then you turn your head toward him, and stare.

properly stare, like you’ve been waiting.

chuuya pauses mid-step.

“…what the hell.”

you don’t respond. you just float there, tail slowly moving through the water, expression unreadable in that eerie, too-calm way that makes him uncomfortable for exactly three seconds before he notices something else.

you look lonely.

not dangerous.

just… sad.

the next day, he comes back.

you’re in the same spot.

but this time, when he approaches the glass, you follow him with your eyes.

“you’re not exactly making this job normal,” he mutters under his breath.

you tilt your head slightly.

then press your hand against the glass.

chuuya stares at it for a moment longer than he means to.

“…yeah, hi to you too.”

you blink.

and then, very slowly, your mouth curves like you’re trying to mimic the idea of a smile.

that’s the moment it starts going wrong for him.

by the end of the week, he’s your favorite person in the building.

not that he admits it.

he just shows up earlier than his shift, stays later than he’s supposed to, and starts ignoring the other exhibits entirely.

you learn things in fragments.

you like shiny objects.

you don’t like being alone for too long.

you can understand him even when he’s just talking to himself while cleaning the glass.

and somehow, you start responding more.

small gestures at first.

then deliberate ones.

then expectations.

“no,” chuuya says flatly, looking at the fork in your hands through the feeding hatch.

you press it against your wet hair.

he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“that is not a hairbrush.”

you blink at him.

then continue anyway.

he sighs.

“…you’re unbelievable.”

still, he comes back the next day with an actual brush.

you look offended.

then delighted.

you start making “requests.”

some normal. some not.

you want different fish in your tank.

you want music sometimes.

you once tried to steal a decorative shell from a display tank and got very upset when he stopped you.

“you can’t just take things,” he tells you.

you stare at him.

then slowly point at him instead.

“…that is not the same thing.”

you ignore him.

he knows you understand him perfectly.

which makes it worse, and better.

he becomes your routine, and you become his.

he talks to you like you’re a person long before anyone else in the aquarium does.

you start waiting at the glass when he’s late.

you stop eating when he doesn’t come by.

which is how he finds out you were never really “fed” properly.

and how he ends up making sure you are.

even when it means arguing with management.

even when it means staying longer.

“you can’t just keep bringing her new fish,” someone tells him.

he shrugs.

“…she asked.”

but the problem starts when he realizes something he doesn’t want to admit.

you don’t belong here.

not in a tank.

not behind glass.

not under lights that flicker like fake stars.

you belong somewhere that doesn’t have walls.

he sees it the night you press your hand against the glass longer than usual, not playing, not curious- just… still.

watching the dark ocean-themed backdrop like it’s a memory you can’t reach.

and chuuya understands.

on the last night of summer, the aquarium is closed.

no staff. no visitors.

just him, and you.

he stands in front of your tank for a long time without speaking.

you already know.

you always do.

“…i can’t keep pretending this is okay,” he says quietly.

you press your palm against the glass.

he mirrors it.

for once, there’s no teasing.

no frustration.

just quiet understanding sitting between you.

“you’re gonna hate me for this,” he mutters.

you shake your head.

slow. certain.

it takes him hours.

alarms blaring in the distance.

water systems shifting.

his hands shaking just slightly as he overrides locks he absolutely shouldn’t be touching.

but when the tank finally opens, water spilling into prepared channels that lead back to the ocean, you don’t hesitate.

you look at him one last time, and he thinks you might leave.

you don’t, you glide forward instead.

closer.

until your hands are on his shoulders through the opening edge, and he’s leaning in before he can stop himself.

the kiss is soft.

cold saltwater and shaking breath.

and when you pull back, your forehead rests briefly against his.

then you’re gone.

into the dark water, back where you’re supposed to be.

chuuya doesn’t talk for a long time after that. he just stands there watching the empty tank.

feeling like something in him was taken apart and never put back correctly.

a year passes.

he tells himself it was just a summer job.

just a strange experience.

just something that doesn’t mean anything anymore, but every time he passes the ocean, he looks anyway.

until he sees you, on the beach.

not in water.

standing. barefoot. hair longer.

laughing softly like you belong to the wind now instead of the glass.

and in your arms, a small baby.

wrapped in cloth, sleeping peacefully against your chest.

chuuya stops walking so fast it almost hurts.

