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Andrew lived by himself in a large unkempt piece of property on the Palmetto coastline. It was unkempt for various reasons: he didn’t believe in yard work, the entire area was protected by a land trust, meaning he didn’t know what had to stay and what could go, and it was state owned property. They should have been taking care of it for him. Not the other way around.
It just meant that the area around his property, which was mostly beach, was overgrown with saltbush, verbena, beach grass, and sea oats.
The beach beside his lighthouse property was untouched. No one came out this way, to the very tip of the peninsula, overlooking the oceanside. The public beach was two miles down the road, sometimes curious locals made it this far out, but they never stayed very long, probably feeling the glare from Andrew on their backs while they walked across the beach.
He took this job because it was so isolated. No human interaction necessary. All he had to do was basic maintenance on the lighthouse and keep a weather log that he updated three times a day. On the occasional foggy morning he had to turn the fog signals on. Other than that it was quiet.
Boats passed without trouble, heading to the port on the other side of the peninsula.
It was quiet.
Andrew liked the quiet.
Nicky thought he was crazy for coming out here by himself. Aaron thought he was trying to run away from his problems.
It was probably a little bit of both.
Truth be told Andrew was tired. He was in his thirties, tired of trying to keep up appearance, or maintain a normal life. Tired of trying to have any social interactions, interactions that felt stale and forced.
This was much more his speed.
He went fishing when he wanted something to eat, he cooked over his archaic wood burning stove, because the state was too cheap to update the house from the 1800s. He still had oil lamps hanging from the walls, but luckily there was electricity and oil for heating and hot water.
It was a perfectly mediocre life. Which was just fine for Andrew.
He woke up at 5 am and did his morning workout, with the sound of the waves crashing on the rocky cliff below his house. He made oatmeal, made coffee, and sat with his windows open, the sea breeze filling his lungs and pushing his hair across his face.
He went out to check the lighthouse, cleaned the windows, checked the fuel level, checked the lightbulbs, and updated his weather log.
It was going to rain tonight. He could tell from the large storm clouds hovering over the water in the distance. He hated when it rained here, the lighthouse leaked, and he always ended up having to turn on the fog signals so it was still visible in the dark.
He put his log down and climbed the rickety metal steps back to land. The ladders and stairs always made him woozy, standing at the top of the lighthouse made him woozy. His stomach flipped when he looked down through the cracks in the stairs. He kept walking anyway.
He did his normal walk around the cliff and then down towards the beach. Things often washed up on the shore, old fishing nets, lobster boxes, sometimes debris from the supposed sunken ships off the coast.
He caught sight of a clump of fishing net by shore, water lapping up and touching it, threatening to drag it back under. Andrew went straight over, his feet sinking into the wet sand.
It wasn’t until he got close that he noticed something was off.
There was a vague human form wrapped in the fish net, a tuff of red hair was sticking up through the rope. It was hard to tell, he wasn’t close enough and the rope was tangled with seaweed. He could see a fish flopping, a last minute attempt at freedom.
He stopped right above the sea trash, squatting down and picking at the rope with his hands, moving aside wet and sticky seaweed until he saw-
Yes, that is definitely a human.
The person was breathing shallow, his entire body covered in red welts and scars that looked barely healed. He was face down in the sand, but Andrew could see the slight rise and fall of his back.
He was breathing and alive but barely. Andrew put a hand on his pale skin, he was freezing to the touch. Another moment out here and he would have died from hypothermia.
This was not how Andrew expected his day to start. He removed the rest of the rope, not as gently as he should have for handling a nearly dead person on his beach. He threw the flopping fish back out to sea and then dragged the human up and out of the sand.
His face wasn’t better off than the rest of his body. Scars lined his cheeks and there was a nasty slice across his eyebrow and forehead. His throat was red with rope marks.
An attempted murder, clearly. He was going to have to call the office and tell someone about this.
In his six years out here on this beach, nothing like this has ever happened. He only had one search and rescue and that lasted all of two hours before they found the person safe and sound.
Andrew dragged the body up by his armpits, attempting to get a good grip so he could lift him up and carry him inside.
He was completely naked, bleeding in various spots, dripping wet, and freezing.
Andrew grunted as he got one hand under his back and the other under his legs, hoisting him up into his arms.
The chill coming off of him was unsettling, Andrew could feel the cold like he was holding a pack of ice to his stomach.
Andrew barely managed to get him into the house without hitting his head against the door. He went straight to the bathroom on the second floor, lowering the freezing body into the bathroom and turning on the warm water.
It ran cold and then heated up quickly, filling the tub slowly but surely.
