Bbokaria⋆. 𐙚 ˚

MASTERLIST

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the song is in Finnish btw and I used a translator so pardon any mistakes <3

The water is calm tonight.

The ocean lies stretched out before you, shimmering under a soft veil of moonlight. The air above is still, the sky dotted with stars, and the tide is gentle as it brushes against jagged stones and smooth sands. Down here, beneath the rolling waves, the world feels like it belongs only to you. A secret. A sanctuary.

You hover in your favorite cove, hidden by rock arches and thick curtains of kelp that sway like curtains around a stage. The currents carry your voice as you sing, the melody spilling from your lips like liquid silver. It isn’t a song for anyone—it never has been. It’s for the sea itself. For the way your heart aches when you imagine what lies beyond the shoreline, and for the dreams you whisper into the deep.

Your song winds through the caves, echoing back at you, haunting and beautiful.

But this time something else is listening.

He’s there before you even notice him. A shape moving through the water, slower than any fish, more deliberate than the sweep of the tide. You sense him before you see him—warmth among the chill, something alive that isn’t supposed to be here. You turn your head, voice faltering for only a beat, and that’s when you see him.

A boy.

A human boy, suspended in the blue, silver bubbles escaping from his mask as he floats just within the entrance of your cove. His eyes are wide behind the glass, reflecting the glimmer of your world like polished obsidian. You know you should run the moment you recognize what he is. Papa always said humans were dangerous. Cruel. Greedy.

And yet, he isn’t moving. He isn’t reaching for you. He isn’t even frightened. He’s just watching. Staring at you as though he’s stumbled into a dream he never expected to be real.

For one impossible second, you don’t move either. Your hair floats around your face like ribbons, your voice dies in your throat, and you both exist in the stillness of the sea, separated by everything you’ve ever been told and yet tied together by the simple fact that he found you.

Your heart pounds so loudly you swear he can hear it.

And then instinct takes over.

You dart back, fins snapping, tail whipping up a cloud of sand as you disappear deeper into the kelp forest. You don’t look back. You don’t dare.

But long after you’ve left the cove, long after the melody has faded from your lips, you can still see the boy’s eyes behind the glass. Wide, shining, unafraid.

You were seen tonight, and the deep, aching, curious part of you wonders if you’ll ever be able to stop him from finding you again.

You don’t return to the cove for days.

You tell yourself you’re being smart, cautious. Humans are dangerous—your father’s voice reminds you of that every time you close your eyes. But another voice, quieter, deeper, keeps whispering that look in his eyes. Not fear. Not greed. Just awe.

And yet, curiosity has always been your weakness, so you find yourself drifting near the edge of the reef again, hidden in the shadows of the kelp. You scan the water with nervous eyes, half-hoping he’ll be there, half-praying he won’t. The sea feels empty without your song, but you don’t dare hum even a note.

Then something brushes past your tail.

You spin, startled, only to see a familiar shape darting toward the reef—a flash of sleek gray fur and whiskers. Your companion, the mischievous young sea lion you’d practically raised since she was a pup. She chirps happily, ignoring your tension as she swirls upward in a playful roll.

But then—she veers sharply away. Straight toward the open water.

Your chest tightens. You know that direction.

You chase after her, slicing through the current, fear and dread building with every beat of your tail. And then you see him.

The human boy. He’s back.

He floats just outside the rocks, hair drifting weightlessly, mask glinting faintly in the filtered sunlight. He doesn’t see you at first—because your sea lion is twirling circles around him, bumping against his chest like an overexcited child. He laughs. You can see it in the way his shoulders shake, in the bubbles that spill from his regulator.

And he plays with her.

Your mouth falls open as you watch him reach out, tentative at first, then more sure, letting her tug his hand with her teeth, nudging her nose against his palm. She flips backward, and he claps his hands together in the water as though they’re old friends sharing a game.

Your heart twists. You’ve never seen your sea lion trust a stranger so easily. Never seen her behave this way with anyone but you.

And the boy, he isn’t panicking. He isn’t struggling to swim away. He’s calm, smiling even through the barrier of the mask, moving with a gentle rhythm that belongs to the sea itself.

When his gaze finally lifts and finds you, your stomach lurches.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t chase. He just freezes in place, hand lowering slowly as though not to startle you. His eyes soften, and the world falls quiet.

It’s different this time.

The fear is still there, tucked deep in your chest, but something warmer presses against it. His calmness. His quiet. The silent way he just… looks at you, as if waiting for you to decide what happens next.

You hover there, caught between instinct and wonder.

For a moment, it feels like the whole sea holds its breath with you. Your sea lion circles between the two of you, chirping and spinning, as though impatient for you both to understand.

And then—his air runs low.

He presses a hand against his chest, bubbles leaking faster from his mask, and you realize he has to surface. He gives you a small, almost apologetic smile, as though to say goodbye for now. Then he pushes upward, body rising through the blue.

You watch until he disappears into the shimmer of light above.

This time you don’t flee.

You just stay there, staring up at the rippling surface, your sea lion nudging your hand with a curious chirp.

And you wonder if maybe—just maybe—your father was wrong.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

You tell yourself you’re not looking for him.

That you’re only here because it’s safe, because the cove has always been yours, because you want to make sure nothing—no one—threatens your world. But the truth is sharp in your chest: you are waiting. Waiting for him.

And when he comes, you feel it before you see him. The way the current shifts, the way the silence bends to make room for another presence.

He slips into the water above, his movements stronger, steadier now, as though he’s learned the rhythm of the sea. You hide behind a curtain of kelp, heart in your throat, watching as he descends. He glances around carefully, scanning the rocks, the caves, the shadows—as though searching for something. For you.

You can’t help but follow.

He moves deeper this time, exploring the reef with careful strokes, lingering near the places you usually sit. And before you know it, you’ve been trailing him like a shadow, slipping behind coral towers whenever he glances over his shoulder.

Part of you thinks it’s foolish. Dangerous. But another part—the part that aches with curiosity—just wants to see him move, to understand how a human survives in a world he doesn’t belong to.

And then he sees you.

Your heart jolts when his gaze locks on yours, catching you mid-glance between two rocks. You freeze. His expression shifts—first startled, then softened by recognition.

You don’t flee.

Instead, you linger, half-hidden, eyes locked with his across the shifting blue. For a long moment, that’s all you do. Just look. The water hums around you, alive with currents and bubbles, but the silence between you feels louder than anything.

Then he drifts closer.

Not too close—just enough that you can see the small crease of his brow through his mask, the way his lips part slightly around the mouthpiece, the way he seems torn between reaching for you and holding still.

Your pulse races. Instinct screams at you to vanish into the shadows. But when he finally moves to rise for air, instinct seizes you. You dart forward, your fingers curling around his wrist, halting him. His eyes widen in alarm, bubbles rising in a frantic rush.

You shake your head, lips parting. You can’t believe what you’re about to do, but the words slip from you in the language of your people—a song, soft and steady, spilling into the water like light.

“Kun hiekka kohtaa meren”

Your voice is steady, wrapping around him like silk, shimmering through the waves. His body jerks, confusion flickering in his wide eyes, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Lopulta he näkevät”

The water itself vibrates with your words, each note threading into his chest, sliding into his lungs as though the sea itself has claimed him. His panic stills, breath slowing.

“Että merenneidot ovat tulleet jäädäkseen”

You see the moment his chest expands—not with bubbles, not with borrowed breath, but with air. Real air. Underwater.

“Juuri siellä missä meidän ansaitseekin olla”

His hand rises to press against his heart, shock plain across his face. But you keep singing.

“Oi, ihminen kuten sinä”

His eyes glisten, caught between disbelief and wonder.

“Tule koskaan ymmärtämään kuten minä”

The current curls around both of you, carrying the lullaby deeper, as though the whole ocean is listening.