“…what.”

you look up.

and smile like you’ve been waiting too.

“you came back.”

he can’t even respond properly. his brain refuses.

he just stares at the baby.

then at you.

then back at the baby.

“…what is that.”

you tilt your head.

“ours.”

he chokes.

“ours-”

you nod calmly, like this is the most normal sentence in the world.

“a kiss is how mermaids have babies.”

silence. long. absolute.

chuuya slowly drags a hand down his face.

“…i’m going to need you to explain literally everything you just said.”

you smile again, softer this time.

and step closer.

the baby sleeps peacefully between you both as the ocean behind you moves gently, like it never forgot either of you.

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sigma pauses mid-adjustment, looking up at you like you’ve said something profoundly incorrect.

“it has to be comfortable,” he replies seriously.

you smile a little. “it is comfortable.”

he hesitates, then nods slowly, as if accepting that this might be a possibility he hadn’t considered. still, he smooths out one last corner before finally sitting down beside you, a little stiff at first like he’s not fully sure what to do with himself now that everything is set.

for a moment, neither of you speak. the wind moves gently through the grass, and sunlight filters through the leaves above, scattering warm patterns across the blanket. somewhere in the distance, there’s the faint sound of water, soft and steady, like the world is breathing quietly around you.

sigma opens the picnic basket carefully, almost like he’s worried something might break. inside are neatly packed sandwiches, sliced fruit arranged with precision, and small desserts that look almost too pretty to eat.

you blink at it. “you made all of this?”

“…yes,” he says, suddenly a little quieter. “i wasn’t sure what you liked, so i made a bit of everything.”

you stare at him for a moment longer than intended, then let out a soft laugh. “that’s kind of insane.”

he stiffens slightly, expression faltering.

“in a good way,” you add quickly.

he relaxes instantly, shoulders dropping as he exhales. “oh.”

you take a sandwich and try it, and sigma watches you closely like he’s waiting for some kind of judgment. you chew thoughtfully, then nod.

“it’s really good.”

his eyes widen just a little. “really?”

“really,” you confirm.

and something in his face softens immediately, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with praise that isn’t tied to performance or expectation. it lingers on him in a way that feels quiet and fragile.

you eat slowly together after that, sharing food from the basket while the afternoon stretches on. sigma stays a little rigid at first, sitting upright like he’s still worried about doing something wrong, but gradually he begins to relax. the space between you shrinks without either of you noticing.

eventually, his shoulder lightly touches yours.

and then stays there.

“do you like this?” he asks after a while, voice low and careful.

you glance at him. “like what?”

“this… date,” he says, like the word itself feels uncertain.

you turn toward him a little more fully. his expression is gentle but searching, like he’s waiting for an answer that could change everything. so you take his hand without hesitation.

“yeah,” you say simply. “i do.”

sigma blinks once, then again, like he’s processing something he didn’t expect to hear.

“…oh.”

you squeeze his hand lightly. “did you think i wouldn’t?”

he hesitates. “i thought… maybe it wouldn’t be enough.”

you shift closer so you can face him properly. “sigma, this is perfect.”

he goes quiet again, the wind brushing through the grass around you as his fingers tighten slightly around yours. for a moment, he just looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the fact that you’re here.

“…i’m glad,” he murmurs. “i’m really glad it’s you.”

you smile at him softly, and sigma finally looks like he isn’t carrying the weight of anything else for once. just this moment. just you.

later, you both lie back on the blanket watching the sky turn warm with late afternoon light. sigma’s hand never lets go of yours, even when you tease him gently for staring.

he flushes immediately. “i’m not staring- i was just-”

you laugh softly, turning your head toward him, and he stops mid-sentence because you’re already smiling at him like that.