Andrew was not prepared for what came next.
It happened as soon as his legs were submerged. One second they’re normal human legs, the next scales are starting to pop out of his skin and then suddenly fins, until suddenly his legs are gone all together and a singular large tail takes its place.
Andrew takes one step back.
The scales shine under the water, luminescent like they’re made of jewels. A shocking blue and green color so bright that Andrew blinks his eyes to make sure he isn’t hallucinating.
He isn’t. There is very much a barely alive mermaid sitting in his tub, water sloshing over his large tail and filling up towards his bloody chest.
Andrew doesn’t know what to do.
He can’t call his supervisor. They wouldn’t believe him, then again he could leave this part out, just tell them he found someone on the beach and send him off with them to the hospital.
But then what would happen?
Andrew watches as the skin around the mermaid's throat opens, gills developing like they were always there but just sealed shut.
This feels worse than when he stands at the top of the lighthouse. His stomach was jumping and convulsing. He reaches out and presses a single finger against the skin around his gills. The skin jumps and a groan comes from the mermaid’s mouth, but his eyes remain closed.
Andrew doesn’t know what else to do. He turned off the water and went downstairs, grabbing a towel and warming it over the electric countertop burner. He waited until it’s hot and then went back upstairs with it, finding the mermaid, human, thing in the same position that he left him in.
Andrew puts the hot towel on the back of his neck and then checks his pulse, careful not to touch the gills that are convulsing on his skin.
His heart rate is stabilizing and he’s no longer freezing to the touch.
Andrew takes that as a good sign.
He moves on auto-pilot, taking the mermaid out of the water and drying him off on the bathroom floor, not sure what else to do with a giant fin in his way.
As he dries the fin starts to disappear, scales going back until there is nothing but human skin left behind.
Andrew leaves him on the bathroom floor and grabs clothes from his bedroom, coming back with a loose shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The mermaid still isn’t conscious, but he’s breathing heavily, his nose whistling with each sharp intake.
Andrew gets him dressed, accidentally knocking his head against the wall twice, only thinking to mumble an apology when he’s done. He picks him up again and brings him into the spare bedroom, covering him in the blankets already there and then grabbing a few extras from the closet for good measure.
He should probably bandage his wounds, or clean them, he has a first aid kit downstairs sitting in the closet by the front door for easy access. Too bad his legs won’t move from under him. He stood frozen in the doorway, wondering what he was supposed to do now that he’s gotten to this point.
He decided to just leave him there, bundled under blankets and safe in the spare bedroom. Andrew closed the door behind him and left.
He should probably call his boss, or someone, maybe an ambulance. He can leave the mermaid part out. No one has to know.
But they would find out, one way or another.
Andrew isn’t the nicest person in the world. His morals are skewed, he’s never cared about a stranger’s well being before.
But now? For some reason he can’t bring himself to pick up the damn phone.
—---------------------------------------
Two days pass of absolute silence from the mermaid, human, creature, thing in his spare bedroom.
He finally gives in and cleans his wounds, seeing the full extent of the horror on the man’s body. He wraps him up where he can and cleans the rest that he can’t cover. He keeps checking his temperature, and his heart rate, all the while pretending that this is his best option.
Andrew is certified in first aid, it was part of the job since search and rescue was something he had to be prepared for. It didn’t mean he was good at it. Aaron was the doctor, not him. Andrew’s hands weren’t meant for being gentle.
He tries to go about business as usual: checking the lighthouse, refilling the fuel, cleaning the windows, checking the weather, patrolling up and down the beach. It’s harder than ever, he keeps looking over his shoulder to check his house, just in case he sees the man stumbling out the front door, confused and disoriented.
He doesn’t, of course. Andrew goes to check on him every couple of hours, seeing no change in his status. His breathing heavy, his wounds healing but still raw and red. Andrew doesn’t know how much longer he can go without food or without water.
He also doesn’t know the logistics of a mermaid, human, creature, thing. He doesn’t know if he can even survive on land, let alone in Andrew’s guest room.
By night his thoughts are spiraling. If he doesn’t wake up by tomorrow he’s going to have to call his boss. He will also have to lie about how long he’s been here. Andrew doesn’t need the headache of having to explain why he took three days to call.
Andrew is so lost in his thoughts that he nearly burns the fish he’s currently frying over the wood stove. He swears under his breath and grabs the pan. Taking it off the heat and dumping the fish into a plate.
As soon as he puts the pan down he hears a loud crash from upstairs.
