“Just sit here,” Yixing said, pulling a chair for Jinyu to sit in. It was 7:30 in the morning, and after rushing to get Mei to school early for her first day of high school, Yixing was starving, and he figured that Jinyu was, too. They stopped at a local diner for breakfast, and Kyungsoo and Chanyeol agreed to meet them there. Yixing sat in the chair opposite Jinyu and let out a sigh as he dropped the keys onto the table.

Jinyu frowned a bit as she looked at Yixing. He seemed tired. Lately, he had been sleeping much later than anyone else in his family; he would coop himself up in the piano room for hours on end, citing “songwriting” as his reasons for doing so. His hair was still disheveled from hours of tossing and turning in bed, and his eyes were sleepy; she felt sorry for him.

“Are you not tired?” she asked. In truth, she herself was feeling a little bedraggled. He’d awakened her at the crack of dawn along with Mei in order to drag her along just so she wouldn’t be alone at the house. But at least Jinyu had gotten a full night’s rest; Yixing must have been up until 2 or 3 in the morning writing that song of his.

But Yixing looked up and met her worry with a reassuring smile. “I’m fine,” he answered. He grabbed the menus and handed one to her. “Let’s see here,” he said, opening his up and running his gaze over the list of foods.

The morning was cold and overcast, inside the diner, the air was warm and the atmosphere, inviting. Jinyu took a quick look around the place and smiled contentedly. People smiled everywhere she looked, and the collection of noise was unorthodox, yet strangely soothing. There was the clatter of silverware against plates and plates against tables. There was the shuffle of rubber soles against the wooden floor, the high-pitched voices of waitresses and the sound of crackling fire in the kitchen. There was slurping, and talking, and singing, and coughing, and eating, and laughing.

There was a homeliness to the scene that delighted Jinyu in a way that she hadn’t felt before. She looked across the table at Yixing, busily reading the menu, and she wondered if he thought about just how wonderful humans were. Yixing looked up from the menu in time to catch her staring; but instead of demurely looking away, she just continued to stare. Yixing cleared his throat.

“Have you picked something out already?” he asked. Jinyu’s smile faded as she looked down at the menu.

“Uhh,” she started to say, twisting her brows in confusion at the flat, plastic piece of paper. Mei had taught her a few of the letters in the humans’ alphabet, but she still couldn’t read. Yixing laughed a little.

“Right,” he said, taking the menu from her. “I’ll order for you, then.”

Jinyu sat still while Yixing gave their orders to the waitress, admiring the gentle and polite way he spoke. In time, they were joined by Kyungsoo and Chanyeol, whose presence coincided with the arrival of even more noise to the premises. Kyungsoo sat by Yixing while Chanyeol sat next to Jinyu and had a stern talk with her about the party three nights ago. Jinyu rarely ever saw Chanyeol angry; but the way he was speaking to her then, she began to shrink in her chair.

“Chanyeol, go easy on her,” Yixing said. “It was her first party, and taking her to a big one like that definitely would freak her out a bit.”

“Still,” Chanyeol said, turning back to Jinyu. “You had me scared less for a moment.”

“I… apologize,” Jinyu said.

“Apology accepted,” Kyungsoo said, although the apology wasn’t his to accept. “On to more important stuff. I just got here from the Institute; Yixing’s parents were there to discuss some things, and here’s what I got.”

Kyungsoo leaned forward on the table, and sensing the urgency, everyone else leaned in as well.

“I think Luhan’s family is going to pull the funding for your parents’ research.”

Yixing furrowed his brows. For the last ten years, Luhan’s father and their empire had been the biggest supporters of his parents’ oceanographic research. They received a huge check from them every month to be used to fund deep sea searches and update their facility technology. Why would they suddenly pull out?

“How’d you hear about this?” Yixing asked.

“It’s big news; everyone is talking about it,” Kyungsoo answered.

“But why would they do that?”

As if on cue, Kyungsoo looked up at the TV that hung on the wall of the diner. Then, he cleared his throat and pointed at the news coverage currently broadcast on the screen. Yixing and Jinyu followed his gaze, and Yixing watched intently. The headline was “LU EMPIRE LAWSUIT”.

“…the great oil tycoon is being sued by the state for allegedly failing to earthquake-proof the deep sea oil platform in lieu of previous natural disasters…” the anchorwoman on the television said. “…the malfunctions in the platform resulted in the devastating oil spill following the 7.0 quake in the earlier part of the year. The tens of thousands of tons of oil leaked into the ocean and neighboring shore has caused the mass death of several species, including 7 protected species, as well as the ruin and decline of hundreds of shore side businesses and livelihoods.”