“Siksi me rukoilemme ja pysymme poissa”

Your voice trembles, but you hold on.

“Sieltä mistä hiekka kohtaa meren”

The last note spills into silence, the magic sinking into his bones. He gasps. Not from drowning—but from breathing. His eyes widen, chest rising and falling, no bubbles escaping. He can breathe.

But before you can smile to prepare him, his body sags. His gaze rolls unfocused, limbs going slack. He tilts backward, slipping from your grasp.

You grab him, surging forward to hold him upright. For thirty seconds, he’s unresponsive. And then—his eyes snap open.

He freezes, staring at you in awe. But when his gaze drops, his throat tightens.

His legs are gone.

The boy is staring at his body in disbelief, tail shimmering beneath him in the fractured light. The silver-blue scales flicker like liquid starlight, his fins twitching in clumsy, uncontrolled movements. He looks fragile, as if one wrong word might shatter him completely.

And you, for the first time in your life, don’t know what to say.

You’ve just given him the sea.

He twists in the water, head snapping up to you, eyes wide and full of panic. “What—what’s happening to me?!” His voice sounds different here, carried strangely by the current, but the words are clear enough to make your chest tighten.

You swallow, fingers curling against your palms. “Don’t freak out,” you whisper, steadying your voice even as your heart stumbles. “It’s…part of the process.”

He stares. “What process?!”

You hover closer, enough for him to see the sincerity in your eyes. “Connecting with us,” you say softly, your words heavy with a truth no human was ever meant to hear. “The sea listens when we sing. It gave you a piece of itself. I knew humans weren’t all bad—not even when my father told me they were.”

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first. He just blinks at you, chest rising and falling too quickly, his hands dragging down his torso as if searching for what’s left of his legs. "I can’t believe this.”

“You’re not dreaming,” you murmur, and the words surprise even you. You don’t usually comfort strangers—especially not humans—but he looks so utterly lost that the instinct comes naturally.

He shakes his head, letting out a sharp laugh, half-hysterical, half in awe. “This is insane.”

You tilt your head. “Insane?”

“Crazy,” he explains quickly. “Loco, Impossible. But—” His eyes flick back to you, and his voice softens. “You’re here. So maybe it’s not.”

The water between you stills.

You’ve never heard a human sound so unafraid. And as you look at him—his tousled hair drifting like ink through the water, his bare skin glowing faintly under the filtered sun, his eyes fixed entirely on you—you realize something terrifying.

You don’t want him to leave. So you stay as well.

The silence slowly melts, replaced by questions that tumble from him in halting, uncertain bursts. He asks about the song, what it means, about your tail, about whether others like you exist. His curiosity glows in every syllable, and you find yourself answering, even when you shouldn’t. You tell him about the reefs, the currents, the way sea creatures speak without words. You tell him about the kingdom far beneath, where coral towers pierce the sand and lantern fish line the streets at night.

And when he tells you about his world—about the sun-warmed sand, about the smell of fresh fruit, about laughter that echoes on beaches—you cling to every word as though they’re treasures.

For nearly an hour, you drift together, floating in a fragile bubble of peace. You teach him how to flick his new tail without tangling himself in the kelp. He makes you laugh when he tries and spins clumsily sideways, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He grins when you imitate him, and soon you’re both laughing, the sound mingling in the water like music.

For the first time, you forget to be afraid.

But then—he winces. His hand presses against his ribs, eyes narrowing. “I feel weird.”

Your chest tightens. The magic. It’s fading.

“It’s wearing off,” you explain quickly, swimming a little closer. “That means it’s time to go. You have to reach the surface before your lungs remember they’re human again.”

His face pales. “And if I don’t?”

You hesitate. “You drown.”

For a moment, fear flashes in his eyes. Then he nods, determination replacing it, though his movements are clumsy as he pushes upward. His tail flicks awkwardly, body twisting unsteadily through the water. You follow beside him for a moment, ready to catch him if he falters, but eventually you stop, watching as he swims toward the glow above.

At last, he breaks the surface gasping for air. His tail is already gone, legs kicking wildly as he floats back toward the shallows.

You remain below, heart hammering in your chest.

You’d spoken to a human. You’d touched him, transformed him, laughed with him. And now, as the currents curl around you, the sound of your lullaby still lingering in the sea, you know something has changed forever.

Above the waves, he may leave you behind. But below the waves, you’ll never forget him.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The days blur together after that first transformation.

At first, you tell yourself not to return to the cove. You’d already broken too many rules—singing to a human, letting him see you, sharing the sea’s magic with him. Every instinct tells you to swim far, far away before you’re discovered.

And yet you find yourself drifting back every morning, hiding in the kelp, waiting.

And every time, he comes.

Sometimes in his wetsuit, sometimes with only his mask and fins, but always searching. At first, he startles easily, as though afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks. But when he sees you, his whole face softens, and your chest tightens in ways you don’t understand.

“Hey,” he says one morning, his voice muffled slightly through the regulator. The word carries through the water like a greeting between old friends. “I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

You tilt your head, your tail flicking lazily. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because,” he says, his lips quirking into a crooked smile, “you’re smarter than me. And hanging out with a human is… probably a terrible idea.”

You don’t admit he’s right. Instead, you swim closer, until your hair drifts around his face like seaweed. “Maybe I don’t always do the smart thing.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Not fear. Not doubt. Something warmer.

Over the next few meetings, he teaches you little things about his world, about the surface. He mimics the way the gulls squawk and you nearly choke from laughing.

You don't always transform him, but you teach him how to whistle through the water by blowing bubbles through his teeth, and he grins like he’s discovered treasure.

And then, one afternoon, he floats beside you in a quiet stretch of reef, staring at you with that look again—the one that makes your chest feel heavy and light all at once.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

You nod, though your pulse skips.

He hesitates, fingers curling nervously before he blurts it out. “Why me? You could’ve sung for anyone. Why did you choose me?”

Your lips part, but the words stick in your throat. Why did you? Because he didn’t look at you like prey? Because he laughed with your sea lion? Because his eyes, wide and searching, felt like home in a way you’ve never known?

“I don’t know,” you admit softly. “I just knew.”

The silence stretches, broken only by the slow churn of the current. His gaze dips to your lips, then back to your eyes, his breath quickening.

The water swirls gently between you, carrying your laughter, your shared silence, your unspoken questions. You can feel it in your bones now—this connection is more than curiosity. More than magic. It’s something your father would never forgive. Something you shouldn’t want.

But as his hand hovers near yours, trembling but steady, you realize you don’t care. The sea gave you a secret. A human who feels like destiny.

And even though you aren’t ready to let him go, Jeongin goes home.

The waves retreat, leaving the shore quiet, and you are not there. But your voice… your song… refuses to leave him.

Jeongin walks barefoot along the sand outside his home, chest tight, lungs still adjusting to air after the transformation. He can still feel the curl of your tail, the brush of your hair in the water, the soft echo of your lullaby in every corner of his mind.

Kun hiekka kohtaa meren…

The melody threads through him like a ribbon of light, impossible to ignore. Every time he closes his eyes, it returns, soft and shimmering, curling around his chest like a heartbeat he can’t escape.

He showers, and even as water runs down his shoulders, the memory of the sea refuses to wash away. Your song hums beneath the hiss of the faucet, a secret reminder that the world isn’t just air and sand anymore.

He eats dinner, staring at the food without taste, unable to stop replaying the scene of your eyes meeting his, the way you held him underwater when panic threatened to overtake him. He imagines your tail flicking gracefully in the currents, the bubbles rising around your laughter, and the tiny smile you gave him before he surfaced.