Andrew takes about three seconds to react to the sound. He turns and heads for the stairs. As soon as he hits the top step the bedroom door flies open.
Andrew freezes in the hallway. The man, barely keeping himself steady on both feet, freezes at the sight of Andrew.
For a moment Andrew just stares at him.
He had been waiting for him to wake up, worrying incessantly that he just wouldn’t, but now Andrew realizes that he had no plan on what he was going to do when the stranger finally woke up.
The very not-human, mermaid stranger that he found wrapped in fishing nets on the beach.
The stranger is frozen in place, his eyes are the clearest blue that Andrew has ever seen. Bluer than any sky that’s ever hung over Andrew’s head. Bluer than the water can ever get on the east coast.
The stranger opens his mouth but nothing comes out, he looks confused, his hand going up to his throat on instinct, wrapping around the vivid red line that still lingers there.
“Hey,” Andrew says dumbly, because what is he supposed to say, ‘hello strange mermaid creature, I nursed you back to health, you’re welcome.’
He just glares back at Andrew, a nasty look that’s as sharp as a knife. He opens his mouth again and makes a strangled noise that sounds more like a gurgle of pain than a word.
“You might want to keep quiet,” Andrew says, finding his footing again, stepping up to the landing and watching as the stranger takes one calculated step back, “You were in bad shape when I found you.”
The stranger opens his mouth and then frowns, a frown so deep Andrew can feel his frustration from six feet away.
Andrew isn’t exactly sure what to do, he raises his hands up in a gesture that he hopes shows he is unarmed and means no hard and then says, “Do you want something to drink?”
The stranger makes a face like he’s surprised Andrew would ask. At that exact moment his stomach grumbles. He has the capacity to look slightly embarrassed at least. He nods and Andrew turns and starts down the stairs, gesturing for him to follow.
Andrew’s crappy lunch is still sitting on the counter. He grabs a fork and then puts the plate on the table, watching while the stranger comes down the last few steps, looking like a skittish cat that’s trying to find a way to escape.
“Eat,” Andrew says.
He takes one look at the plate and makes a face of disgust. Andrew frowns, right, mermaid, maybe they don’t eat their own kind.
“Don’t like fish?” Andrew asks.
He doesn’t give Andrew a reply. He just sits down and grabs the fork.
Andrew assumes that means he’s fine with it. He goes to the fire and puts the kettle on, maybe some hot tea will clear his throat and Andrew can finally get some answers.
Because that’s what he’s really after at this point. Answers. He’s filled with questions. Questions he isn’t sure how he’s going to ask. Bluntly would be the best option. If only the strange creature sitting at his table wasn’t so ready to run. Now he isn’t so sure.
Aaron or Nicky would be better at this. Aaron is a doctor for what it’s worth. He must have decent bedside manners.
Andrew doesn’t watch while he eats, he stares at the kettle and waits for the water to boil, it doesn’t take long, and soon he’s pouring the hot water into a cup and throwing a tea bag in.
He puts it on the table next to the stranger, noticing that there isn’t much left on the plate.
“I have questions,” Andrew finally says, watching while the stranger reluctantly picks up the cup of tea and sniffs it. Andrew almost rolls his eyes, if he was going to kill him he would have done it already, poison wasn’t necessary.
The stranger takes a sip of tea and then opens his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out but a sigh. He looks frustrated as he tries to clear his throat and rubs his hands over his neck.
“Right,” Andrew says. He walks over to the desk sitting under his window, he grabs some paper and a pen, taking it back and smacking them down on the table.
The mermaid, thing takes a look between the paper and then up at Andrew with a question on his face.
Andrew says, “You do know how to write, don’t you?”
He frowns and then grabs the pen, a defiant look on his face.
“Good,” Andrew says, “Let’s start simple. Name?”
He scribbles on the paper for a moment, his handwriting is pretty awful but Andrew assumes it’s because of his injuries.
He holds the paper up for Andrew to see it.
Neil is written in shotty hand writing across the page.
“Neil,” Andrew says, tasting the name.
Neil nods. He puts the paper back down and writes for a few seconds before holding the paper back up for Andrew to read.
It says, Who are you and why am I here?Fell off a ship.
“I don’t believe you,” Andrew says.
Neil frowns.
It’s true, he adds.
“Fine,” Andrew says, “Lie for all I care. It doesn’t matter. You can stay here until you can talk again. Or you can leave right now. I don’t care.”
Neil hesitates, tapping the pen onto the table like he’s deep in thought.
Andrew just watches him, waiting for him to make up his mind. He didn’t notice it before, but Neil has a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose, light enough that it would be hard to catch if you weren’t looking for them.