The coverage then cut to a clip of a crowd of cameramen and journalists crowding around a tall, stiff old man in a grey suit. Yixing recognized him as Luhan’s father. The man kept his face vacant and deadpan as the news casters barraged him with questions about his irresponsibility, his failure to comply with city codes regarding earthquake safety, how he felt about ruining thousands of people’s lives and killing innocent wildlife. The man threw up a hand to refuse their questions, uttering “no comment” every now and then before he climbed into a car with tinted windows and drove away.

The news made him uncomfortable. He’d never begrudged the Lu family their wealth. Despite how well off they were, they were kind people nonetheless. Seeing them victimized this way made his stomach churn. There was even a clip of the news crew following and harassing Luhan and his mother. There was another one of an outspoken lawyer denouncing their family.

“…Anyone who knows the Lu family knows that the basis for their presence here has always been about money; that’s why they didn’t care enough to disaster-proof their platform. As long as there was money coming in, they could have cared less about who was being affected!”

Yixing frowned. He didn’t think that was a fair judgment to make about Luhan and his family. It was a close-minded, imprecise assessment. Anyone who really knew the Lu family knew that to Luhan, it was never always about money. Chanyeol whistled.

“That was harsh,” he said.

“Why is that man so angry?” Jinyu asked. Yixing fished out his mobile phone and summoned Luhan’s phone number. He wanted to know what was really going on. Excusing himself from the table for a moment, he walked to the corner of the diner and dialed the number. After ringing for thirty seconds, he finally received an answer.

Luhan stared at golden, overlapping lines on the spectrogram in front of him. Beside him, Seunghwan was lecturing furiously about every piece of evidence he and his research team of the past had ever discovered. Luhan felt sorry for the man sometimes; this research really was his life’s work. It was everything that had ever mattered to him, everything that had ever kept him sane and kept him going. He wondered what it was like to be so devoted to something as Seunghwan was devoted to Sirenian Theories.

“If you pull the funding now,” Seunghwan said. “You’ll never understand.”

Luhan sighed. He had come to Seunghwan’s office wondering if he could just forget the endeavor altogether. Months had passed by without any luck at all, and the longer he went without success, the more disappointed he became. Finding the girl who saved him had become one of his life’s missions as well; but the further she receded from him, the more heartbroken he felt, and he couldn’t endure it any longer. But how could he say that to Seunghwan? A man of science like him, he’d surely just laugh.

But it wasn’t just that, either. Word had gotten out about what he’d been spending his money on. Since his dad fell into trouble, the press had been snooping on his life as well. One journalist eventually found out he was pursuing Sirenian Theories, “the science of bedtime stories and fairytales,” as the writer had put it. Luhan was a laughingstock; even his father had been disappointed to learn that he was wasting his money on such imaginary pursuits.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Seunghwan said to Luhan pouring the venom out in his voice. “You’re just a boy; all you care about is your image. But this research is my life, and I will die proving these theories.”

“I’m not just trying to escape the humiliation,” Luhan said. “It’s only been a few months and I’m already tired to coming up with nothing. Don’t you ever get exhausted of pursuing something that doesn’t exist?”

The sentence itself made him feel disappointed in himself. Just weeks ago, he was hell-bent on the fact that mermaids existed, that the girl of his dreams existed. But now, pulling the funding would be like giving up on her. Still, it had to be done. He had to forget her if he was ever to move on.

“No,” Seunghwan answered. “They do exist. And I can prove it.”

Luhan almost laughed. “How?” he asked. The man directed him to stand in front of the spectrogram just then. He handed Luhan a pair of padded headphones that he slipped over his ears. Luhan sighed; he’d heard these bloop signatures already, and there was absolutely nothing extraordinary about them. They could very well just be some undiscovered species of whale.

“I’ve heard this a thousand times,” Luhan said.

“Listen again,” Seunghwan said. And the scientist pulled out another sound file, dated more recently than the other. Luhan raised an eyebrow at the odd shape of the signatures on the sonograph. Seunghwan played the sounds, and he watched as Luhan’s jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide.

The sounds started out like the bloop signatures from before; whale-like and loud and high pitched. But suddenly, as the sound seemed to grow louder and closer, there’s was something oddly recognizable about the sound. It didn’t sound like a whale call anymore, but more like… a voice. Or rather voices. Haunting, eerie, light, and mesmerizingly beautiful. It sounded almost exactly like the song he’d heard before.

“Where did you get this?” Luhan whispered.

“I haven’t been wasting your money, Mr. Lu,” Seunghwan answered. “I want more funding. I want a team of researchers. I want to do underwater, deep sea searches. I want the latest sonar technology. Have I convinced you enough?”