He goes to bed, tossing and turning, chasing sleep, but it doesn’t come. The lullaby is there in the darkness, echoing softly in his ears

Lopulta he näkevät…

He rolls over, staring at the ceiling. He tries to think of something else. Work, friends, homework, the simplest things of human life—but it’s impossible. The song carries him back to you, back to the water, back to the shimmer of your eyes as you told him not to freak out, back to the tail that isn’t his own.

By morning, he is exhausted, yet the pull is unrelenting. Every thought begins and ends with the memory of your voice. Every plan he makes, every movement, every breath, is haunted by the way the sea welcomed him, the way you reached out, the way you trusted him.

And in the quiet moments, when the sun hits the window just right and the world is still, he whispers your name.

It tastes like saltwater on his lips.

And he knows, before he even leaves the house, that he will return. That he will dive back into your world, no matter the risk, because he cannot unhear your song. Cannot unsee your eyes. Cannot unfeel the connection that already threads him to you, like a tether he will never escape.

The day waits for him with a pull he cannot resist. And in his chest, your song lingers, soft but insistent, calling him back.

MASTERLIST

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The ocean feels endless today.

Not in the way it usually does—calm, comforting, familiar—but in a way that stretches too far, too wide, too empty.

Jeongin dives again.

The water closes over his head with a quiet rush, bubbles trailing past his face as he descends. The sunlight fractures above him, turning into long, wavering beams that barely reach the deeper parts of the reef. He pushes forward, scanning every corner, every shadow, every place he remembers you being.

Nothing.

He swims past the arch where he first heard your voice. Past the kelp forest where your hair once tangled with the currents. Past the flat rocks where your sea lion darted and played.

Still nothing.

His chest tightens—not from lack of air, not yet—but from something heavier. Something sharper.

“Come on…” he mutters into his regulator, the words dissolving into bubbles that drift uselessly upward.

He checks behind another cluster of rocks. Then another. He circles back, retracing his path like maybe you’ll suddenly appear if he looks hard enough.

But you don’t.

His lungs begin to burn, a familiar warning this time, and he kicks upward, breaking through the surface with a sharp inhale. Air rushes into him, but it doesn’t settle the ache in his chest.

He wipes water from his face, blinking against the sunlight. The shore stretches out in front of him, quiet and unchanged, as if nothing magical has ever existed beneath it.

But he knows better now.

You’re real.

He’s felt it before—your voice wrapping around him, your hand grabbing his wrist, the impossible moment when the ocean let him breathe. That wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been.

So where are you?

He dives again.

———

Hours pass like this.

Down. Search. Up. Breathe. Repeat.

Each dive feels longer than the last, each stretch of empty water more suffocating than the one before. His movements grow less precise, more desperate, his eyes scanning faster, missing details he would’ve noticed otherwise.

He checks places he’s already checked. Twice. Three times. More.

Still nothing.

The ocean, once alive with your presence, now feels hollow.

By the time he surfaces again, his arms ache, his legs feel heavy, and his thoughts are beginning to spiral.

Maybe she’s not coming back.

The thought hits harder than expected.

Maybe you realized what a mistake this was. Maybe you remembered all the things you were taught about humans—dangerous, selfish, destructive—and decided he wasn’t worth the risk.

Maybe.

Then his breath catches.

Something glints in the distance.

He squints, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, focusing past the glare of the sun reflecting off the water. At first, it looks like nothing—just another rock breaking the surface, smooth and still.

But then it moves, and jeongin’s heart stutters

He doesn’t think. He just swims.

Water splashes around him as he cuts through the surface, faster than he has all day, arms burning but ignored, chest tightening but forgotten. The closer he gets, the clearer it becomes.

It’s not just a rock.

You’re stretched out across the sunlit stone, your upper body resting against its warmth while your tail curves lazily beside you, scales catching the light like scattered jewels. Your hair spills over your shoulders, damp and shining, strands clinging to your skin where the sun has begun to dry them.

For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

You look…unreal, like something pulled straight from a dream he wasn’t meant to have more than once.

“Hey!”

The word bursts out of him before he can stop it, loud and breathless and filled with more relief than he meant to show.

Your head turns.

Your eyes meet his.

And then—you laugh.

It’s soft at first, just a small sound that escapes you, but it quickly grows into something brighter, something lighter, something that spills into the air around you like music.

“You look like you’ve been fighting the ocean,” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows as you watch him struggle closer.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he shoots back, breath uneven as he pulls himself up onto the edge of the rock. Water drips from his arms, his hair, pooling beneath him as he finally steadies himself. “Everywhere.”

Your smile lingers, but there’s something softer beneath it now. Something that flickers in your eyes as you take him in—soaked, exhausted, but undeniably there.

“Everywhere?” you echo.

“Yes, everywhere,” he insists, pushing himself fully onto the rock now, sitting a careful distance from you but not nearly as far as he probably should. “I checked the cove, the reef, the kelp forest—lots of times, actually—and I thought maybe…”

He trails off, suddenly aware of how much he’s saying. How much he’s revealing.

“Maybe what?” you ask quietly.

He hesitates. Then, softer, “Maybe you weren’t coming back.”

The words hang between you, carried only by the gentle crash of waves against the rock.

For a moment, you don’t respond. You just watch him, your expression unreadable, your tail flicking lightly against the surface of the water below.

Then you hum, tilting your head slightly. “And that bothered you?”

He lets out a small, almost disbelieving laugh. “Yeah. It did.”

Your gaze softens. Just a little.

“I wasn’t hiding from you,” you say after a moment. “I just wanted to see if you’d come back.”

He blinks. “That’s it?”

You shrug, the movement sending a shimmer through your scales as sunlight dances across them. “Humans don’t usually come back. Not for things they don’t understand.”

He studies you for a second, something steady settling into his expression now.

“Well,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips, “guess I’m not like most humans.”

Your laugh returns—quieter this time, but warmer.

“No,” you agree softly. “I guess you’re not.”

The ocean stretches around you, endless and glittering, but now it doesn’t feel empty.

Because you’re here.

And he found you.

———

The tide moves lazily around the rock, brushing against its base like it’s trying to listen in. The sun is lower now, softer, spilling gold across the water in long trembling streaks. Everything feels quieter here, as if the ocean itself knows this moment matters.

Jeongin moves close enough that you can feel the warmth of him even through the damp air. He’s still dripping from his search, hair clinging to his forehead, chest rising and falling slowly as he finally lets himself stop running, stop searching, stop worrying you’ll disappear again if he blinks too long.

You watch him for a moment before speaking.

“I wasn’t always allowed to come this close to the surface,” you say quietly.

He turns toward you immediately, like the words pulled him in. He doesn’t interrupt.

Your fingers trace patterns against the wet stone beneath you, as though the words are easier to say when you’re not looking directly at him.

“I used to swim up here when I was younger,” you continue. “Before I understood what I wasn’t supposed to do. Before I understood why.”

A pause. The waves shift below you, gently lifting and lowering your tail.

“My father stopped me after that.”

Jeongin’s expression tightens slightly, but he stays silent, giving you space to continue.

You breathe in slowly.

“He’s the king,” you admit. “Everything down there follows him. The rules, the borders, the warnings.” A small, humorless smile touches your lips. “Especially the warnings.”

Your gaze finally lifts to the horizon. The surface of the ocean looks endless from here—so close and yet so far from everything you’ve ever known.

“He doesn’t like humans,” you say softly. “He says they take without thinking. That they ruin things they don’t understand. That they don’t belong with us mer-people.”

Jeongin shifts slightly beside you. You don’t look at him yet, but you feel the change in his stillness.

“I was never supposed to meet one,” you continue. “Let alone talk to one. Let alone…”

Your voice falters for a second. You swallow.

“…let alone trust one.”

The words settle between you both. Heavy, but not uncomfortable.

When you finally look at him, he’s already watching you. Not with fear. Not with guilt. Just quiet attention, like he’s trying to understand every piece of what you’re giving him.