Unfortunately Andrew is looking.
Neil writes something down messily and then pushes it off, dropping the pen and taking the tea back into his hands.
Just a few days.
Andrew nods.
“Fine,” Andrew says, “Just a few days.”
—---------------------------------------
On the second day of Neil’s stay Andrew finds that he really has a hatred for fish.
It’s basically one of the only foods Andrew has in excess, considering he spends so much time fishing. He wants to tell Neil that beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to eating someone else’s food, but he can’t ignore the vague gagging noises Neil is making whenever Andrew puts a plate of fish in front of him.
He’s going to have to go to the store or have a supply drop if he’s feeling extremely antisocial. He should probably bring Neil with him, but he looks like a walking cadaver, which would raise more than a few eyebrows at the local family owned grocery store.
He decides to put a request in for a drop off, filling out the form on his ancient computer and listening to it hum like an aircraft struggling to take flight.
Neil is hovering in the center of the room, his hands fiddling with the oversized shirt Andrew gave him to wear.
He looks out of place in Andrew’s washed out home. He’s a smudge of color against the white walls, all red hair and blue eyes and flushed cheeks.
He looks over at Andrew, feeling his eyes on him and furrows his brows in question.
Andrew sighs and stands up from the computer.
“I ordered food,” Andrew says, “Considering you hate fish.”
He pauses, watching Neil for a reaction. Neil looks relieved and then nods in a way that could be considered a ‘thank you.’
Andrew wonders when the best time is going to be to bring up that he knows he’s a mermaid. Maybe that wasn’t something you just brought up in casual conversation.
Where was he going to go after this anyway? Has he ever lived on land? He knows how to write so obviously he’s been on the surface before.
Was it even possible for something like him to live on the ground for so long? If he left, was he just going to go back to the ocean and Andrew would never see him again?
There were a lot of things Andrew wanted to ask. Instead he said, “I have to do maintenance.”
Neil tilted his head in question.
“The lighthouse,” Andrew said, gesturing vaguely, “I’m a lighthouse keeper.”
Neil looks surprised at that. He goes to open his mouth and then frowns at the reminder.
Andrew rolls his eyes and grabs a notepad from the desk behind him. He tosses it over to Neil, who catches it with a surprising amount of grace.
“Keep it,” Andrew says, “And grab a pen.”
He walks out the worn front door of his house and out into the coastal breeze.
The weather has been stable lately, just a few nights of rain here and there, but it was coming into hurricane season, so it would change eventually. There was at least one bad one every year. It was the worst part of being a lighthouse keeper, making sure nothing happens while a storm rages.
Andrew goes about his business, but today he has a shadow following him. He climbs up the lighthouse, checks the light, fills the fluid, cleans the windows, all while Neil stands watch behind him. He doesn’t help, probably because he doesn’t know how. When Andrew pauses to sneak a look at him he finds Neil looking out onto the land beyond his house longingly.
A strange thing to be watching instead of the ocean, considering that's where he came from.
Andrew updates his weather log, checks the temperature, double checks everything one more time, and then starts down the spiral staircase to the ground.
The sensation of looking out the windows, and then down the spiraling stairs, is the closest Andrew feels to being alive.
He does his rounds up and down the beach. He doesn’t miss how uneven Neil is walking on the sand. He continues to look out of place, like he’s meant to be in a city somewhere, blending in with the people around him, rather than standing on the edge of the coastline, the wind whipping his hair in every direction.
Odd, he’s odd. That’s all Andrew can think about while he wanders down the beach at a slower pace than he normally goes. He hesitates at the end and then turns around, heading back.
He almost walks straight into Neil.
He has his notepad out, his pen open and he holds it up into Andrew’s face for him to read.
What are you doing?
“Walking,” Andrew says.
He scribbles on the notepad and hands it off.
What’s the point?
“There is no point,” Andrew says, even though there is. He makes his rounds every day for a reason. Just in case.
Neil frowns.
There's sand in my shoes.
Andrew rolls his eyes. “Stop complaining and go inside.”
Neil looks defiant. He turns on his heel and walks off, kicking up sand as he goes.
Andrew doesn’t know how much longer Neil is going to stay, but he can already tell he’s going to be a pain in the ass when he gets his voice back again.
—---------------------------------------
Two days turn into three days which turns into four days which ends up a week and a half of Neil staying and not leaving.
Instead Neil helps Andrew clean the windows in the lighthouse. He walks down the beach with Andrew, but complains the entire time by shoving notes into Andrew’s face even when he tries to push them away.
