Saltwater Lullaby

by Tharja

Summary:

Pirate captain Brando has heard the stories about sirens all his life.

When a storm damages his ship and forces his crew ashore for repairs, he expects danger, sharp teeth, and every warning he's ever heard in a tavern to be proven right.

Instead, he meets Wilson.

Notes:

Dedicated to Ella and Blue

Night One

The sighting 

 

The moon hung high over the sea, almost full, the light spilling silver and calm, reflecting in dark waves, blue to black the deeper they went. 
The sky was dusted with clouds, just enough to darken the night, not enough to obscure the stars. The ship swayed in gentle movements, calmer than it had these last weeks. 

It wasn't often that the sea decided to have mercy, to give them a minute to be off guard but every time Brando grabbed it like a lifeline. 
The ocean was beautiful. He'd always thought so. 
The tide beared secrets and dangers but also life and treasure and an infinite world beyond what he knew and he wanted to explore it all. 

He leaned against the railing with his forearms, the wood rough under his skin, chin resting on his palm as he watched the waves glimmer under the night. 

Behind him, a few crewmembers lounged, enjoying the calm the same way he did, drinking and telling stories they'd told a million times before, half of them clearly not true but too entertaining to dismiss. They laughed and ate and didn't have a care in the world, just for a minute.

Brando smiled to himself, hearing them complain about how someone emptied the barrel of rum or that their legs hurt from running around the ship these last days, someone playing a guitar, unbothered and idle. 
Everything was like it was supposed to be. 

A breeze caught his hair, the air salty and cool, cutting through the thin fabric of his shirt, though he wasn't bothered by it. He hooked his boot against the railing, the old wood creaking under leather, worn but solid. 
His fingers flexed around nothing, stiff and rough from working the ship. 
It wouldn't be long. Or so he hoped.
The map was old, ripped and faded in places. 
He had to trust his gut more than he was comfortable with. 

He didn't want it to be a waste of time. Not for his sake, but the crew. They had things to come back to, people they promised a quick return, coming back with riches and stories. 
Coming back empty handed was his worst fear. 

Brando didn’t have anyone to come home to. He didn't really have a home. This ship was home. The sea. These people. 
He loved to feel the water, the tides, the air. 
Rope and wood under his hands. Moving until his body was sore and drinking and sharing stories until he couldn't even remember what they were laughing about.
Seeing new things every day. 

And maybe someday something he could come back to. 
Enough gold to never worry if he could sustain it. 

His gaze wandered over the horizon, land in sight, a small harbour from the looks of it. A stone reef just near the beach. 
Maybe they could stop there. Fill up on supplies, look for a better map. 

Something just below the surface glimmered. His eyes dropped automatically. 

At first, he thought it was just the light. 
The moon breaking over the tide, catching on something beneath the water. It happened all the time if you looked long enough. 
Tricks of reflection, nothing more.
But it didn’t move like the tide.
It held.
Brando frowned slightly, leaning forward over the railing, his hand sliding off his chin. The ship creaked softly beneath him, the sound swallowed by the quiet around it.
Near the reef, too far out for anyone to be standing.
There was someone there.
He could see it clearer now, the shape of a man, bare shoulders just above the water, one arm braced against the stone as if he’d been there a while. 
Not struggling or calling out, more like he chose to be there. 
Brando straightened. "Hey—"
His voice carried easy across the water.
"You alright?"
He didn't get an answer. The figure didn’t move.

That was the first thing that felt wrong.

Anyone caught out there, this late, this far from shore, cold, tired, half-drowned, they would move.
They would shout. Do something.
This one just watched.
Brando shifted his weight, stepping closer to the railing. "You need help?"
For a second, nothing changed.
Then the figure turned its head, slowly, not startled. 

The moon caught along the side of its face, pale against the dark water, and Brando had the strange, immediate feeling that he was the one being looked at, not the other way around. 
Dark hair plastered to skin. Then Brando’s met its eyes.
Eyes steady and bright where the light caught, unwavering and deep. 