“I’ve always wanted to see the shore properly,” you admit, softer now. “Not just from beneath the waves. Not just from a distance.”

Jeongin’s brows lift slightly.

“But I wasn’t allowed,” you add. “So I stopped asking.”

A beat.

Then, even quieter, “On my last birthday, I asked again anyway.”

The memory presses into your chest as you speak it.

“I told him I didn’t want anything else. Just to sit on the shore. Just once.” A faint, sad laugh escapes you. “He was furious.”

Jeongin’s hands curl slightly on the rock.

“He said I didn’t understand what I was asking for,” you continue. “That I didn’t understand what humans are like. That I would regret it.”

Your eyes lower.

“And after that…” You pause. “He forbid me from ever going near the surface alone again.”

Silence stretches. Not empty—but full. Full of everything you’ve never said out loud before.

You finally glance at Jeongin again. “So I started sneaking out.”

His expression softens immediately, something like disbelief and sadness mixing in his eyes.

“That’s how I met you,” you finish quietly. “Because I wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn't supposed to get caught.”

The ocean shifts again beneath you, the tide pulling gently at the base of the rock. The world feels suspended in this moment—like even time is listening.

Jeongin exhales slowly.

“I think…” he starts carefully, then stops. He looks down at the water, then back at you. “I think your father might be wrong.”

Your heart stutters.

“He doesn’t know me,” Jeongin continues, voice steadier now. “He doesn’t know humans  either. So he just… decided.”

You look away, fingers curling slightly. “He’s not wrong about everything.”

Jeongin shakes his head. “Maybe not. But he’s wrong about this.”

A small silence follows.

Then he smiles slightly, softer now. “I’m glad you snuck out.”

That makes something twist gently in your chest. Warm. Sharp. Unfamiliar.

“You shouldn’t be,” you mutter.

“Yeah,” he agrees lightly. “Probably not.”

But he says it like it doesn’t matter. Like he’d still choose this anyway.

You lean back on your hands, looking up at the sky as it shifts toward orange and pink.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The silence isn’t awkward, it’s full—like the ocean itself has wrapped around you both and decided to hold you there.

And for the first time since you met him, the weight of your secret doesn’t feel like it’s crushing you alone.

It feels like something you’re carrying together.

———

The ocean feels different when you laugh in it.

Not calmer, just brighter, like even the water itself is listening for joy.

You sing for him again, voice bringing the tension and the intimacy of the previous conversation down. 

Jeongin listens with reverence, all calmness and appreciation for the moment he slips into the tiny sliver he knows of your world. Your lips move like sweetness to him, and by the time you finished singing he felt like his head was in the clouds.

Jeongin splashes forward first, awkward at the start, his new tail still something he hasn’t fully learned to trust. He flaps too hard, tilts too far, nearly spins himself sideways before catching the rhythm again.

You laugh before you can stop yourself.

“You’re going to scare every fish in the reef,” you tease, circling him easily, your movements smooth and effortless compared to his clumsy adjustments.

“I’m trying!” he protests, breathless, sending a small wave of bubbles your way.

It makes you laugh harder.

And then—without warning—he darts forward. Not fast enough to escape you, but fast enough to surprise you. He taps your shoulder lightly as he passes.

“You’re it.”

You blink. “What?”

“Tag,” he says, slowing just enough to grin at you. “You chase me now.”

You stare at him like he’s spoken a foreign language again. “Why would I chase you?”

“Because that’s how it works,” he says, already turning away. “Come on!”

And before you can argue, he’s off.

Something inside you shifts. You laugh. Real, unguarded laughter. And suddenly you’re moving too.

The water bursts into motion around you both.

Jeongin is slower at first, still learning how to move with his tail instead of against it, but he makes up for it with sheer determination. He zigzags through coral arches, ducks behind rocks, even tries to hide in a cluster of drifting kelp.

You catch him in seconds.

“You cheated,” you accuse, grabbing his wrist lightly as he spins around.

“I did not!” he insists, laughing. “I improvised.”

You don’t let go immediately. You’re too busy smiling.

Something about this—this ridiculous game in the middle of the ocean—feels unreal. Like you’ve fallen into a dream where rules don’t exist and consequences don’t matter.

And then he taps your hand again.

“You’re it.”

This time, you don’t hesitate. You chase him.

———

Time becomes strange after that.

It stretches and bends with every game you play.

Tag turns into hide-and-seek, and hide-and-seek turns into a game of pretending not to laugh at the other’s terrible hiding spots. Jeongin once hides behind a rock that is barely bigger than his head, and you pretend not to see him for almost a full minute just to let him feel victorious when he jumps out.

“You’re so bad at this,” you tell him when you find him again, grinning.

“I’ve never played in the ocean!” he argues, pushing hair from his face. “Give me time.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it.

Then he teaches you something else.

“Okay,” he says, floating upside down for a moment before correcting himself. “Another human game: Rock, paper, scissors.”

You tilt your head. “That sounds… impractical.”

“It’s fun,” he insists. “Watch.”

He demonstrates slowly, explaining each gesture, each outcome. You try to mimic him, your fingers clumsy at first, but you quickly get the hang of it.

You lose. A lot.

And every time you lose, Jeongin laughs like he’s just won something far more important than a game.

Eventually, you retaliate by flicking water at him with your tail, sending him spinning slightly.

“Hey!” he laughs, sputtering. “That’s cheating!”

“I’m adapting,” you correct smugly.

The reef fills with sound—your laughter, his laughter, the soft hum of the sea around you. Even the fish seem less cautious now, drifting closer as if curious about the strange joy unfolding in their waters.

At one point, you both float side by side, looking up through the rippling surface where sunlight fractures into gold.

“I didn’t know it could be like this,” Jeongin says suddenly, quieter now.

You glance at him. “Like what?”

He gestures vaguely around you. “This. Everything. It’s… peaceful. Even when we’re chasing each other around like idiots.”

You snort softly. “Especially when we’re chasing each other like idiots.”

He smiles at that, but it fades slowly into something softer. 

“I don’t think I want to go back up,” he admits.

Your chest tightens slightly. “You have to.”

“I know,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

The sun begins to shift lower in the sky without either of you noticing. The water turns warmer in color, gold bleeding into orange, orange bleeding into deepening pink.

Time catches up with you suddenly.

You feel it first—the subtle pull in the water, the way the magic around him begins to loosen. The spell doesn’t last forever. It never does.

Jeongin feels it too. His movements slow slightly, less playful now, more grounded.

“Hey,” you say softly.

He looks at you immediately.

“It’s wearing off,” you explain. “You need to go up soon.”

He exhales, looking toward the surface. The light above feels farther away now than it did before. His chest tightens more, that familiar sense that his time is ending—that he’ll go back to being human while you stay a mermaid—so close yet so far..

“Already?”

You nod.

A pause stretches between you both—not awkward, but heavy in a way neither of you wants to name.

Then he swims closer. Not fast. Not desperate. Just close enough that you can see the small smile still lingering on his face.

“I had fun,” he says simply.

You blink. “That’s it?”

“What else am I supposed to say?” he asks, amused.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Something more dramatic. Humans usually are.”

He laughs softly at that. Then, quieter, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

You don’t answer right away.

Because you already know he will.

But knowing it doesn’t make it easier to watch him leave.

He tilts upward, pushing toward the surface slowly this time, no panic, just trust in the water that has already changed him once.

You follow a little way behind until he breaks through the surface in a rush of air and sunlight.

And then you stop.

Floating beneath the fading glow, you watch him disappear above the waves as he gasps at the surface.

The ocean feels quieter again.

But not empty.

Because now you know what fills it when he returns.

And as the last light of day fades, you linger just a little longer in the place where laughter still echoes through the water.

· ─ ·✶· ─ ·

The ocean feels colder on the way back.