He doesn’t talk much, but it’s getting better.
Andrew puts a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Neil in the morning and he lets out a choked, “Thank you.”
It sounds like he just swallowed a handful of gravel.
“Stop talking,” Andrew tells him, “You sound like a fish out of water.”
Neil’s expression, a look of shock and horror, after Andrew says it is satisfaction enough to get him through the rest of the day.
He wears Andrew’s clothing. They’re too big for him, oversized loose shirts that pool around his waist. Neil tries to tuck them into the pants Andrew is letting him wear, which leaves Andrew feeling out of sorts when he looks over and sees Neil tying the pants tightly around his slim waist and tucking the shirt inside.
It’s doing complicated things to Andrew’s stomach. Considering he doesn’t really know the guy. Or anything about him. Like why he’s here or where he came from.
He still doesn’t ask. Only because he’s trying to keep thoughts to himself. Worried that if he starts talking he won’t stop. Which would only be a slippery slope.
Besides, Neil is going to leave eventually. Isn’t he?
Andrew isn’t sure anymore. Because when he wakes up the next day he finds Neil is already up and standing in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee and nearly burning a pan full of eggs on the wood burning stove.
Andrew stops in the doorway of the kitchen and just watches him. Neil looks far too comfortable in a place that isn’t his own. He gently rocks from one foot to the other and hums a song Andrew doesn’t recognize under his breath. For the first time in nearly two weeks he sounds like his voice is coming back to him.
Neil catches him staring after a few seconds. He looks at Andrew and then looks sheepish, his hand going to the back of his head.
“I, uh,” Neil says, his voice still gravely and worn out, but better than it sounded yesterday, “I made eggs.”
“You’re burning the eggs,” Andrew states, walking over and removing the pan from the stove.
Neil grabs some plates and helps Andrew divide them up.
“You sound better,” Andrew says, once he’s sure Neil is no longer about to burn his government owned house.
“Working on it,” Neil struggles to get out.
Andrew pours him a mug of coffee and hands it off.
“Don’t push it,” He says, “You might make it worse.”
Neil watches him with sharp eyes while Andrew pours his own cup of coffee. Andrew can practically feel his gaze burning holes in the side of his head.
Andrew reluctantly gives in and says, “What is it?”
“Why haven’t you-” Neil starts and then stops to clear his throat, “Asked any more questions?”
Andrew wonders the same thing. He sighs and puts his coffee cup down. He has to check the lighthouse, walk his rounds on the beach, and check the weather.
Instead he’s standing in his kitchen with a human-mermaid hybrid who shouldn’t be alive being asked stupid questions.
“Would you answer them honestly?” Andrew asks, looking Neil over.
Neil looks like he’s been caught with his hands in the cookie jar, metaphorically, Andrew doesn’t own one of those.
Neil says, “I don’t know.” But the answer is clear even if Neil didn’t say it.
“How about this?” Andrew says, “You answer my questions truthfully and I’ll answer yours.”
“How will you know I’m telling the truth?” Neil asks, and Andrew can already tell that his voice is starting to go again.
Andrew thinks about it for a moment then says, “I can already tell you’re a bad liar. No one would believe you saying you fell off a boat looking like that.”
Neil blinks and then says, “It’s true.”
“See,” Andrew says, “You’ve already lost the point of the game.”
Andrew grabs his coffee cup and drinks as much as he can without burning his throat. He puts it back down and heads to the door.
Before he leaves he looks at Neil and says, “You better start figuring out your plan. You can stay here or go crawling back to whatever part of the ocean you came out of.”
He doesn’t wait to see Neil’s horrified expression before he closes the door and heads straight over to the lighthouse. He assumes Neil won’t even be there when he gets back.
Instead it takes five seconds for Neil to throw the door open and come after him, his face almost as red as his hair.
“You knew this whole time?” Neil asks, stopping Andrew before he can even get his hand onto the lighthouse door.
Andrew turns and looks Neil over, he looks like something out of a historical movie, his clothing two sizes too big, the grass tall enough that it comes up to his knees.
Andrew hates that it does something to his stomach. The same feeling that keeps coming and going.
Now is not the time.
Andrew decides to play innocent. He says, “Know what?”
“I’m serious,” Neil says. And his voice is really starting to go now. He can barely get the words out without straining. Andrew almost wants to tell him to go back inside and get his pad of paper, he doesn’t. He watches Neil as his breathing gets heavier and heavier, his shoulders shaking.
“Are you now?” Andrew asks.
“You’ve known this whole time and didn’t say anything?” Neil asks, “Why?”