For a moment, it stilled. 
Then it let go. 
There was no struggle in it, no slipping up, no panic. It dropped right back into the water, closing over it without a sound.
Smooth and gradual enough to not leave a ripple, not a splash. 
There was that glimmer under the surface again, just near the rocks, something moving fluidly and fast. 
Then it was gone.
Brando stared at the spot a moment longer, waiting for it to come back up, for a hand, a head, anything.
Nothing came. 
Just the tide rolling in against the rocks, steady and unchanged.

He exhaled slowly, brow furrowing. "No," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, "That's not right." 

Brando didn’t move right away.

The water had gone still again, the reef nothing more than shadow and tide. If he stared long enough, he could almost convince himself it had been nothing. A trick of light. Too long at sea. Too little sleep.
He pushed off the railing slowly.
The sounds of the ship came back as he crossed the deck, laughter, the low hum of a guitar, someone arguing over something that didn’t matter.

Normal and safe in a way the water hadn’t felt a moment ago.
He dropped down beside them, a little quieter than before.
Someone looked up first.
"Oi. You alright?"
Brando ran a hand through his hair, damp with the night air, and gave a small nod.
"Yeah. I just—" He exhaled, shaking his head once. "Thought I saw something."
That got a bit of attention.
"Out there?" another asked, leaning back on his elbows.
Brando hesitated, glancing past them for just a second, back toward the dark line of the sea. "…I think it was a merman."
There was a beat.
Then someone snorted.
"There are no mermen," one of them said, waving a hand like that settled it. "Only mermaids."
A couple of them laughed at that.
Brando frowned slightly, still not entirely back in the moment.
"That’s bullshit," he said, quieter than usual. "That’s like saying all dogs are male."
"Buster’s a boy."
Brando blinked, looking over instinctively.
Near one of the lanterns, the old dog was curled into himself, fast asleep, ear twitching faintly in the light.
"Yeah," someone else added, "makes sense to me."

That pulled a small huff of a laugh out of him. He shook his head, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders.
"Right. Solid logic."
A hand clapped against his shoulder, firm and familiar.
"You need some sleep, Captain."
Brando let out a breath, leaning back slightly.
"Yeah," he said, glancing once more toward the water, just for a second. "Might be it."

They sat there for a while longer until the air got colder and the lantern light dimmed, the conversation coming slower, quieter, laughter echoing in the night. The guitar still sounded quietly, a melody that didn’t have direction, didn't have a purpose but to fill space. Some crewmembers drifted to sleep, hats pulled low into their faces.

But somehow Brando still couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the movement in the water, low and fluid, hardly disturbing the waves.
The glimmer in the moonlight. The way these eyes had shone, human but not. Water dripping down shoulders, hands flexing against stone, gone so quick it could've been the rum. Or a fever or heatstroke.

Something that could explain it better. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the subtle turmoil underneath his skin.
He rubbed his arms.
The wind shifted.
It was subtle at first, the small breeze turning into something more insistent, whipping around the ship, the wood groaning, the sails cracking where they caught the wind.

Brando glanced up, something in his shoulders pulling tighter. The air felt thicker, electric, something heavy settling between the sky and the sea.
The guitar stopped its quiet rhythm, the rest of the crew stilling. Listening. Feeling the way the air shifted.

In the corner, Buster lifted his head, ears perked like he felt it too.

Brando stood slowly, the ship under his feet swaying, harsher now, eneven. The ropes pulled tight with a sharp sound, the sails stretching taut as the wind hit it.

It turned then.

Brando glanced at the water, something darker in it now, the tide coming stronger, the waves sharper. Sea foam swept against the shore. He looked at the sky, the stars now covered by a wall of dark clouds, painting the night black.

Rain started, one drop after the other, distant ar first, quiet. Then stronger, steady until it was pouring.
The wind didn’t ease.
It pulled harder.
A gust tore across the deck, sharper than the rest, catching the sails with a sudden crack that snapped through the quiet.