Not because the water has changed—but because you have.

Every flick of your tail carries the echo of laughter that still hasn’t faded from your chest. Jeongin’s voice, clumsy and bright underwater, keeps resurfacing in your mind like a tide that refuses to settle. Even now, as you descend through the familiar blue corridors leading back to the kingdom, part of you is still back there on the reef. Still playing. Still free.

The palace appears slowly through the haze of drifting light. Towers of coral and stone rise like frozen waves, decorated with swaying strands of seaweed and glowing lantern fish that line the entrances like guards of light. It should feel like home.

Tonight, it feels like a cage you forgot you were locked inside.

The moment you cross the threshold, you know something is wrong.

The guards are already there.

They don’t move toward you immediately, but they don’t need to. Their posture says enough—straightened backs, tightened grips on their spears made of polished shell and bone. The water around them feels still in a way it never does when you’re welcomed.

Your stomach tightens.

You haven’t even reached your chambers when he appears.

Your father.

He rises from the shadows of the throne hall like a storm given shape—tall, imposing, every movement slow and deliberate. The water around him seems to obey differently, bending slightly in his presence.

“Where have you been?”

His voice is calm yet authoritative—that’s what makes it worse.

You stop a few meters away, forcing yourself to stand still despite the instinct to retreat. “I was…exploring.”

A pause.

Not loud. Not explosive. Just heavy.

“Exploring,” he repeats.

Your fingers curl slightly. You can feel the weight of his gaze pressing into you, searching for cracks.

“I told you,” he continues, voice still measured, “to stay within the eastern currents.”

“I did,” you say quickly. Then quieter, “mostly.”

That earns you a sharper look.

The water around you seems to grow denser. Not physically—but emotionally, like even the sea is holding its breath.

Your father swims closer. Not fast. Not threatening. Controlled. Always controlled.

“You’ve been leaving the kingdom,” he says. It isn’t a question.

Your throat tightens.

You could lie. You could deny it.

But something in you—something tired of hiding—keeps you still.

“Yes,” you admit.

Silence follows.

Not anger yet. Not shouting. Something far more dangerous—understanding.

“And why,” he asks slowly, “would you do that?”

You hesitate. The image of Jeongin flashes in your mind—his wide eyes behind the mask, his laughter echoing through the reef, the way he looked at you like you weren’t something to fear but something to know.

Your chest tightens.

“There’s… someone,” you say carefully.

His gaze sharpens instantly.

“A someone,” he repeats.

You swallow. “A boy.”

The word changes the water between you. It doesn’t ripple—but it shifts.

For the first time, something like interest replaces the sternness in his expression.

“A mer-boy?” he asks, almost immediately. “From another kingdom?”

Your mind stutters.

You see the truth sitting right there in front of you—how easily this misunderstanding has formed. How easily it could continue.

You nod. Slowly.

“Yes,” the words taste strange—heavy—but safer than the truth.

His posture relaxes slightly.

“That is…unexpected,” he says, and for the first time, there is something like approval in his tone. “Which kingdom?”

You hesitate just long enough to feel the lie settle.

“Farther currents,” you answer vaguely. “Near the open sea.”

He studies you for a long moment. You brace yourself for more questions, more digging, more pressure—but instead, something surprising happens.

He smiles.

Not warm. Not soft. But pleased.

“I see,” he says. “So you have been behaving foolishly for a reason.” He leaves before you can respond, vanishing into the currents of the palace like he was never there at all.

But you remain frozen.

Your chest tightens so sharply it almost hurts. The truth presses against your ribs, begging to be spoken—but you swallow it down. Because saying it out loud would change everything.

Instead, you sink slowly to the floor of the corridor, fingers curling into the sand-like stone beneath you.

“A boy,” you whisper to yourself.

It is true—just not in the way your father thinks.

———

The palace feels different after your confession.

Not lighter, and not safer, just louder. Like every corridor, every current, every drifting strand of seaweed is suddenly aware of what you said. A boy.

You replay it over and over in your mind as you swim through the halls—how easily the lie slipped out, how quickly it was accepted, how dangerously close it came to being something real in your father’s eyes.

You barely make it to your chambers before you hear him again.

This time, he isn’t alone.

The guards outside your door part as you approach, and the moment you enter, you feel it—his presence is brighter than before. Less heavy.

That alone makes your stomach twist.

Your father is waiting inside the throne chamber beside your private quarters, seated but leaning forward slightly, as though he can barely stay still.

“Ah,” he says when he sees you.

You stop just inside the threshold. “Father—”

He rises slightly, hands clasped behind his back. “We will host him properly. A royal dinner. He will be welcomed into the kingdom as a potential match.”

Your breath catches.

Match.

That is not what this is.

Not even close.

Your heart drops further with every word.

“Father,” you say quickly, stepping forward. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says simply.

That stops you.

There is something in his tone now—something final. Decided. Proud.

“You’ve spent so long worrying about what's beyond the sea,” he adds, softer now. “If you’ve finally found someone beneath the waves… I will not stand in the way of that.”

Your chest aches.

Because he thinks he is doing something kind, because he thinks he is helping you.

Because he thinks Jeongin is like you.

You swallow hard. “He… might be nervous.”

“I expect nothing less,” your father replies calmly. “But he will adjust. If he is worthy of you, he will understand.”

Worthy.

The word makes your fingers curl tightly at your sides.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know anything.

The moment your father leaves, you feel the world tilt slightly off balance.

The silence that follows is worse than any shouting would have been.

You sink onto the edge of your stone bed, staring at your hands. The water around you feels too still, too quiet, like even the sea is waiting for what you will do next.

Two days.

That is all you have.

Two days before Jeongin walks into a place he was never meant to exist in. Two days before a lie becomes a performance in front of the most powerful being in your world. Two days before everything falls apart.

Your breath quickens.

And now the ocean feels less like a home again.

And more like a countdown.

He needs to know.

Now.

You push yourself up so fast your tail flicks hard against the floor, sending a burst of sand-like sediment into the water. You don’t care. You don’t slow down. You don’t think.

You swim.

Out of the chamber. Down the corridor. Past startled guards. Through currents that blur into streaks of blue and green as panic takes over every movement.

Your chest tightens with every stroke.

He needs to know what you’ve done. What you’ve said. What your father believes. What he is walking into without realizing it.

And underneath all the panic—something worse.

Fear.

Not just of your father.

But of what happens when Jeongin finds out you lied.

The ocean opens ahead of you, wide and endless, and for the first time since you met him, you are not sure if the current is pulling you toward him…

or pulling everything apart.

· ─ ·✶· ─ ·

The ocean isn’t the only place that feels different now.

Jeongin notices it even on land—the way sunlight feels sharper, the way the wind sounds less like freedom and more like something calling him back.

But today, he isn’t allowed to think about the sea, at least not properly.

Because his friends have arrived.

They come like a storm of noise and laughter, kicking up sand as they run across the beach toward him, bags slung over shoulders, voices overlapping before they even reach him. It’s familiar in a way that should feel comforting.

It doesn’t, not fully.

Because part of him is still underwater.

“Yo, Jeongin!” one of them calls, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble slightly. “Ever since you moved to this lonely beach house, you’ve been missing in action.”

“I have not,” he says automatically.

A snort. “You totally have.”

They spread out across the sand, laying down towels, unpacking food, drinks, and snacks like they own the shoreline. The beach fills with sound—laughter, teasing, the crunch of sand under shifting feet. It should ground him.

Instead, he keeps glancing at the water.

Like it might call his name back at any moment.

One of his friends nudges him, dropping onto the sand beside him with a grin. “So,” he starts casually, too casually, “any new girls lately?”

Jeongin freezes.

It isn’t obvious, just a slight pause—a flicker in his expression. But inside, something tightens sharply.