“You’re going to have to clarify,” Andrew continues.
“I’m not going to say it,” Neil says, looking around like there might be someone watching, or a hidden camera ready to catch him admitting to it out loud.
Andrew rolls his eyes, he steps closer, until he’s close enough to hear Neil’s harsh breathing and feel the heat radiating off of him. He smells like oceansalt and the detergent Andrew uses.
Andrew says, “Yes. I’ve known the entire time. Figured it out when I dumped you into a bath when you were freezing to death.”
Neil’s eyes widen, he repeats, “Why didn’t you say anything? Tell anyone?”
“Tell who?” Andrew asks, “The authorities. I spent more than enough time in the psych ward for a lifetime. I’m good.”
Neil looks around them again, surveying the area, then he says, “You’re not going to tell?”
“Jesus christ,” Andrew says, he turns on his heel and goes to the lighthouse, throwing the door open with more force than necessary.
“Where are you going?” Neil asks.
“I have a job to do,” Andrew reminds him, “If this conversation is over.”
“It isn’t,” Neil says, but then his hand goes up to his throat, like he can rub the pain away.
“Go inside,” Andrew says, “Or don’t. I really don’t care.”
Neil says, “Do you want me to leave?”
Andrew stops with one foot inside the door of the lighthouse.
He doesn’t know how to answer that.
He came out here to be alone. The only things he had to worry about being the lighthouse and storms. He didn’t come here to babysit a half-human half-mermaid with striking blue eyes and hair as red as the sunset.
He should say, yes.
He should say, yes.
He should say, yes.
Andrew says, “I don’t care, Neil, or whatever your real name is. You can stay. You can go. You can jump off the cliff and into the ocean if it pleases you. Whatever you want to do.”
He hesitates a moment longer, his eyes watching Neil carefully.
Neil says, “What do you want to do?”
Andrew doesn’t bother answering. He walks into the lighthouse and closes the door behind him.
This time the sinking feeling from being up high is already present in his stomach as he climbs up the stairs.
—---------------------------------------
Neil is still in the house when Andrew goes back inside. Instead of saying anything about their awkward and emotionally fueled (all on Neil’s side) conversation, he pulls out a pen and paper and informs Andrew that his voice is once again gone with the wind.
Andrew isn’t surprised.
He doesn’t mention the conversation again. But Andrew catches Neil watching him at any given moment. They walk down the beach and Neil stares at him, his feet more even on the sand now than it ever has been. Andrew will work maintenance on the lighthouse and Neil will lean against the railing and watch him, his eyes far too piercing for his own good.
Days pass like that. They talk about anything other than Neil’s non-human status, and sometimes write when Neil’s voice decides it wants to give out all over again.
Andrew doesn’t get any answers out of him. Mostly because he barely asks. He thinks maybe he’s better off not knowing. Considering the many scars that are now healed all over Neil’s face and body. Whoever he was with before wasn’t exactly a nice person. And Andrew knows all about wanting to avoid the subject of bad people.
He does learn a couple of things about Neil. He learns that the beach reminds him of his mother, which apparently isn’t a good memory, because as soon as he says it Neil is looking out into the middle distance like he’s stepped out of his body and went somewhere else entirely.
He learns that, yes, Neil hates fish, and no, it isn’t because he doesn’t like eating his own kind.
Neil tells him as much when Andrew gets him onto his dinghy to go out fishing. He’s unsteady on the boat, his hands going out to either side to settle himself.
Andrew tosses Neil the first fish he ends up catching, which swiftly ends up back into the ocean because Neil doesn’t even try to keep a hold of it.
“Was that your cousin?” Andrew asks him.
Neil is very much not amused by his joke in the slightest.
Andrew also learns that Neil has lived on land most of his life, avoiding water like it’s the plague. Why? Andrew doesn’t know, Neil won’t tell him. But he guesses it has something to do with how Andrew found him.
There are other small things that Andrew learns. Like that Neil prefers fruit but is allergic to strawberries. He learns that Neil’s favorite color is a specific shade of gray, and that he hates his hair getting in his face when they’re walking down the beach.
It’s all very normal. Which isn’t a word Andrew would have ever associated with someone that turns into a mermaid when wet. It’s also not a word Andrew would have ever associated with himself. Normal. Like he’s not thirty-two and still running from his problems by living in a run down shack by a lighthouse out on the coast. Like he hasn’t been ignoring his cousin and his brother’s calls for so long that they just stopped calling. Like he isn’t immediately disgusted with being in close proximity to another human being.
Normal.
