“There he is!” The loud voice roared as others began crowding near the deck, squeezing among each other to catch a glimpse of the mythical creature gliding under the surface of the water, accompanied by the rays of the moonlight trailing after his movement. “The merman that everyone has been talking about for years, he’s right there!”

Lights were all directed on him, aimed to shine and guide. It was a rare sighting for the people on-board—if not a little too daunting, considering how these unreal sea-dwellers were synonymous with omens of death and murderous creatures—but no one dared to look away. It was as amusing as it was terrifying, as intense as it was a menace. So, nobody blinked. No one did.

And Taemin smiled. He enjoyed doing this at certain times, especially when he thought everyone had been taking care of the waters diligently. It was almost like an unspoken word of gratitude—of telling how much he, as the nature deity and the protector of the sea, appreciated their concern when it came to his habitat, his home. Although that was most likely their last reason to be kind.  Maybe not even on the list, but alas.

Everyone else warned him; saying that he shouldn’t be playing around testing the waters like that. “We are monsters in their eyes,” his mother’s words rang in his ears. “And nothing will change the fact that they will see us as the revolting ones, unlike their kind, regardless of what you do.”

Exactly. That was exactly what went wrong. Taemin thought it was painfully unfair that way. Why couldn’t he stand a chance to prove otherwise? Why couldn’t he make his presence known without giving them ideas that he will tempt people into the ocean with his appearance, as if he wanted to pin them deep, deep down the sea and tear into their flesh? But, of course, it was an entirely different case if the humans were the ones who egg him on. Simpering fools, some of them.

While he was questioning it all, a cry of merman, move! in alarm brought Taemin back to reality. He turned to look at the deck in askance, but what came into view was a man lifting a sea gun, all geared up to strike. The sharp tip of the spear aimed right into his back was already way too close that by the time he managed to register the entire scene, Taemin only got to maneuver immediately to one side, sidestepping the attack by a close margin.

A narrow escape was what it was. Taemin held his chest and looked at his inked palm in surprise, completely unaware of the deep cut. Though, to be honest, it was not the wound that hurt him the most at that moment.

It was the fact that his mother was right—that no matter how kind he tried to appear, these ruthless beings were real. They were not pirates, not saviors. They were trained, seasoned killers, always waiting for the right moment to track him down and haunt him.

Disappointment. An absolute disgrace. 

He clutched his chest and, with a pointed glare, dove into the dark waters below, wavering immediately to the makeshift fortress the nearby big rock offered itself as before withdrawing further - far, far away from the chattering mess. True, Taemin was not like others. He swam dangerously faster, forefinger and thumb closing over the bleeding spot like a manacle to induce numbness. But one thing for sure: he was sentient, too.

The pain was excruciating. Taemin’s movement turned sluggish as his body started to feel heavy - slowly and slowly before it shut down entirely that the last thing he remembered was being dragged against the currents, body limp - unmoving.

-

“I need sleep,” Minho announced to himself and rapped on the steering wheel, examining the deck one last time. It was not his job, obviously, to check every nook of the boat once in every three days. Not necessary, even, for someone who constantly sailed right after. Rather, it became a habit that Minho couldn’t shake off. 

Jolting awake around 4 in the morning was a habit, too. Unprovoked to boot.

Once he was satisfied, Minho headed out and down onto the sand while dusting his hands clean. It was way too early, still. But he found solace in being awake while others were asleep. As if he owned the moment, or better yet, living his own world where everything was made just perfect for him.

Being a Sagittarius, Minho somehow had the Cancer traits embedded deep inside. The water was his element - as much as he proclaimed the fire was. But, for now, he decided to focus on his surroundings instead of pondering the way his stars were aligned. The sea was blanket calm, stretched wide with the slow exhale of the strong wind. 

Cold, too ing cold. 

Minho shivered palpably, hints of regret already coloring his facial expression. Thank God there was nobody around or people would’ve given him weird looks now.

Or, no. Minho stopped walking abruptly when he saw a figure lying on the shore, alone and abandoned. Maybe ‘abandoned’ was too pushing, but there was still someone there.

Wait.