Luhan stared at the golden signatures on the sonograph and swallowed. The way the lines moved up and down at the frequencies reminded him of a fish swimming through water. What he thought about now was whether or not he was willing to give up this close to the end. The voices on the recording were evidence of new hope, but whether that hope was for him or for Seunghwan, he couldn’t tell. Luhan sighed.

“Alright,” he said, pulling the headset off. “Go ahead and do it. I’ll give you what you need.”

A vibration in his pocket called him suddenly, and when he checked the caller ID on his mobile phone, he saw that it was Yixing. Excusing himself for a moment, Luhan took the call in the hallway.

“I saw the news,” Yixing said.

“I’m sure you did.”

“How’s your family?”

“Still avoiding the press, but for the most part, we’re the same,” Luhan said. He paused a moment and chewed the inside of his cheek. “You’ve probably heard already that we’re not funding your parents anymore.”

“I did, but don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry. Tell your parents I’m sorry, too.”

“Don’t worry about it. I think we’re more worried about you guys at this point. What’s going on?”

“Well, the news doesn’t affect me much,” Luhan said. “A lot of press people have been approaching me, too, wanting to know more. You know, the damages that state wants us to pay could be up to $20 billion, including payments and settlements for people whose business were lost because of the spill and efforts to rehabilitate the affected species.”

“That sounds like a lot of money,” Yixing said. Luhan shrugged.

“We’re worth more than that, but yes, it’s a lot of money,” Luhan said. “We’re kind of in a sticky situation right now.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Yixing said.

“My dad is avoiding any and all questions at this point, though,” Luhan continued. “He won’t be able to keep running away though. His plan is probably to just pay the settlement costs after the Annual Benefit Gala.”

“Is that still going on?” Yixing said. “How do you it’s a good idea? With all this lawsuit business, what if no one shows up to the Benefit?”

“Not sure, either. But he’s going to have to behave well or else the plan won’t pan out.”

“So, are you guys alright?”

“We’re fine, thanks. Is that it?”

“Why, are you busy?”

“Eh, well, yeah, umm…a little bit.”

“Whatever, then,” Yixing suddenly paused on the other line and Luhan waited awkwardly for anything else. He was about to hang up when Yixing spoke up again.

“Hey, you know,” Yixing said. “There’s this girl I know – ”

“A girl you know?” Luhan said and laughed. “You know a girl? As in a human girl? Homo sapiens?”

“Uhh… yeah… a human girl,” he replied awkwardly. “Anyways, she really wants to meet you, so could you do me a favor and meet her for a date or something?”

“If it’s your cousin, Ju Ri, I really would rather not, I’m sorry – ”

“No, it’s not Ju Ri… and anyhow, what’s wrong with Ju Ri?”

“Nothing, I just – ”

“Nevermind, it’s…” Yixing paused a moment, and Luhan waited for him. “…it’s Jinyu.” Luhan furrowed his brow a bit at the way he pronounced her name, like saying it was giving him actual pain. But his thoughts ran to Jinyu instead. Jinyu? She wanted to meet him? She wanted a date?

Luhan couldn’t deny that his stomach did a tiny flip at the sound of her name. He, too, had been meaning to meet her again and spend more time together. She fascinated him, in a way. Now that Seunghwan was no longer bothering him, he’d have more time to spend his own way. He thought about the party and how he could have sworn that he saw Jinyu there. He owed her an explanation anyway.

“Jinyu,” Luhan said. Yixing remained silent on the other end. Luhan sighed. “Okay,” he said. “When and where?”

“…but if you don’t have the card that he’s asking for, you have to tell him ‘go fish’ and he draws a card from the pool,” Kyungsoo explained as he arranged Jinyu’s cards in her hand. Jinyu nodded at the instructions and turned to Chanyeol, who asked her if she had any red aces.

“Goldfish,” she said.

“It’s ‘go fish’ actually,” Chanyeol corrected her. “But that works, too.” Chanyeol drew a card from the pool just as Yixing sat back down at their table. Yixing looked over at Jinyu until she met his gaze. He smirked a bit.

“You have a date with Luhan this weekend,” he said. “By the boardwalk.”

“What?” Jinyu said, dropping her cards. “So soon?”

“The sooner the better,” Yixing said. “You don’t have a lot of time.”

“Wait, hold up,” Chanyeol said. “Why is she dating Luhan now?”

Yixing looked to Jinyu and they both blinked at one another.

“Can I tell them?” Yixing asked. “About what we talked about?” Jinyu put her cards down on the table timidly and nodded. Yixing turned to Kyungsoo and Chanyeol and began to explain.