The ship lurched, not a sway but something uneven and forced.
Brando’s hand went to the railing without thinking, fingers tightening around rough wood.
Another wave hit.
Harder.
It struck the side of the ship with a dull, heavy thud, water breaking up over the edge and spilling across the deck in a rush.
Brando gritted his teeth, eyes stinging with the salty sea air.

Somewhere behind him, a voice cut through, sharper than the wind.
"That’s not right!"
Brando turned his head instinctively, already bracing as the ship shifted again beneath his feet, the movement no longer steady, no longer predictable.
The calm was gone.
Completely replaced with something restless.
He glanced toward the reef.
Nothing.
Just dark water, churning now, the tide pulling harder against the rocks—
The wind howled.
Everything moved at once.
"Up—get up!"
"Secure the lines!"

The guitar clattered somewhere across the deck, lost under the sudden rush of boots and shouted orders.

The guitar clattered somewhere across the deck, lost under the sudden rush of boots and shouted orders.

Lantern light swung wildly, throwing shadows that broke apart with every movement.
Brando pushed himself upright, one hand still gripping the railing, the other reaching out to steady himself as the ship pitched again, sharper this time.

Water surged across the deck, cold and fast, the wind biting now.
"Move!"
Ropes snapped taut with a sharp, biting sound, the sails straining overhead as the wind tore into them.

The mast groaned, deep, strained, a sound that settled somewhere in his chest.

Brando braced his boots against the slick wood, shoulders tight, body adjusting automatically to the movement, every shift under his feet forcing him to correct, to hold.
Another wave, higher.
It crashed over the side, drenching him completely, salt burning in his eyes as he turned his face away, blinking hard.
"Hold it—!"
Something slammed.
Wood against wood, too loud, too close.
The ship jerked.

Brando’s grip tightened, knuckles whitening against the railing as his body pitched forward, catching himself just in time, boots slipping for half a second before finding hold again.
The railing dug into his palm.
It felt like entering a different world from before, the peace, the quiet, gone.

The sea roared now, no longer something to watch.

It was everywhere.
Wind, water, sound, pressure, all at once, closing in.
"Starboard—watch it—!"
Another crack.

Deeper.

Wrong.

Brando’s head snapped toward the sound, breath catching as the realization hit a second too late—

They’d hit something.

 

The ship shuddered under the impact.

 

Not a crash but something worse.

 

A grinding, splintering force that dragged along the hull, wood screaming against stone as the momentum carried them forward. Brando staggered, his grip tearing against the railing as the deck lurched violently beneath him.

 

"Hold—hold!"

The order broke apart in the wind.

Another jolt.

 

Lower this time and something gave.

A shout from below.

 

"Water—!"

"Where?!"

"Port side—she’s taking—!"

 

The rest was lost under the roar of the sea.

 

Brando pushed himself off the railing, boots slipping for half a second before he caught himself, already moving.

"Lantern—down there—move!"

Someone shoved past him, another grabbing a coil of rope that slipped straight from their hands, soaking wet, useless.

 

The deck tilted again.

 

Water surged across it in sheets now, cold and heavy, knocking against his legs hard enough to unbalance him. He caught the mast with one hand, breath sharp in his chest as the ship groaned around him.

"Brando—!"

He turned.

One of them, soaked through, face tight with something that wasn’t panic yet but close.

"There’s a breach—she won’t hold—!"

That was it, then. 

 

Brando wiped water from his face with the back of his hand, already moving past him.

 

"Get her light, everything loose, throw it!"

"Secure what you can and leave the rest!"

 

Another wave crashed over the side, harder than before, nearly taking someone off their feet. 

The wind howled through the rigging, tearing at the sails as if it meant to rip them clean off.

The ship wouldn’t hold.

He could feel it now, through the deck, through the way it moved wrong beneath him, slower to correct, heavier with every shift.

 

They weren’t staying out here.

