Luhan’s first encounter with the sea prince takes place during a time of sorrow. The bitter oceans echo with bleak songs of whales and the empty chirp of dolphins. The waters run as cold as the stormiest winters.

The merpeople mourn their queen.

Luhan is just a young merboy, a scrawny wee thing with blond hair and twinkling amber scales, playing by himself outside the splendour that is the Sea King's palace. He dives into the fronds of seaweed, twirling in and out carelessly as a boy of his delicate ten summers is wont to do, and shimmies away through to a secret route only he knows.

Luhan’s personal haven is a small cave hidden between several large rocks, the entrance almost completely shrouded by anemone. He always comes by himself. He is a lonely boy.

He reaches out to push aside a curtain of weeds and realizes he’s not alone.

Melancholy notes drift out from inside the cave, a song Luhan recognizes. It’s a haunting combination of loss and love twisted into the words of each line, sung by the merpeople once every summer to pay homage to those who have passed on - the ones who have returned to the sea as foam.

The mer are the voice of the sea; the ones who sing it to life, and the ones who sing their people home. The words are easy enough, but too complex for a mere child to understand, and so it is rule that only the elder merpeople may let such a tune flow from their lips.

Every soul of the ocean knows the song, in the same way they all know the voice that pours out the lilting harmony before Luhan’s eyes.

The singing stops as soon as he swims out from his hiding place. The two of them lock eyes and stare.

Sitting in his cave is a young merboy with a head of dark russet brown hair and a tail of glimmering sapphire scales, his expression taken aback and his mouth in an 'o' of surprise.

“H-hello,” Luhan stutters, his ear fins turning pink, “U-um, I heard you singing so I – uh, sorry, um…”

Luhan has no idea how to properly address the prince before him, the son of the Sea King. He is just a poor merboy who plays in the coral reefs; what were his chances of ever brushing scales with royalty? He casts his gaze down and fiddles with his fingers.

The other boy, much to Luhan’s relief, speaks. “I’m Chen,” he says, “but you already know who I am, right?”

Luhan looks back up to see the other boy give him a bow-lipped smile, and nods.

“Do you come here all the time?” Chen asks, glancing around the cave. There’s a few tidbits here and there, some pebbles and conch shells lying around, but it’s mostly bare. He sees the still-silent Luhan and swims towards him. “Sorry. I didn’t know. I found this place today and I really like it.”

He reaches out and tugs on Luhan’s arm. “What’s your name?” he says, and Luhan stumbles over his words again.

“L-Luhan.” He lets Chen gently pull him into the cave, and frowns at the brunet. “Why were you singing that song?”

Chen blinks. “Why? Because Mama is gone,” he answers slowly, his smile vanishing. “Papa says I have to sing for her tonight.”

Luhan gasps in shock. “But you can’t!” he exclaims. “You're too young to sing it!”

“Mama’s voice lives in me. That’s what Papa said.” Chen’s lips tremble and he presses them together tightly. He doesn’t cry. He can’t cry. “I wish she was still here.”

Luhan’s only ever seen the Sea Queen a few times in his short life. While she was a pretty mermaid, her voice could sing the stars to life. Sometimes when Luhan's grandmother is too occupied for him, Luhan falls asleep to the queen's soothing lullabies, borne on the arms of the currents to resonate throughout the oceans.

It was only fitting that the kingdom had looked on in awe, entranced, when her child had opened his mouth and sang his first sweet note.

It is a bitter song that should never be sung, Luhan’s grandmother had once told Luhan. Despite the envious beauty of our world we are fated to be sorrowful people, and so we understand there is loss in everything that exists.

But Luhan is one child who does understand the song of the merpeople, and he quickly envelops the other merboy in a tight hug. “It’s okay. I… I’ve sung it too,” he confesses in a whisper.

“You do? How?” Chen asks, his voice partially muffled in Luhan's shoulder. “Why?”

“My grandmother taught me.” Luhan doesn’t let go, suddenly feeling the need to be comforted as well. “We sing for my parents every summer. Mama and Papa died when I was three.”

“…Oh.” It is strangely soothing to a child to find somebody else who hurts the same way he does, someone who understands. The two of them sit in each other’s silence for a long time, connected at the hands.

Luhan sneaks out and returns to his cave the next night, and Chen is there again.

The loneliness becomes easier to bear.

For people who cherish song, a beautiful voice is the greatest gift that can be bestowed. Chen discovers that Luhan is in possession of such a voice, smooth and mellow and as sweet as honey. They take to singing together in their hidden cave, sometimes one leading and sometimes the other, playing amongst the weeds, chasing fish. They fit together like two pieces of a broken conch shell.

“Don’t you have friends at the palace?” Luhan asks one day.

Chen shrugs and looks down at his tail, pretending to pick at a non-existent scratch on one of the blue scales.

“They’re jealous because I can sing better than them,” he says. “They’re not friends.”

The moons become seasons, and seasons become summers. The tides rise and recede, and kinship ties bloom like the tropical flowers of the warm waters.

They slip away from baby fat and chubby cheeks and into manhood; into lean, toned limbs and thick tails armoured with vibrant scales.

Chen is almost an embodiment of royal seduction, rippling sapphire blue scales and chestnut hair that sweeps down across dark, expressive eyes. His face melts into strong, angular cheekbones but the bow lips reminiscent of his childhood features are still there, curving upwards into charming smiles that set fins aflutter.  

Luhan, thankfully, fills out his scrawny figure and grows to be a work of delicate exquisiteness. Large, shiny eyes and soft pink lips make him a popular presence amongst the mermaids, who jump at every opportunity to coo over him. His shy countenance was worn away by Chen to reveal a loyal, strong character underneath.

The two of them are always seen in each other's presence. Chen offers Luhan a home inside the palace but the latter turns it down in favour of remaining with his grandmother instead, and Chen understands.

Between them, they still sing. Chen’s voice is very much now legendary across the seven seas, deepened with manhood and edged with a timbre that Luhan’s own melodic voice doesn’t have. The prince performs during festivities, concerts and balls, Luhan’s voice backing his, and they don’t have it any other way.

Ever since his eighteenth summer Chen has led the merpeople in their song to honour those who have turned to foam, filling the oceans with thier sorrow as his father looks on in unabashed pride.

On the nights when he sings alone for his long-gone mother and slips into a lonely mindset afterwards - when he thinks nobody is looking, Luhan is there to comfort him with hushed words and his protective embrace. To each one of them, the other is perfect.

More moons become seasons, and as more seasons become summers, Luhan falls in love.

A/N: hiiii im back with another fic! sorry if this seems really slow to begin with. we'll pick up the pace soon. any questions are welcomed~