His eyebrows furrowed. Almost out of instinct, Minho approached the barely moving ‘creature’ - for him not knowing what to call or label it yet - and gasped once he was up close. A merman. A merman was being washed up to the shore. And the iridescent thing that Minho saw from afar was his bloody tail. No legs.

For the record, Minho was not interested in myths and legends. He was one of those who debunked them, who didn’t want to acknowledge their presence without actually meeting them in person. Not that he doubted their existence, no. It was more complicated than that because Minho had been a sailor ever since he could remember. Each time before he went sailing, he would dedicate his prayers and sacrifices to these protectors of the deep oceans. Be it the mermaid, the merman—their kind. For protection, he justified. From the deadly sea storms that could so easily flip his boat and end his life. Clearly, it had nothing to do with beliefs. Minho only got used to the ritual, as per usual.

But that aside, Minho distractedly found himself staring at the merman’s peaceful sleeping face and God, was he not the most beautiful thing Minho had ever laid his eyes on. He was blond. A natural blond, most probably. They couldn’t dye their hair underwater, could they? And Minho permitted himself to take in the view; to submit to the breathtaking beauty that was laid right in front of him starting from his face down to his bare chest—where he caught a set of gills on either side of it—and the lean yet taut muscles of his torso, along the shimmer of his scales. His tail. Even his fluke was beautiful.

Then it must be true. The rumors about them being absolutely stunning that they could allure men, that one must be damn true. Because Minho couldn’t seem to take his eyes off this being, not even for a split second. Just as if he was ensnared under random incantations, Minho experienced it firsthand. Unable to resist, the sailor raked his gaze down the unmoving form again. Pearls, dainty accessories decorating the stretch of his milky, porcelain skin with—what was that oozing out? Minho tilted his head and lowered himself on one knee, inching closer to watch the black liquid pooling on the merman’s rib. Not a stain, for sure. It was fresh and still flowing.

Blood.

“,” Minho’s eyes doubled in size. Now everything suddenly clicked. He was injured and unconscious, hence he didn’t move. While Minho, like a shameless bastard, was otherwise busy ogling at him like there was no tomorrow. “, oh my God.”

He leaned forward again and examined the gashes on the moist chest. A part of him wondered where he could get such deep cuts from. Did he happen to hit the edge of the pier and slice his own body open? Impossible. The rock, maybe? Hopefully not. He looked fragile but Minho could still see the muscles gliding underneath his skin. So, no. He couldn’t really tell.

“Hey,” Minho patted his cheek and swallowed the bouts of nervousness unknowingly, waiting patiently for a response. For anything, really, that could work as an indication that he was still alive.

Torn between waking the merman up first and tending his wound next or the other way around, Minho ended up resorting to the second option. He doubted that he had bandages left in his boat, but the journey back home would at least take 15 to 20 minutes. Too long. , way too long.

In one smooth movement and a deep, deep inhale, Minho took his shirt off and scooted closer to the motionless body. He felt like his lungs were falling off from the coldness, but the thought only made him worried. He couldn’t help but think of how it felt for the merman instead.

In the meantime, his only aim was to stop the bleeding, and stopping it he did. Minho pressed his shirt on the wound and closed over it carefully, holding it in place to put a halt to the flow. All the while, he had his eyes on the merman’s face; staring, admiring. He could go and take the bandage later once the merman was awake. But for now, he thought as he looked around cautiously, making sure nobody was there.

“Hey,” Minho tried again in between dabbing the cut, his finger touching the arch of the merman’s wrist to find something, anything. “Hey, wake up. Can you hear me?”

When he got no reply, he sighed. Minho needed to find ways, he had to. There was one in his mind but he wasn’t sure if it would work. On humans, yes, most likely. But on their kind? Could they even get drowned in the first place? How did they breathe, even?

Ah,  it. 

Minho waited for the waves to start hitting the shore again and collected water in a palm, splashing it gently on his face to seek responses. One more splash. Pause. Then another. He didn’t miss the tail, too, though he wasn’t so worried about that because the water could reach there easily. At least the merman stopped bleeding, good. Now what?