 

"Turn her in!" he shouted, voice cutting through as best it could. "We’re running her ashore!"

Someone hesitated.

"On that reef?!"

"Better the reef than the bottom. Move!" he shouted, his tone giving no space for arguments.

 

Hands moved now, fast and immediate.

 

Brando grabbed the wheel, the wood slick under his palms, forcing it against the pull of the sea. 

The resistance was brutal, every turn dragging against the current, the wind fighting him every inch of the way.

"Hold her!"

"I am!"

 

The ship lurched again, another grinding impact beneath them as something caught along the hull.

The sound was worse this time, splintering, cracking deep enough to feel in his chest.

Too close.

They were too close.

The reef loomed ahead, barely visible through the spray and darkness, waves breaking hard against it, white foam flashing in the black.

"Steady, steady!"

Another surge of water slammed into the side, drenching him completely, the wheel wrenching in his hands as the ship fought back.

He held it.

Forced it to. 

Just a little more—

The impact came all at once.

A violent jolt that threw him forward, the wheel jerking out of his grip as the ship slammed into stone. 

Wood cracked loud and final somewhere below.

Brando’s shoulder hit first, then his head.

A sharp, blinding burst of pain that cut everything else out.

Sound dropped away.

Distant like it had been pulled under with the rest of it.

The deck tilted again, or maybe that was him.

Voices, shouting, too far away to make sense of.

Light swung, then blurred, water hitting his eyes again. 

Then it went dark.

 

Day One

Hurt

 

Something sharp pulsed behind Brando’s eyes before he even fully woke, pain slow and heavy at first, then suddenly there all at once as consciousness settled back into him. His head throbbed with every heartbeat, deep at the base of his skull, dull until he tried to move. 

 

There was sand against his cheek, warm already under the morning sun, grains sticking to damp skin and rough stubble along his jaw. Salt dried tight across his face and neck, crusted into the collar of his shirt, into his hair, into the split skin across his knuckles where rope had burned him raw sometime during the night.

 

For a second he didn’t open his eyes.

 

There was ringing in his ears, high and thin, cutting through everything else.

 

Underneath it came the sound of waves pushing against the shore in steady rhythm, quieter now, calmer than the sea had any right to be after last night. Voices carried somewhere nearby, muffled at first, blending into the wind and the creak of strained wood.

The ship.

Brando frowned slightly before the memory hit properly.

The storm. The reef. 

He must've hit his head. 

 

His eyes opened sharply.

 

Sunlight slammed into him immediately, blinding and white against the wet wood, bright enough to make his stomach turn.

 

He hissed softly through his teeth and lifted a hand to shield his face, blinking hard against the blur of gold and blue swimming in his vision. 

 

The sky stretched clear overhead, cruelly beautiful after the chaos of the night before, not a trace of the storm left behind except for what it had ruined.

The ship no longer moved beneath him.

That felt wrong first. More wrong than the pain.

 

Brando pushed himself upright slowly, one hand pressing down on broken planks, wet and slippery beside him as the world tilted unpleasantly for a moment.

 

His shoulder screamed in protest when he put weight on it, muscles stiff and overworked, every part of him heavy with exhaustion.

 

The ringing in his ears faded enough for the rest of the world to come back properly now, boots dragging over sand, wood knocking against wood, low voices speaking over each other, someone swearing quietly nearby.

 

The ship sat crooked near the shoreline, hull tilted slightly where it had grounded against the reef.

 

One of the sails hung half-torn and useless, ropes trailing loose where they had snapped in the storm. Debris littered the beach around it, crates cracked open, soaked fabric tangled with driftwood and seaweed. Everything looked waterlogged. Beaten and exhausted.

Like them.

 

Brando pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his forehead before forcing himself to stand. Dry blood crusted his temple. 

 

His knees nearly gave under him.

 

"Easy there, captain."

 

One of the crew passed close enough to steady his arm for half a second before moving on again, carrying a broken crate under one shoulder. 