Andrew thinks that he and Neil are the furthest from normal. Yet here they were, making coffee and fish and eggs and making grocery lists of food Neil doesn’t hate, and walking up and down the beach like they’ve been doing it their entire lives.
Andrew doesn’t even flinch away when Neil reaches out and puts a hand on his arm to steady himself on the beach. He doesn’t flinch when Neil brushes their shoulders together in the kitchen while they’re cooking. He doesn’t flinch when Neil accidentally bumps their hands together.
Andrew doesn’t even mind the accidental touches. It’s almost like he craves them. He starts pushing that thought away as soon as it forms. He knows better than to get attached to anything or anyone. People leave. Andrew pushes them away.
It’s probably already too late.
—---------------------------------------
Andrew gets the message about the hurricane a few days before it hits. He knew it was coming. It was that time of year, and there were always one or two that left the entire area in a state of disarray. Andrew never liked them, especially not in this old house with weak walls and creaky windows.
It hadn’t been destroyed yet, which said a lot about its structural integrity. It still didn’t make Andrew feel secure.
He also didn’t know what to do about Neil.
He was pacing around behind Andrew like he could feel the change in the weather. Andrew was too busy nailing the storm windows in place to pay attention to him.
“What if something happens to the lighthouse?” Neil asks, “Isn’t it a hundred years old?”
“Older,” Andrew says, “And it will be fine. It usually is.”
“What if it isn’t?” Neil asks.
“Are you going to keep freaking out or are you going to start nailing something?”
Neil gives in after that, but barely helps more than necessary. His anxious energy is kinetic, probably stronger than any wind they’re getting as the hurricane moves its way up the coast.
When they finish with the house they move onto the lighthouse.
The light didn’t need to be on tonight. It was mostly for show anyway. And any ship making its way towards Palmetto was already warned to stop at the nearest port. Andrew’s protocol is to turn everything off and board the windows. The less damage done the better. He can turn on the fog lights at least, and the horn. Which he thinks will be more than enough.
Neil helps him board the windows and secure anything loose inside the lighthouse. Andrew takes his weather log with him inside just in case.
The storm hits them several hours later.
Andrew sits at the table on the first floor, Neil sitting across from them, a deck of cards between them and two mugs of tea that are still piping hot.
The wind picks up outside, the lights flickering.
“There’s a backup generator,” Andrew says to Neil’s unasked question, “Just in case.”
Neil nods and fiddles with the cards in front of him, he looks tense, his face tight like he’s thinking too hard.
“Don’t like storms?” Andrew asks.
Neil sighs and looks around the room, his eyes purposefully avoiding Andrew’s.
“My dad caught me in a storm,” Neil says, his hands keep twitching, “I couldn’t hear anyone coming.”
“You’re dad?” Andrew asks.
Neil’s never mentioned him before. Andrew watches him closely, waiting for a reaction.
Neil simply nods. He says, “He did this,” And then gestures vaguely across his face and torso.
Andrew understands immediately. Anger creeps up the back of his neck like an unwelcome guest. He wonders if Neil’s dad is still out there alive somewhere and wonders how hard it would be to hunt him down and end him.
Neil says, “He thinks I’m dead. He dragged me back down into the ocean. I left with my mom when I was a kid. But they got her before me. It wasn’t a surprise they found me afterwards.”
The storm continues to rage outside, the lights flicker again, the wind a constant whistle against the storm windows. The only barrier protecting them from the storm.
“Where is he now?” Andrew asks.
Neil shrugs, “He won’t be looking for me. I played dead. He just left me there. I swam away but passed out somewhere. That’s the last thing I remember.”
“You sure?” Andrew asks, “That he thinks you’re dead?”
Neil shrugs. It isn’t convincing. Andrew thinks maybe he has his own doubts.
For some strange reason Andrew feels the urge to reach out. So he does.
He lets his hand fall on the back of Neil’s neck, tugging him closer across the table. Neil’s eyes finally meet his, they’re wide with surprise, but he looks at Andrew with a warmth that he isn’t used to seeing.
“If he does,” Andrew says, “I’ll take care of it.”
“How?” Neil asks.
“I kill fish regularly,” Andrew replies, “How hard could it be?”
That cracks a smile across Neil’s face. It’s small but bright and powerful and it makes Andrew feel weak at the knees.
He leans forward, not really sure what he’s doing, just letting his body guide him. Neil leans forward as well, his hands bracing on the edge of the table.
Andrew opens his mouth to ask him something, when a large crash resounds from somewhere outside.
“Shit,” Andrew says, his hand falling from Neil’s neck. He stands up immediately, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side.