“…you’re very pretty,” he blurts out.

you blink, then laugh again. “you can’t just say things like that out of nowhere.”

“why not?”

“because it makes you go red.”

he looks away quickly, flustered. “that’s not-”

you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek before he can finish.

sigma freezes completely, like his entire system has stopped working. the wind continues to move through the grass, the sky continues to shift into gold, and sigma quietly realizes that this picnic might permanently ruin him in the best possible way.

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“…absolutely not.”

another tug.

dazai looks down cautiously.

nothing.

just dark blue water stretching endlessly beneath him.

then, a face suddenly appears beside the board.

dazai yelps so loudly he nearly falls off.

you blink up at him curiously, water dripping from your hair while your hands rest against the edge of the surfboard. your eyes immediately move toward his legs.

then back to his face.

then back to his legs again.

“…hi?” dazai says weakly.

you poke his calf.

he stares.

you poke it again.

“…are you inspecting me?”

your expression turns deeply serious as you gently squeeze his ankle like you’re trying to understand how human legs function.

dazai bursts out laughing, and that’s how it starts.

after that, he keeps returning to the same stretch of ocean every morning.

just in case.

sometimes you appear immediately.

sometimes he waits hours drifting lazily across the water before seeing your tail flash beneath the waves.

but eventually, you always come.

you never speak at first.

just swim around him curiously while he talks endlessly anyway.

“you know,” dazai says one afternoon while laying across his board, “most people introduce themselves before grabbing strangers’ feet.”

you surface beside him instantly.

then grab his foot underwater again.

“…rude,” he sighs dramatically.

you grin before disappearing beneath the water.

a few seconds later, something lands in his lap.

a seashell. small. bright blue.

perfectly polished.

dazai blinks down at it.

then toward where you resurface nearby, watching him carefully.

“…for me?”

you nod once.

something unexpectedly warm settles in his chest.

after that, you start bringing him gifts constantly.

smooth sea glass.

tiny pearls.

pretty shells.

once, even a starfish you proudly held up before dazai gently convinced you it should probably stay alive.

he starts bringing you things too.

hair clips.

shiny bracelets.

little trinkets he finds in beach shops.

your favorite becomes a blue ribbon.

you spend nearly twenty minutes letting him tie it carefully into your hair while floating beside his surfboard.

his fingers brush your skin gently.

carefully.

like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

“pretty,” you whisper softly.

dazai smiles.

not one of his fake smiles.

a real one.

small and warm.

“…yeah,” he says quietly. “you are.”

eventually, you start talking more.

asking questions about humans.

about land.

about him.

“why do humans surf?” you ask while resting your chin against his board.

dazai hums thoughtfully. “because the ocean is prettier up close.”

you blink at him.

then smile slowly.

and dazai suddenly forgets how breathing works.

he starts staying longer and longer each day.

sometimes until sunset paints the ocean gold.

sometimes until stars appear overhead.

you swim around him while glowing plankton spark beneath the waves, your laughter mixing with the sound of the sea.

and somewhere along the way, dazai falls in love with you.

completely. hopelessly.

“come with me.”

the words slip out one evening before he can stop them.

you still beside his surfboard immediately.

“…land?”

“yeah.”

your expression changes instantly.

sadness. hesitation.

you lower yourself slightly deeper into the water.

“…can’t.”

dazai’s chest aches unexpectedly at how small your voice sounds.

“oh.”

you reach for his hand gently.

cold seawater dripping from your fingertips.

dazai squeezes your hand back immediately.

“then i’ll stay here with you as long as i can.”

your eyes widen slightly.

“…really?”