New girls.

The words feel wrong. Out of place.

Because there is someone.

But she isn’t a girl in the way they mean. She isn’t on land—she isn’t part of this world they’re laughing in right now, tossing snacks and joking about nothing.

“She’s not like that,” he almost says.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales slowly and looks out at the horizon. The ocean glitters under the sun like it’s pretending nothing extraordinary lives beneath it.

“Nope,” he says instead.

The answer is simple. Safe.

And completely dishonest in ways he doesn’t fully understand yet.

His friends don’t notice the hesitation. They just laugh and move on, teasing him anyway. One of them shoves a drink into his hand, another starts talking about something completely unrelated, the conversation flowing past him like waves over stone.

But Jeongin doesn’t fully return to it.

He tries.

He really does.

He joins in the jokes. He eats the food. He listens when they talk about plans for next week, about places they want to go, about people they’re interested in.

But every so often, his eyes drift back to the water.

And every time they do, he sees you.

Not literally—but in memory.

Your voice echoing in the reef, your laugh when he failed at swimming with his tail, the way your tail shimmered under sunlight when you lay on that rock, like you belonged to something older than the world he knows.

He doesn’t tell them that.

He can’t.

Instead, he laughs when they laugh, smiles when expected, nods when appropriate.

As the afternoon stretches on, the heat softens into something golden and slow. The beach empties slightly as people come and go, shadows growing longer across the sand.

Jeongin sits a little apart now, knees drawn up, staring at the waves.

One of his friends notices.

“You good?”

He blinks. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then softer, “Just tired.”

No one questions it further.

The sun starts to dip lower.

Orange spreads across the sky, bleeding into pink, then deep violet at the edges. The ocean reflects it all, turning into a shifting mirror of color that feels almost like home to him now—like another world he understands better than this one.

His friends eventually pack up, voices fading as they leave in groups, calling out goodbyes, making plans he half-hears and half-doesn’t. One by one, they disappear from the beach, leaving only footprints and scattered towels behind.

And then—it’s quiet.

Jeongin stays.

He doesn’t really decide to. It just happens. One moment he’s sitting in the sand, the next he realizes he hasn’t moved.

The tide creeps closer.

The sky deepens.

And the ocean keeps watching him.

He exhales slowly, standing up and brushing sand from his hands.

“I’ll go back tonight,” he murmurs, though there’s no one left to hear him.

But even as he says it, he knows it isn’t just a plan anymore.

It’s a need.

Because the silence without you feels heavier than the noise of the entire world.

Jeongin turns away from the water—but not before glancing back one last time, as if expecting it to answer him.

It doesn’t, but somewhere beneath the waves, he knows you’re there too.

And that thought alone is enough to pull him back again.

He runs towards the shore.

· ─ ·✶· ─ ·

The night is wrong.

Not dangerous, not loud, not even cold in the way you expect fear to feel, just wrong—wrong because the moon is too bright, the tide is too still, and you are arriving with too much urgency in your chest to pretend everything is normal.

You break the surface near the familiar stretch of shore where Jeongin usually comes. The water parts quietly around you, your tail slipping through the glow of moonlight that turns every ripple into silver glass.

And there he is.

Already waiting.

Jeongin stands at the edge of the sand, shoes discarded beside him, pant legs slightly rolled as if he couldn’t decide whether to step in or not. His hair is damp from earlier in the day, but he looks more awake now—like he’s been thinking about this moment all day without admitting it.

When he sees you, his shoulders loosen instantly.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You don’t answer right away. You rise higher in the water, close enough that your hands rest against the wet sand at the edge, breathing uneven from how fast you came.

He notices immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

That does it.

The words you’ve been holding break free all at once.

“My father knows,” you say quickly. “He thinks you’re a mer-boy. He believes I’ve met someone from another kingdom.”

Jeongin blinks. “Woah…”

You shake your head, sharper now. “He’s arranging a dinner. Two days from now. In the palace.”

Silence.

The waves behind you shift gently, completely unconcerned with the way your world is tilting.

Jeongin doesn’t speak at first. His expression changes slowly—confusion, realization, then something sharper underneath.

“…Dinner,” he repeats.

“With him,” you confirm.

That finally lands.

He exhales slowly, looking out at the water like it might offer instructions. “So… I’m supposed to meet your father—underwater—as a mermaid version of me that doesn't even really exist.”

You wince. “Yes.”

A beat.

Then, unexpectedly, he lets out a short laugh, not amused exactly—more like disbelief trying to make room for fear.

“That’s… actually insane,” he says.

“I know.”

Another pause stretches between you, thicker this time.

You lower your gaze slightly. “If he finds out what you really are…”

You don’t finish, you don’t have to.

Jeongin steps closer to the water without thinking, stopping just where the waves brush his ankles. He looks down at you properly now, eyes steady despite the situation.

“Okay,” he says.

You blink. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods once, like he’s decided something important. “We’ll figure it out.”

Something in your chest tightens. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never will be,” he replies sharp, then softens. “But you didn’t exactly get a choice either, did you?”

That makes you quiet.

The water laps gently around your arms. For a moment, neither of you speak. The moon reflects between you, stretching a silver path across the surface like a bridge.

Then Jeongin crouches slightly, closer to your level.

“So what do we do?” he asks.

You hesitate. “We need to make you look like a mer—just enough to pass. Long enough for dinner.”

“Long enough,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “That sounds comforting.”

“It should work,” you say quickly. “The magic responds to intent. If I control the song carefully, I can extend the transformation longer this time.”

Jeongin studies you for a second. “And you’re sure you can do it long enough—”

He gestures vaguely.

“—so I don't drown?"

You pause. “No.”

He nods immediately. “Good. Honest answer.”

That makes you huff a small laugh despite everything.

He shifts slightly in the sand, thinking. “So I just… pretend I’m a mermaid prince or something?”

“Mer-boy,” you correct automatically.

“Right. Mer-boy.”

Another silence.

Then, curious, “Do I need a backstory?”

You blink at him. “A what?”

“A story,” he explains, like it’s obvious. “Like where I’m from, why I’m there. You know—royal small talk survival kit.”

You stare at him.

He shrugs. “What? I listened to my friends enough to know awkward dinners need strategy.”

Despite everything, your lips twitch. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told worse,” he says.

The tension between you loosens just slightly. Not gone. Never gone. But softer now, shaped into something you can both hold instead of drown in.

You lower your voice. “You just have to stay close to me. Let me speak most of the time. And don’t—”

You hesitate.

“Don’t what?” he prompts.

“Don’t act like a human,” you admit quietly.

He nods once. Serious now. “Got it.”

The wind shifts slightly over the shore, brushing between you like a reminder that time is still moving. That two days is still coming.

Jeongin looks out at the ocean again.

“I’m kind of offended that I’m nervous about a fish dinner,” he mutters.

“It’s not funny,” you say, but you’re smiling just a little.

He looks back at you, and the smile fades into something steadier. “Hey,” he says softly.

You meet his eyes.

“You’re not doing this alone,” he adds.

The words land deeper than you expect.

For a moment, the ocean doesn’t feel like something that separates you.

It feels like something you’re both standing in together.

Then the tide shifts again, and reality presses back in.

“I should go,” you whisper.

Jeongin nods reluctantly. “Tomorrow?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Tomorrow.”

You sink backward into the water slowly, not breaking eye contact until the waves rise between you.

And even as you disappear beneath the surface, you can still feel him watching.

Still waiting.

Still choosing you anyway.

Back again my lovelies. This is to make up for my kinktober since I cannot do it :( honestly ive been considering taking a much needed break from smut writing cause after my ot8 ateez fic I've been struggling to get more creative smut wise but don't fret I am working on it. soon loves, but for now please enjoy the first underwater series fic.

also this is not proofread

the song is in Finnish btw and I used a translator so pardon any mistakes <3

LOVE YOU ALL

MASTERLIST

📍banners by @/cafekitsune

The water is calm tonight.