 

Brando muttered something that might’ve been thanks, still blinking against the light as he got his balance properly beneath him.

People first.

Always.

 

His eyes moved automatically over the deck, counting before he even realized he was doing it. One by one. 

 

Familiar faces moving through the wreckage, soaked clothes, bruised skin, exhaustion hanging off every movement.

 

Someone sat near the remains of a barrel wrapping cloth around their hand. Two others argued quietly while dragging rope farther up the beach before the tide could pull it back out. Another crewmember simply lay flat in the sand with an arm over his eyes like getting up had become optional.

 

Brando counted again anyway.

One missing would’ve been enough.

But no one was missing.

His shoulders loosened.

 

A sharp bark broke through the noise nearby.

 

Buster trotted unevenly out of a few ripped sails, still damp, fur sticking out in wild directions as he shook seawater violently from himself before nosing insistently at someone sitting on the ground. 

 

The old dog looked offended more than traumatized, tail wagging stiffly as if the entire storm had merely inconvenienced him personally.

A tired laugh escaped Brando before he could help it, brief and rough in his throat.

"Course you made it," he muttered.

Buster glanced up at the sound of his voice immediately and bounded closer, slower than usual but stubbornly determined all the same. Sand kicked around his paws as he pushed his wet nose against Brando’s hand, whining once low in his throat.

 

Brando scratched absentmindedly behind his ears, rough fingers catching damp fur.

"You look terrible."

The dog wagged harder.

 

Another wave of dizziness rolled through him when he straightened again, slower this time, his head pounding sharply enough to blur the edges of his vision for a second. He braced a hand against the railing, his footing slightly off on the tilted ship, too still, too final. 

 

He inhaled through it, salty air burning slightly in his lungs, then let his eyes drift over the wreck. 

 

Now that everyone was alive, the damage became impossible to ignore.

One side of the railing splintered inward, cracked wood sticking out sharply. 

Planks cracked where cargo slammed loose during the storm, seawater still pooled in low parts of the deck. 

Ropes were snapped, dragging across the deck, one of the sails torn nearly in half. 

 

Brando pulled a face, not at the pain, as he steadied himself and took a few steps in between the chaos, boots thudding heavy and wet. He tried not to focus too much on details but it was no use. 

 

The hull had deep scrape marks everywhere, nails practically ripped out of boards. It was surprising that no one had gotten seriously hurt. 

He stepped closer to the mast, pressing against it to check stability. Not broken. Good. 

 

The cook came up from the lower deck, soaked to the bone, "Reef tore through the starboard side." He said, voice gruff. 

Brando's jaw tightened, "How bad is it?"

"Bad," he said, dragging a hand over his face. "Everything's flooded."

 

Another one called from the railing, hauling rope, "Half the food's lost. Gunpowder ruined." 

Brando nodded, not that bad. They had to fix the ship. The gun power didn't matter. 

They needed rope, a new sail, maybe some planks to fix the damage. 

 

"Captain," someone called and Brando turned around, "She won't hold in water like that. No chance, we'll drown before it's nightfall again."

Brando chewed the inside of his cheek, letting his eyes drift over the wreck again, over the lost cargo, the injured crew. His own shoulder throbbed painfully. 

It was no use. 

He sighed, straightening, "Get everything salvageable onto shore." 

"Aye, captain."

Brando glanced at the others, "Keep the crates dry. Check for another breach before the tide shifts."

They nodded and went to work. 

Brando grabbed hold of the rope ladder hanging unevenly over the side of the ship, the fibers rough and damp against his palms as he tested his weight carefully before climbing down.

 

The ship groaned quietly above him, old wood shifting with every movement of the tide beneath it, though the water was calmer now, almost deceptively so. 

 

His shoulder protested sharply each time he lowered himself another step, muscles pulling tight across his back and neck, exhaustion settled deep into his bones in a way sleep hadn’t touched at all.

 

The closer he got to the ground, the stronger the smell became.

