Tim can hardly believe his eyes. Less than twenty feet from him is a real, live mer. He’s never seen one before, not in real life—and he definitely wouldn’t have expected to see one so close to his parents’ beach house. Mer are still wary of most humans, and Tim can’t blame them. Especially considering this one’s plight: he’s tangled in a fishing net, and bleeding sluggishly from several spots in his torso.

His earfins are pinned to the side of his head, face contorted into a pained grimace as he pants, belly heaving. Once of his arms is twisted around his back, in a position that has to be painful. The net wire digs into his skin and scales; several of the latter have sloughed off, dotting the sand around him with red. Tim may not know much about mer, but he knows that this one is entirely too dry. The way his gills flare is evidence enough of that.

He has to help.

This area of coast is dotted with rocks and washed up debris. Tim picks his way carefully to the mer. He gets within ten feet of the mer before he finally catches his attention. His eyes snap to Tim and he bares his teeth, serrated fangs gleaming in the light.

Tim has no doubt that, even tied up as he is, he can do a lot of damage—and Tim has no idea if or when anyone would notice he was missing.

He swallows, dropping into a crouch and holding up his hands, fingers spread wide in what he hopes is a universal display of non-aggression. Tim’s pretty far from an expert on merfolk, but he’s done some reading. Maybe a lot of reading. Whether or not they can communicate with humans tends to vary from case-to-case. Tim’s never heard about a pod being spotted in this area before, so he has no way of knowing if the mer is local to this area or if he’s maybe had contact with humans somewhere else.

Still, he has to try.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, voice low, gentle, like he’s coaxing a scared animal. “I want to help.”

The mer growls. It’s a low, threatening sound—almost like a hum. If Tim was in the water, he’s sure he’d be able to feel it in his bones. “Fuck off. I don’t need your help.”

Untrue. Considering how dry his skin is, Tim is highly skeptical of his ability to escape the net on his own—and there are still a few more hours before high tide will sweep him back to see. Not that it looks like he’ll be able to swim, tangled up the way he is, but—still. He needs help, whether he wants to admit it or not.

Pointing that out probably isn’t going to get him anywhere, though.

“Look, whether you need it or not, it’ll go faster if I help you.”

The mer makes a face like he’s bitten into something sour. Do they have sour things in the ocean? …not the time.

Still, despite that, he also looks like he’s at least thinking about it this time. Tim tries to look as trustworthy as possible. He’s not sure it works, but finally, the mer grimaces. “If you try anything, and I mean anything, I’ll bite your fingers off.” He snaps his teeth as if to make his point, and Tim nods solemnly. He has no doubt the mer will follow through on his threat.

“I understand. I won’t.” And with that, he draws closer. Slowly, so he doesn’t startle him. Once he’s close enough, he crouches, and pulls out his pocket knife.

It was a gift from his father—something Jack picked up while in Brazil and brought home for him. As a preteen it had been one of Tim’s greatest treasures… and even now, he still took it everywhere with him, even though its presence was often more bittersweet than anything else. Most days it’s a reminder of the good times. Others, it’s evidence of how little time his parents actually spend with him. Today, in the wake of their abandoning him yet again, it’s more of the latter.

Regardless. Today, at least, it’s coming in handy.

He flips the blade out and eyes the net until he finds a good place to start cutting. Then, he sets to work.

It’s strange to have the mer so close to him. Tim doesn’t really spend a lot of time with other people these days. Ever since Ives moved away, he hasn’t had many friends at school. He has Tam, of course, even if she is a grade or so behind him, but they’re not particularly physical outside of maybe a dance or two at a gala. The most contact Tim usually gets is a friendly pat on the shoulder or a polite handshake.

So. It’s weird, to be so close to another person. Being. It makes his skin tingle. Not unpleasantly, exactly. Just… weird.

Tim tries to ignore it, the same way he tries to ignore the weight of the boy’s stare; his harsh breathing; the smooth, warm feeling of scales and skin under his fingertips. He focuses on the net. On being careful, and trying not to make anything worse. He loses himself in the cutting, the same way he loses himself in wires and code. Finally, the net falls away, taking a few more loosened scales with it, and the mer is free.

He wastes no time in pulling himself to the water. It’s not the most graceful thing Tim has ever seen, but, well. It’s not exactly a mer’s natural habitat.

He almost expects the boy to swim off and disappear, but. After a few seconds, his head and shoulders rise from the water. “Thanks,” he says. “I guess I owe you one.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.

Tim shakes his head. “You really don’t,” he says, putting his hands up again. He helped the mer because it was the right thing to do—not because Tim wanted to gain something from it. He has enough of those kinds of politics at the galas his parents make him attend. Especially now that he’s eighteen. He’ll be expected to make more of his own appearances soon enough. He doesn’t need it in his personal life too. “Um. Good luck out there.” He’s not really sure what else to say. His mother’s etiquette lessons didn’t prepare him for this.

The mer stares at him. It feels like Tim is being weighed. Measured. Judged. He tries not to fidget.