“The lighthouse?” Neil asks.
Andrew gets to the door and grabs his raincoat from the hook on the wall. He looks at Neil and points, trying to emphasize his words as he says, “Stay here. Don’t move.”
“Wait-” Neil says, making his way around the room and trying to get to Andrew before he opens the door, “It’s not safe.”
“I’ll be right back,” Andrew replies.
Neil says something else but it is quickly cut off by Andrew opening the door. The wind is deafening against Andrew’s ears, he pulls the raincoat over his head and steps outside.
It’s dark but he can see that one of the storm windows blew off the lighthouse. He swears under his breath and makes his way over to the lighthouse, opening the door and fighting against the strong wind.
Andrew makes it to the stop and feels his stomach give out from under him. The glass in one of the windows has shattered, the piece of wood dangling by a single nail. Andrew grabs the hammer he left in the lighthouse and gets to work putting the wood back into place, the wind and rain hitting him in the face as he works.
“Andrew!” He hears someone call.
Andrew looks over his shoulder in time to see Neil climbing up the stairs. He’s face is soaking wet and Andrew can see his gills popping out from his neck.
“Are you insane?” Andrew says, his hands holding up the storm window, “It’s raining, Neil.”
“I won’t turn unless I’m submerged,” Neil says, “It’s fine.”
“Fine my ass,” Andrew says under his breath.
Neil comes over and helps him hold the wood in place so Andrew can hammer it back into place.
They stand there for a moment breathing heavily. They’re both dripping wet, Neil’s hair falling flat across his face and curling at the edges.
Andrew’s overwhelmed with the urge to reach out and touch him.
So he does.
His hand finds its way to Neil’s face, cupping his cheek and squeezing ever so gently to make sure he’s really there.
“Idiot,” Andrew says, “I told you to stay.”
Neil frowns, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
The storm continues to rage on the other side of the wood. Andrew sighs and drops his hand, immediately missing the feeling of Neil’s skin.
He goes around the lighthouse and checks the rest of the storm windows, making sure they’re all secure and in place. He leaves the hammer inside just in case and escorts Neil down the stairs and back out into the storm.
All energy leaves him once they’re back inside, dripping wet and standing in the front door way of Andrew’s house, shaking from the cold.
The power chooses that exact moment to go out around them, the backup generator jumping to life a second later.
Neil looks at Andrew, a smile growing on his face and then suddenly he’s laughing. He shakes his head and water flies everywhere, hitting Andrew in the process.
“I’m getting a towel,” Andrew says, he shrugs off the raincoat and hangs it back up on the hook, not caring that it’s leaving a puddle underneath.
He goes up stairs and Neil follows, they go into Andrew’s cramped bathroom, he grabs two towels, holding one out for Neil and then himself.
He watches Neil rub his face down and then his hair.
His gills are still present, moving minutely as Neil dries his face off.
Neil catches him staring.
He gives Andrew a smug look and then says, “Are you going to dry off?”
Andrew doesn’t answer him. He reaches out and puts a hand on Neil’s neck, his fingers just barely grazing the skin next to his gills.
Neil sucks in a breath. His eyes darken.
Andrew says, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
Neil visibly swallows.
He says, “Yeah. Okay.”
Andrew leans forward and kisses him.
They’re soaking wet, Andrew still is at least. He lets his hands cup Neil’s face as he kisses him, tasting the rain and the salt from the ocean and something else that’s probably just Neil.
Neil sighs into his mouth and Andrew takes that as an invitation to kiss him with a bit more force, their lips sliding together, the rain mingling between them.
Neil’s breathless when Andrew pulls back.
Andrew isn’t doing much better.
They finish drying off, this time Neil takes the towel from Andrew’s hands and gently wipes the rain from Andrew’s face and then his hair.
They change into dry clothes and then walk back down the stairs, listening to the wind hit the side of the house.
They fall onto Andrew’s couch, their cards and tea forgotten on the table.
Andrew has Neil’s hand in his own, rubbing mindless circles with his thumb. He brushes his nose against Neil’s and says, “I think you should stay.”
He's surprised by how much he means it. Andrew thinks he's maybe felt this way since the moment Neil followed him down the beach the first day he woke up.
Andrew feels Neil’s smile before he sees it.
“You mean it?” Neil asks.
Andrew reaches out with his free hand and pinches his nose. Neil lets out a breath of a laugh against Andrew’s skin, it sends shivers up his arms.
“I mean it.”
Neil ends up kissing him first this time around.
If they kiss the rest of the storm away then that’s between them and the rain.