The ocean lies stretched out before you, shimmering under a soft veil of moonlight. The air above is still, the sky dotted with stars, and the tide is gentle as it brushes against jagged stones and smooth sands. Down here, beneath the rolling waves, the world feels like it belongs only to you. A secret. A sanctuary.

You hover in your favorite cove, hidden by rock arches and thick curtains of kelp that sway like curtains around a stage. The currents carry your voice as you sing, the melody spilling from your lips like liquid silver. It isn’t a song for anyone—it never has been. It’s for the sea itself. For the way your heart aches when you imagine what lies beyond the shoreline, and for the dreams you whisper into the deep.

Your song winds through the caves, echoing back at you, haunting and beautiful.

But this time something else is listening.

He’s there before you even notice him. A shape moving through the water, slower than any fish, more deliberate than the sweep of the tide. You sense him before you see him—warmth among the chill, something alive that isn’t supposed to be here. You turn your head, voice faltering for only a beat, and that’s when you see him.

A boy.

A human boy, suspended in the blue, silver bubbles escaping from his mask as he floats just within the entrance of your cove. His eyes are wide behind the glass, reflecting the glimmer of your world like polished obsidian. You know you should run the moment you recognize what he is. Papa always said humans were dangerous. Cruel. Greedy.

And yet, he isn’t moving. He isn’t reaching for you. He isn’t even frightened. He’s just watching. Staring at you as though he’s stumbled into a dream he never expected to be real.

For one impossible second, you don’t move either. Your hair floats around your face like ribbons, your voice dies in your throat, and you both exist in the stillness of the sea, separated by everything you’ve ever been told and yet tied together by the simple fact that he found you.

Your heart pounds so loudly you swear he can hear it.

And then instinct takes over.

You dart back, fins snapping, tail whipping up a cloud of sand as you disappear deeper into the kelp forest. You don’t look back. You don’t dare.

But long after you’ve left the cove, long after the melody has faded from your lips, you can still see the boy’s eyes behind the glass. Wide, shining, unafraid.

You were seen tonight, and the deep, aching, curious part of you wonders if you’ll ever be able to stop him from finding you again.

You don’t return to the cove for days.

You tell yourself you’re being smart, cautious. Humans are dangerous—your father’s voice reminds you of that every time you close your eyes. But another voice, quieter, deeper, keeps whispering that look in his eyes. Not fear. Not greed. Just awe.

And yet, curiosity has always been your weakness, so you find yourself drifting near the edge of the reef again, hidden in the shadows of the kelp. You scan the water with nervous eyes, half-hoping he’ll be there, half-praying he won’t. The sea feels empty without your song, but you don’t dare hum even a note.

Then something brushes past your tail.

You spin, startled, only to see a familiar shape darting toward the reef—a flash of sleek gray fur and whiskers. Your companion, the mischievous young sea lion you’d practically raised since she was a pup. She chirps happily, ignoring your tension as she swirls upward in a playful roll.

But then—she veers sharply away. Straight toward the open water.

Your chest tightens. You know that direction.

You chase after her, slicing through the current, fear and dread building with every beat of your tail. And then you see him.

The human boy. He’s back.

He floats just outside the rocks, hair drifting weightlessly, mask glinting faintly in the filtered sunlight. He doesn’t see you at first—because your sea lion is twirling circles around him, bumping against his chest like an overexcited child. He laughs. You can see it in the way his shoulders shake, in the bubbles that spill from his regulator.

And he plays with her.

Your mouth falls open as you watch him reach out, tentative at first, then more sure, letting her tug his hand with her teeth, nudging her nose against his palm. She flips backward, and he claps his hands together in the water as though they’re old friends sharing a game.

Your heart twists. You’ve never seen your sea lion trust a stranger so easily. Never seen her behave this way with anyone but you.

And the boy, he isn’t panicking. He isn’t struggling to swim away. He’s calm, smiling even through the barrier of the mask, moving with a gentle rhythm that belongs to the sea itself.

When his gaze finally lifts and finds you, your stomach lurches.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t chase. He just freezes in place, hand lowering slowly as though not to startle you. His eyes soften, and the world falls quiet.

It’s different this time.

The fear is still there, tucked deep in your chest, but something warmer presses against it. His calmness. His quiet. The silent way he just… looks at you, as if waiting for you to decide what happens next.

You hover there, caught between instinct and wonder.

For a moment, it feels like the whole sea holds its breath with you. Your sea lion circles between the two of you, chirping and spinning, as though impatient for you both to understand.

And then—his air runs low.

He presses a hand against his chest, bubbles leaking faster from his mask, and you realize he has to surface. He gives you a small, almost apologetic smile, as though to say goodbye for now. Then he pushes upward, body rising through the blue.

You watch until he disappears into the shimmer of light above.

This time you don’t flee.

You just stay there, staring up at the rippling surface, your sea lion nudging your hand with a curious chirp.

And you wonder if maybe—just maybe—your father was wrong.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

You tell yourself you’re not looking for him.

That you’re only here because it’s safe, because the cove has always been yours, because you want to make sure nothing—no one—threatens your world. But the truth is sharp in your chest: you are waiting. Waiting for him.

And when he comes, you feel it before you see him. The way the current shifts, the way the silence bends to make room for another presence.

He slips into the water above, his movements stronger, steadier now, as though he’s learned the rhythm of the sea. You hide behind a curtain of kelp, heart in your throat, watching as he descends. He glances around carefully, scanning the rocks, the caves, the shadows—as though searching for something. For you.

You can’t help but follow.

He moves deeper this time, exploring the reef with careful strokes, lingering near the places you usually sit. And before you know it, you’ve been trailing him like a shadow, slipping behind coral towers whenever he glances over his shoulder.

Part of you thinks it’s foolish. Dangerous. But another part—the part that aches with curiosity—just wants to see him move, to understand how a human survives in a world he doesn’t belong to.

And then he sees you.

Your heart jolts when his gaze locks on yours, catching you mid-glance between two rocks. You freeze. His expression shifts—first startled, then softened by recognition.

You don’t flee.

Instead, you linger, half-hidden, eyes locked with his across the shifting blue. For a long moment, that’s all you do. Just look. The water hums around you, alive with currents and bubbles, but the silence between you feels louder than anything.

Then he drifts closer.

Not too close—just enough that you can see the small crease of his brow through his mask, the way his lips part slightly around the mouthpiece, the way he seems torn between reaching for you and holding still.

Your pulse races. Instinct screams at you to vanish into the shadows. But when he finally moves to rise for air, instinct seizes you. You dart forward, your fingers curling around his wrist, halting him. His eyes widen in alarm, bubbles rising in a frantic rush.

You shake your head, lips parting. You can’t believe what you’re about to do, but the words slip from you in the language of your people—a song, soft and steady, spilling into the water like light.

“Kun hiekka kohtaa meren”

Your voice is steady, wrapping around him like silk, shimmering through the waves. His body jerks, confusion flickering in his wide eyes, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Lopulta he näkevät”

The water itself vibrates with your words, each note threading into his chest, sliding into his lungs as though the sea itself has claimed him. His panic stills, breath slowing.

“Että merenneidot ovat tulleet jäädäkseen”

You see the moment his chest expands—not with bubbles, not with borrowed breath, but with air. Real air. Underwater.

“Juuri siellä missä meidän ansaitseekin olla”

His hand rises to press against his heart, shock plain across his face. But you keep singing.

“Oi, ihminen kuten sinä”

His eyes glisten, caught between disbelief and wonder.

“Tule koskaan ymmärtämään kuten minä”

The current curls around both of you, carrying the lullaby deeper, as though the whole ocean is listening.