 

Saltwater, wet wood and seaweed. 

Damp sand baking already under the morning heat. Something faintly metallic underneath it all where blood had dried somewhere into the wreckage.

 

His boots sank slightly the moment he stepped onto the shore, wet sand dragging at the soles as he steadied himself automatically against the side of the hull beside him. Up close, the damage looked worse.

 

The reef had torn deep into the ship’s side, jagged scrape marks carving through dark wood in long brutal lines. 

 

Some planks had splintered inward entirely, warped around the edges where seawater had swollen the wood overnight.

 

Barnacles and strands of torn seaweed clung stubbornly to the underside near the breach, left there when the tide had shoved them hard enough against the rocks to grind part of the hull nearly open.

 

Brando exhaled slowly through his nose.

 

His fingers brushed over one of the deep grooves as he walked, rough wood scraping against his skin. 

 

Repairable, maybe, if they found enough material nearby. If the tide stayed kind. If the hull hadn’t shifted worse underneath the water where he couldn’t see it yet.

 

Too many ifs.

 

The shoreline stretched unevenly around them, scattered with debris the storm had spit back out during the night. 

 

Broken crates lay half-buried in wet sand farther ahead, fabric tangled around driftwood and snapped oars.

 

Rope dragged lazily in shallow water where waves pushed it back and forth against the beach with quiet rhythmic sounds. 

Somewhere behind him, the crew shouted back and forth while unloading what remained salvageable from the ship, voices carrying faintly over the wind.

Brando kept walking.

His head still pounded dully with every step, though not enough anymore to slow him down. 

He rolled his shoulder once with a grimace, eyes drifting automatically over the reef ahead, dark stone cutting jagged through the water not far from shore. 

The sea foam broke softer there now, white against black rock, sunlight glimmering across the surface in fractured gold and blue.

That was when he saw it again.

A flicker beneath the water. Bright enough to catch against the tide before disappearing.
Brando slowed without meaning to, something in his stomach twisting as he thought back to last night. 
He followed it, the shine, the glimmer under the water, sun hitting it directly now. 

Brando stepped closer, water sloshing as his boots kicked up sand, the salty air feeling colder near the sea, the sand not as scorching. 
He climbed across jagged stones, the glimmer sharper now, like broken glass catching the sun. 
He slipped slightly on uneven stone, water splashing his ankles. 

He shifted his stance, making sure he was stable before climbing further. He was closer to the water now, the tide pooling low and shallow. 
The noise from the ship was almost drowned out completely here, the soft murmur of the sea swallowing voices. There was a splashing sound. 
His eyes lifted and he stilled. 
Recognition hit him immediately.

Dark curls spilling wet over bare shoulders, skin glistening wet and bright in the sun, stronger than under the moonlight yesterday.
And then, the eyes.
Wide, brown eyes, something almost honey colored glinting there as they fixed on Brando.

The man from the reef. 

Water clung to his curls, his lashes, droplets running down his chest. He braced his arms against the stone, pressing himself back, shoulders locked tight, breathing shallow and quick. 
A ripped fisher net clung to his chest and arm, twisting around him enough to make it hard to move, enough to cut into skin. 
His eyes never left Brando's.

The shimmer came again and Brando's gaze dropped to the water. 
His breath caught. 
Half emerged in water, dark blue scales shimmering beneath the surface, small and smooth, like diamonds and treasures Brando dreamed about. A fish tail jerked, rapid, brief motions like he was trying to wiggle free. 
It was longer than his torso, webbed skin trailing down the sides, lighter blue, until they came together at the fin, wide and uneven, moving slower like it didn’t have the strength, moving water with every twitch. 
The net was draped over it, tight mesh catching in the scales, pulling taut every time he tried to jerk back. 

Brando couldn't help but stare for a while. 
He must've hit his head harder than he thought. 
He shook his head, no. This was real. 
It had to be. 