“really.”

and for the first time since meeting you, he watches you cry.

tiny glowing tears disappearing into seawater beneath moonlight.

three days later, a storm hits.

the ocean becomes violent.

waves crashing too dangerously for anyone to surf.

dazai waits anyway.

sitting on the shore in the rain for hours staring at the water.

but you never come.

the next morning, he returns again.

and again.

and again.

no tail.

no laughter.

no gifts left waiting in the tide.

nothing.

by the fifth day, his chest physically hurts from missing you.

still, he goes back to the ocean.

because maybe today: “dazai!”

he freezes.

that voice, he turns sharply toward the shore, and nearly stops breathing.

you’re running toward him across the sand.

human legs stumbling slightly beneath you.

your hair wild from the wind.

wearing oversized clothes that clearly don’t belong to you.

beautiful, completely beautiful.

dazai just stares.

“…what.”

you crash into him before he can process anything, arms wrapping tightly around his neck while you nearly laugh and cry at the same time.

“i wanted to stay with you,” you say breathlessly.

dazai’s hands grip your waist instantly like he’s terrified you’ll vanish again.

“…your legs,” he says dumbly.

you grin brightly through teary eyes. “they work now.”

he laughs once in complete disbelief before pulling you impossibly closer.

“you scared the hell out of me.”

“sorry.”

“five days,” he groans dramatically, pressing his forehead against yours. “i almost drowned emotionally.”

you laugh softly.

and dazai kisses you before you can answer.

warm. desperate.

salt air between both of you.

his hands shaking slightly against your waist from relief alone.

when he finally pulls back, he looks at you carefully.

softly.

completely gone for you.

“…so,” he murmurs, stealing another quick kiss, “can i keep you now?”

you smile.

“only if you take me surfing.”

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instead, you smiled and handed him a bottle of water. “good game.”

oikawa blinked.

“good game?” he repeated.

“yeah. you played well.”

another blink.

then suddenly he staggered backward, clutching his chest dramatically. “played well?” he gasped. “played well?! y/n, i practically carried everyone on my beautiful, talented shoulders today!”

you fought back a laugh. “is that so?”

“is that so?” he echoed, looking personally offended. “did you not see my serves? my sets? my incredible athleticism? my flawless hair despite intense physical activity?”

“your hair is sticking up.”

“that is not the point!”

iwaizumi walked by at that exact moment and smacked the back of his head.

“quit bothering her.”

“iwa-chan, this is serious!” oikawa cried. “my own girlfriend refuses to acknowledge my greatness!”

“she said you played well.”

“that's not enough!”

you finally gave in, reaching up to fix one of the strands of hair sticking out. “fine. you were amazing, tooru. happy?”

his entire expression brightened instantly.

“very.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

“and yet you love me.”

before you could answer, he wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your shoulder with a triumphant grin.

“did you hear that, iwa-chan?” he called out. “my girlfriend thinks i’m amazing.”

“i wish i didn’t,” iwaizumi replied.

oikawa ignored him completely, already fishing for more compliments.

“what was your favorite part? my serves? my setting? my jumps? my face?”

you laughed as he followed you toward the exit.

somehow, winning the match hadn't been enough.

he still needed his favorite cheerleader's approval.

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“you just want an excuse to buy things,” you reply.

dazai gasps softly. “that accusation is correct.”

the store is full of bright colors and dangerously overpriced swimwear.

dazai immediately becomes unhelpful.

every swimsuit you hold up gets the same reaction.

“beautiful.”

“that one too.”

“wear all of them.”

“osamu, that’s not how clothes work.”

he shrugs. “you’d figure it out.”

tsukki sits in the stroller quietly chewing on the edge of his toy while dazai trails behind you like a lovesick ghost.

then you pick up the two-piece.

simple. pretty.

definitely more revealing than what you normally wear.

you glance at it for barely two seconds before dazai immediately notices.

“Oh,” he says. “that one.”

you raise a brow. “yeah?”

he takes the swimsuit from your hands dramatically like he’s examining rare artwork.