“Siksi me rukoilemme ja pysymme poissa”

Your voice trembles, but you hold on.

“Sieltä mistä hiekka kohtaa meren”

The last note spills into silence, the magic sinking into his bones. He gasps. Not from drowning—but from breathing. His eyes widen, chest rising and falling, no bubbles escaping. He can breathe.

But before you can smile to prepare him, his body sags. His gaze rolls unfocused, limbs going slack. He tilts backward, slipping from your grasp.

You grab him, surging forward to hold him upright. For thirty seconds, he’s unresponsive. And then—his eyes snap open.

He freezes, staring at you in awe. But when his gaze drops, his throat tightens.

His legs are gone.

The boy is staring at his body in disbelief, tail shimmering beneath him in the fractured light. The silver-blue scales flicker like liquid starlight, his fins twitching in clumsy, uncontrolled movements. He looks fragile, as if one wrong word might shatter him completely.

And you, for the first time in your life, don’t know what to say.

You’ve just given him the sea.

He twists in the water, head snapping up to you, eyes wide and full of panic. “What—what’s happening to me?!” His voice sounds different here, carried strangely by the current, but the words are clear enough to make your chest tighten.

You swallow, fingers curling against your palms. “Don’t freak out,” you whisper, steadying your voice even as your heart stumbles. “It’s…part of the process.”

He stares. “What process?!”

You hover closer, enough for him to see the sincerity in your eyes. “Connecting with us,” you say softly, your words heavy with a truth no human was ever meant to hear. “The sea listens when we sing. It gave you a piece of itself. I knew humans weren’t all bad—not even when my father told me they were.”

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first. He just blinks at you, chest rising and falling too quickly, his hands dragging down his torso as if searching for what’s left of his legs. "I can’t believe this.”

“You’re not dreaming,” you murmur, and the words surprise even you. You don’t usually comfort strangers—especially not humans—but he looks so utterly lost that the instinct comes naturally.

He shakes his head, letting out a sharp laugh, half-hysterical, half in awe. “This is insane.”

You tilt your head. “Insane?”

“Crazy,” he explains quickly. “Loco, Impossible. But—” His eyes flick back to you, and his voice softens. “You’re here. So maybe it’s not.”

The water between you stills.

You’ve never heard a human sound so unafraid. And as you look at him—his tousled hair drifting like ink through the water, his bare skin glowing faintly under the filtered sun, his eyes fixed entirely on you—you realize something terrifying.

You don’t want him to leave. So you stay as well.

The silence slowly melts, replaced by questions that tumble from him in halting, uncertain bursts. He asks about the song, what it means, about your tail, about whether others like you exist. His curiosity glows in every syllable, and you find yourself answering, even when you shouldn’t. You tell him about the reefs, the currents, the way sea creatures speak without words. You tell him about the kingdom far beneath, where coral towers pierce the sand and lantern fish line the streets at night.

And when he tells you about his world—about the sun-warmed sand, about the smell of fresh fruit, about laughter that echoes on beaches—you cling to every word as though they’re treasures.

For nearly an hour, you drift together, floating in a fragile bubble of peace. You teach him how to flick his new tail without tangling himself in the kelp. He makes you laugh when he tries and spins clumsily sideways, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He grins when you imitate him, and soon you’re both laughing, the sound mingling in the water like music.

For the first time, you forget to be afraid.

But then—he winces. His hand presses against his ribs, eyes narrowing. “I feel weird.”

Your chest tightens. The magic. It’s fading.

“It’s wearing off,” you explain quickly, swimming a little closer. “That means it’s time to go. You have to reach the surface before your lungs remember they’re human again.”

His face pales. “And if I don’t?”

You hesitate. “You drown.”

For a moment, fear flashes in his eyes. Then he nods, determination replacing it, though his movements are clumsy as he pushes upward. His tail flicks awkwardly, body twisting unsteadily through the water. You follow beside him for a moment, ready to catch him if he falters, but eventually you stop, watching as he swims toward the glow above.

At last, he breaks the surface gasping for air. His tail is already gone, legs kicking wildly as he floats back toward the shallows.

You remain below, heart hammering in your chest.

You’d spoken to a human. You’d touched him, transformed him, laughed with him. And now, as the currents curl around you, the sound of your lullaby still lingering in the sea, you know something has changed forever.

Above the waves, he may leave you behind. But below the waves, you’ll never forget him.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The days blur together after that first transformation.

At first, you tell yourself not to return to the cove. You’d already broken too many rules—singing to a human, letting him see you, sharing the sea’s magic with him. Every instinct tells you to swim far, far away before you’re discovered.

And yet you find yourself drifting back every morning, hiding in the kelp, waiting.

And every time, he comes.

Sometimes in his wetsuit, sometimes with only his mask and fins, but always searching. At first, he startles easily, as though afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks. But when he sees you, his whole face softens, and your chest tightens in ways you don’t understand.

“Hey,” he says one morning, his voice muffled slightly through the regulator. The word carries through the water like a greeting between old friends. “I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

You tilt your head, your tail flicking lazily. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because,” he says, his lips quirking into a crooked smile, “you’re smarter than me. And hanging out with a human is… probably a terrible idea.”

You don’t admit he’s right. Instead, you swim closer, until your hair drifts around his face like seaweed. “Maybe I don’t always do the smart thing.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Not fear. Not doubt. Something warmer.

Over the next few meetings, he teaches you little things about his world, about the surface. He mimics the way the gulls squawk and you nearly choke from laughing.

You don't always transform him, but you teach him how to whistle through the water by blowing bubbles through his teeth, and he grins like he’s discovered treasure.

And then, one afternoon, he floats beside you in a quiet stretch of reef, staring at you with that look again—the one that makes your chest feel heavy and light all at once.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

You nod, though your pulse skips.

He hesitates, fingers curling nervously before he blurts it out. “Why me? You could’ve sung for anyone. Why did you choose me?”

Your lips part, but the words stick in your throat. Why did you? Because he didn’t look at you like prey? Because he laughed with your sea lion? Because his eyes, wide and searching, felt like home in a way you’ve never known?

“I don’t know,” you admit softly. “I just knew.”

The silence stretches, broken only by the slow churn of the current. His gaze dips to your lips, then back to your eyes, his breath quickening.

The water swirls gently between you, carrying your laughter, your shared silence, your unspoken questions. You can feel it in your bones now—this connection is more than curiosity. More than magic. It’s something your father would never forgive. Something you shouldn’t want.

But as his hand hovers near yours, trembling but steady, you realize you don’t care. The sea gave you a secret. A human who feels like destiny.

And even though you aren’t ready to let him go, Jeongin goes home.

The waves retreat, leaving the shore quiet, and you are not there. But your voice… your song… refuses to leave him.

Jeongin walks barefoot along the sand outside his home, chest tight, lungs still adjusting to air after the transformation. He can still feel the curl of your tail, the brush of your hair in the water, the soft echo of your lullaby in every corner of his mind.

Kun hiekka kohtaa meren…

The melody threads through him like a ribbon of light, impossible to ignore. Every time he closes his eyes, it returns, soft and shimmering, curling around his chest like a heartbeat he can’t escape.

He showers, and even as water runs down his shoulders, the memory of the sea refuses to wash away. Your song hums beneath the hiss of the faucet, a secret reminder that the world isn’t just air and sand anymore.

He eats dinner, staring at the food without taste, unable to stop replaying the scene of your eyes meeting his, the way you held him underwater when panic threatened to overtake him. He imagines your tail flicking gracefully in the currents, the bubbles rising around your laughter, and the tiny smile you gave him before he surfaced.

He goes to bed, tossing and turning, chasing sleep, but it doesn’t come. The lullaby is there in the darkness, echoing softly in his ears

Lopulta he näkevät…