Resignedly, Minho brought some water to his lips and poured in a drop at one time as he rained the merman’s cheekbone with feather-like kisses unconsciously. He didn’t even realize his own doing but he continued, anyway, feeling like it was the most appropriate thing to do at the moment. With his fingers threading through the damp locks soothingly, Minho repeated the same process, over and over again without reprieve—in hopes at certain points he would be awake.

And of course, just when Minho’s lips landed on the corner of the merman’s, he woke up. Out of all times.

“Sorry,” Minho retreated quickly as the merman writhed away in fear, not wanting to scare him further with his presence. “I was just trying to help.”

The merman didn’t buy that, Minho thought. He earned a suspicious look with a tense “What help?” as an answer. Expectedly.

“You were bleeding,” Minho explained slowly, soon enough realizing that he was shirtless, too. Great. “I couldn’t go and get the bandage, so I used my shirt to stop the… what I presumed as blood. That black thing.”

The merman looked down and had a whiplash of what happened, the scene unfolding made his blood boil. He met Minho’s eyes furiously then drawled, “Your kind did this to me.”

Now that made sense why he reacted that way. His voice was nowhere loud—maybe a little too soft from what Minho had imagined it would be. But he was not to blame, was he? Minho only wanted to help. Even if it was for an entirely selfish reason, it was a form of help all the same.

And the merman seemed to finally look at it from that perspective, too. Given that the rage in his eyes had slowly disappeared, replaced by the ombré of bluish-grey that was similar in color to his scales. Those beautiful, moon-reflecting livid scales. 

“I… I’m sorry,” he leaned forward again, forehead creased oh-so-beautifully into a frown. Minho had to clamp his lips to stop all the compliments from leaving his throat. “I should’ve thanked you for helping me instead of showing hatred. I was only taken aback by your kindness after what happened. Please forgive me. I’m Taemin.”

Taemin. The name rolled off the tip of Minho’s tongue smoothly, as if it was meant to rest there. Honeyed, easy, pretty.

“And you are…?”

“Minho,” the owner of the name breathed out weakly, falling under the spell as soon as he saw Taemin’s smile. He had fangs; sharp and terrifying, pointy and blinding. That was supposed to make him look scary. Except it didn’t. Not for Minho, at least. For him, Taemin looked like the embodiment of sunshine, quite literally. “Choi Minho.”

Taemin emitted a chuckle. It sounded like a sing-song to Minho and he wanted to hear that again. Struck, but willingly made.

“Thank you for helping me,” Taemin’s tail made a wet slapping sound on the water, resembling the one of a fish and Minho caught himself staring unabashedly, totally captivated by the beauty. The merman blushed.

Oh, Minho saw that, too. Even watched the way it turned into a scarlet, complementing his pale skin altogether. Gorgeous. 

“I can’t replace this but,” Taemin started talking again after clearing his throat, gesturing at the stained shirt embarrassingly. Then, he inched forward, cold hand cradling Minho’s jaw and before the other could even react, he latched their lips together in a soft, tender kiss. It felt better than expected, lasted longer than intended with neither of them wanting to break away despite knowing that soon enough, they had to.

So, when the time came, Taemin was the first one to retract, his slightly pointed ears reddening under Minho’s stare. “If you ever need me, come near the water and dip your hand underneath. Touch the sand thrice and I shall come to you immediately.”

Minho nodded blankly, still dumbfounded by the kiss. , the kiss. Couldn’t get over that one ing kiss.

“Just remember that no harm can befall you now,” and Minho watched as Taemin drew himself into the water again, the mark on his chest faded away gradually. “Not even one. Take it as my way of paying back.”

No, was he leaving now? No.

“You’re so pretty,” Minho confessed loudly, catching Taemin off-guard and surprising his own bloody self at that. Though, much to his relief, the compliment was wholeheartedly accepted by the other, so he caught the merman blushing for the second time that day and called it his best lifetime achievement yet.

“I’m pretty,” Taemin agreed after his gleeful chuckle. “And pretty much real, no?” he smiled, and with a contortion of his torso, he was out of sight, leaving Minho staring at the reflection of his tail as he swam away.

Maybe, just maybe, not everyone was a simpering fool, after all.

And as for Minho, he got up and patted his bare chest, laughing silently before glancing at the very same spot he last saw Taemin. Maybe he believed in one merman now, out of all.

/