“…respectfully,” he says, “you would destroy lives in this.”

you snort.

“that’s dramatic.”

“i’m serious. buy it immediately.”

the mistake happens because you trust him.

which is unfortunate.

because two days later you’re standing on a beach wearing the swimsuit while dazai visibly reconsiders every decision he’s ever made.

tsukki is strapped to his chest in a tiny sunhat while dazai stares at you in complete silence.

you notice instantly.

“…what.”

he blinks slowly.

“…nothing.”

“osamu.”

“…i understand fear now.”

you laugh loudly enough that nearby people glance over.

which unfortunately proves his point.

because now other people are also looking.

dazai notices immediately.

his expression changes.

“absolutely not.”

before you can react, he grabs the nearest towel and drapes it dramatically around your shoulders.

you stare at him.

“…did you just blanket me.”

“for public safety.”

“osamu.”

“there are men here.”

“there are women here too.”

“exactly. everyone is looking at you.”

you cross your arms. “whose fault is that.”

dazai pauses.

“…mine.”

“correct.”

the debate escalates quickly.

“you encouraged me to buy this.”

“I was blinded by love.”

“you literally said, and i quote ‘destroy lives.’”

“and now i realize those lives include mine.”

you try walking toward the water.

he follows immediately, holding the towel closed around you like you’re escaping paparazzi.

“you are being insane.”

“i’m being protective.”

“possessive.”

“that too.”

tsukki blinks between both of you from his baby carrier like he’s watching a tennis match.

eventually you stop walking and turn toward him fully.

“osamu.”

he narrows his eyes suspiciously. “what.”

“be honest. are you actually upset or are you just dramatic.”

he opens his mouth immediately.

then closes it again.

because unfortunately, you’re right.

he’s not angry, he’s obsessed.

there’s a difference.

he sighs dramatically.

“…you just look really good.”

your expression softens slightly.

“and?”

“and i don’t enjoy strangers perceiving that fact.”

you laugh softly despite yourself.

“that sounds like a personal problem.”

“It is.”

then an older woman walking past suddenly stops beside dazai.

looks at you.

then at him.

and smiles knowingly.

“You’re holding the towel because you’re jealous, huh?”

dazai freezes.

you immediately start laughing.

the woman points at him. “my husband used to do that too.”

“I’m not jealous,” dazai lies.

the woman looks unconvinced.

“…sure, sweetheart.”

then she walks away.

you are now fully crying laughing.

dazai looks betrayed.

“i’ve been publicly humbled.”

“good.”

eventually you peel the towel off yourself entirely.

dazai watches helplessly.

“be strong,” you tell him.

“I’m trying.”

“you literally picked this swimsuit.”

“I didn’t think the consequences through.”

you grin before taking tsukki from him carefully.

the second tsukki settles into your arms, his tiny head resting against your chest sleepily, dazai’s entire expression softens against his will.

because now you somehow look worse.

warm sunlight.

ocean breeze.

holding your sleepy son while wearing the swimsuit he encouraged you to buy.

he stares for a full ten seconds.

“…this is emotional warfare.”

you laugh softly.

later, after swimming and snacks and tsukki splashing seawater directly into dazai’s face, you return to your spot on the sand to find something suspicious.

a hole.

a very large hole.

you narrow your eyes immediately.

“…what happened.”

dazai looks entirely too calm sitting beside it.

“i lost an argument.”

“correct.”

“and now i’m being punished for being too devoted to my wife.”

“correct.”

ten minutes later, he is buried in sand up to his chest.

completely immobilized.

wearing sunglasses.

looking deeply offended.

you sit beside him holding a now-sleeping tsukki in your arms while waves crash softly nearby.

dazai sighs dramatically.

“I defended your honor and this is how i’m treated.”

“You wrapped me in a towel like a Victorian woman.”

“You’re welcome.”

you laugh quietly.

tsukki sleeps peacefully against your chest, tiny fist curled against your swimsuit strap.

dazai notices immediately and melts again.

