only merman I've spoke to. The only merperson. You know what I mean."

Saïx drew a little closer again, a hand on the dock column, relaxing minutely. He was even smiling a little, the gray light of the cloudy sky catching on his hair, making it gleam. The legends, Lea realized all at once, his smile fading, were right. Saïx was nothing short of beautiful.

"I have a few questions," said Lea.

"I don't shapeshift to trap victims. I can't sing. I don't play instruments. I don't lay eggs. I won't lure sailors to their deaths. I don't kill in general. Killing is bad. Kissing me doesn't make you immune to drowning. I'm not immortal, so don't ask me about three hundred years ago."

Lea lowered his finger, which had gone up halfway through Saïx's tirade.

"I have one question."

Saïx still looked wary.

"Go on."

"Do you eat fish?"

Lea waited for a reply. Saïx stared at him blankly, dull light glinting off the tiny little scale patterns on his shoulders, vibrant and emerald. His pupils were like the ones belonging to a cat.

"There is any number of questions you could ask," Saïx finally spoke, incredulous, "and all you want to know is my… diet?"

Lea nodded.

"I eat fish, but mostly plants."

Lea wanted his notepad. He pulled out his phone.

Saïx immediately jerked away, halfway disappearing into the water, before Lea realized his mistake.

"What is that?" Saïx hissed, teeth barred, showing the deadly predator Lea had never fully forgotten. Except, he was pointing at the phone.

"It's for communication," said Lea slowly, setting it down, holding his hands out. "Pictures, searching the internet-that kind of stuff."
"I don't want my picture taken," said Saïx, but his hackles had gone down. Lea wouldn't be forgetting how he'd looked anytime soon, though: feral, sharp teeth capable of ripping through steel, eyes flashing.

Knowing there was no point explaining, Lea simply acquiesced and put the phone away. In time, he'd have to wean Saïx to technology. That was, assuming they met again.

"Are you going, yet?" said Saïx, adding a moment later, quiet and mulish, "Will you be coming back?"

He looked at the suspicious pout on Saïx's face, wrinkling up his nose. It wasn't a decision at all.

"You betcha."

It didn't occur to Lea until much later, after a long week at work, that Saïx had been alone for a very long time. He'd emerged from the water when Lea settled on the dock. It had surprised him, having been prepared for a wait, but it was a welcome surprise.

Saïx smiled and it didn't look right on his face, stiff and lopsided, unpracticed. Lea treasured the sight of it, tucked it away in his mind. He couldn't take a picture, but he didn't think he was willing to risk having proof of Saïx somewhere people could find it. He couldn't guard the little secret in the bay forever, but for now—

Well, for now, he'd be selfish. No one needed to know.