“…he’s cute,” he murmurs softly.

“he drooled on me thirty seconds ago.”

“still cute.”

he looks between you and tsukki quietly for a moment.

then smiles faintly.

soft. genuine.

the kind that only really appears around his family.

“…okay,” he admits quietly. “maybe i overreacted a little.”

you raise a brow. “a little?”

“…moderately.”

you laugh again.

then lean over and kiss his forehead gently despite the sand situation.

dazai immediately brightens.

“she still loves me.”

“unfortunately.”

“tsukki,” dazai whispers dramatically to your sleeping son, “your mother wounds me.”

tsukki snores softly.

“thank you for your support,” dazai says solemnly.

you roll your eyes fondly while adjusting tsukki a little higher against your shoulder.

the sun is warm.

the ocean is loud.

your husband is trapped in sand because he couldn’t handle seeing you look hot in public.

and honestly?

this might be the most relaxed summer day you’ve had in months.

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you glance over at him, completely relaxed, sunglasses on, skin already warm-toned from the sun.

“…you’re fine.”

“i am not fine. i am becoming a raisin.”

you snort.

he rolls onto his back like he’s fainting. “tell my tragic story. tell them I was beautiful once.”

“you still are beautiful.”

he pauses.

then peeks at you through one eye.

“…say it again.”

you flick his forehead lightly.

he immediately melts back into the towel.

twenty minutes later, dazai has moved exactly four times to escape the sun.

he is currently under your arm, under a towel, under a parasol, complaining.

meanwhile you are still sitting fully in direct sunlight.

not a single burn in sight.

he stares at you like you’ve betrayed physics.

“why are you not suffering.”

“because I have melanin and peace.”

“this is discrimination.”

you laugh while applying sunscreen to your shoulders. “you need this.”

“I don’t believe in sunscreen.”

“that’s not a belief system.”

he sighs dramatically but leans in anyway when you start applying it to his face.

“…if I survive this, I want compensation.”

you pause. “what kind?”

he grins slightly. “kisses.”

you roll your eyes but press one to his cheek anyway.

he looks emotionally healed instantly.

by the time you both try going into the ocean, dazai is already pink.

like. visibly.

“you’re burning,” you say, squinting at him.

“I am glowing,” he corrects weakly.

“you are a lobster.”

he gasps. “how cruel. my own lover, attacking my appearance.”

you drag him deeper into the shade.

he does not resist, because he is suffering.

and also because your hand is holding his, so he accepts death.

꒰ chuuya nakahara ꒱

chuuya was confident.

this was his first mistake.

“you’re telling me,” he says slowly, sitting under the umbrella while glaring at the ocean, “that you are fine… and i am turning red.”

you glance over at him.

perfectly fine.

glowing, even.

then back at him.

already sunburnt across the nose.

“…yeah.”

he clicks his tongue. “unbelievable.”

ten minutes earlier, he had refused sunscreen.

“I don’t need it.”

you had looked at him.

he had looked at you.

then immediately gotten burned by the concept of sunlight itself.

now he is sitting very still.

very red. very offended.

you lean over slightly. “do you want sunscreen now?”

“…no.”

you squint. “chuuya.”

“…yes.”

you smile.

he does not.

you gently apply sunscreen to his face and he grabs your wrist halfway through.

“don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing.”

you are, in fact, laughing.

“you’re burning like my pancakes this morning,” you mumble.

he stares at you.

“…I hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

“…I don’t.”

he leans slightly into your touch anyway when you fix the sunscreen on his cheeks.

very quietly.

like he didn’t just threaten your life five seconds ago.

later, when you finally go into the water, chuuya insists on staying close.

not because of affection.

“just in case I get attacked by the sun again,” he says.

you hum. “sure.”

but he still holds your hand the entire time.

and when you lean up to kiss him in the shallow waves?

he pretends to complain.

but he doesn’t let go.

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