Brando's eyes trailed over him again, like he had to make sure, the tail connecting seamlessly to a soft, very human looking stomach, lighter scales traveling up until they stopped, disappearing into smooth skin, sunkissed and shining in a way that didn’t feel entirely mortal. 
He shook his head, trying not to get distracted by the shimmering skin or the way these eyes pinned him in place. 

The net was tightly twisted around the tail, a few scales loose, blood mixing with water. It looked like it hurt. 
He must've gotten tangled here in the storm. 
Brando moved closer, trying to examine the damage. 
The man thrashed then, muscles jumping as he tried to get away, arms scrambling against stone, trying to find better grip but he slipped slightly.
Brando's head shot up, catching the creatures eye. 
His breath came quick and uneven, eyes wide with panic, a sound tearing from his throat that didn’t sound human despite the face. 
It could've been a growl or a whine, Brando wasn't sure. 

He stilled mid-motion, eyes finding the man's. He couldn't move to quick. 
"Hey," Brando said, low and quiet, trying to soothe. 

The man swallowed, gasping for air as he tried again to move, to no avail. The net only pulled tighter, making him pull in a sharp breath through his teeth. 

Brando cowered, every move careful and deliberate. "Hey, it's okay—"
The creature thrashed again, harder, "Don't." He hissed, something in his voice sounding strange and foreign but not as agressive as intended. 

Brando lifted his hands slowly, showing his open palms, watching the creature carefully. 
He watched Brando's hands like someone who couldn't afford to glance away but his jaw unclenched slightly. 
At least Brando knew he understood him a little. 
He nodded toward the net, tangled around his tail, fin flapping uselessly. 
"You stuck?" 
The creature still watched him, then tilted his head, eyes flickering to the net and back up quickly. His fingers splayed against the stone wall behind him as he tried to straighten. 
His jaw moved, "...Stuck," he said back, like he was trying out the word. 
Brando nodded slowly, "Yeah, I figured." 
He lowered his right hand, the left still in the air, reaching for the small knife he wore on his belt. 
His fingers closed around the handle as he pulled it from the holster, his eyes still on the creature.

Brando swallowed, pulling the knife free, the sharp metal of the blade glinting in the sun. The creature pushed himself back, tail thrashing with abandon, a quick, strong strike with his fin that hit Brando completely blindsided. 
Not to hurt.
To warn.
 It was hard enough to knock Brando sideways, a surprised yelp escaping him, catching himself on sharp, wet stone, water splashing around him, his knees hitting the ground. 
 He cursed under his breath, gripping the handle a little harder just so it wouldn't slip. 

The creature watched him more cautiously now, tracking every movement, every breath like his life depended on it. 
He was scared, paler now, breath coming faster like he couldn't get enough air in. 
Brando shifted, staying on eye level, "Hey— Hey, easy," he said quietly, turning the knife in his hand, handle facing the creature, "I'm helping."
The creature stilled, leaning forward slightly, not nearly enough to touch.
Brando held his hand open, showing him the knife, "Okay?" 
He nodded again, to the tangled mess of mesh, "Just the net."

The man's eyes finally dropped from Brando’s face, staying fixed on his hands instead, on the knife. 
He exhaled, chest heaving once. He swallowed, then looked at Brando's face.
Something in his eyes flickered. Something vulnerable. It made Brando's breath catch.
"...Slow." He said, the word low and almost careful and Brando nodded.

He lowered his hand, slowly, fingers hooking into the tangled net. He lifted it slightly, not yanking, just separating it from skin. 
Rough, callouse fingertips brushed gently against the tail, scales smooth but hard underneath his, cool to the touch like they carried the essence of the tide. 
The creature flinched, sucking in a breath and Brando stilled, glancing up, not retreating, just pausing.
He watched his hands, bracing like he waa ready to hit again. 

Brando caught his eye. "Slow." Brando repeated, lifting the knife before bringing it down. 
He held the net firmly, cutting the first knot. It snapped easily, loosening around the scales. 
Brando paused again, checking the creatures face. 

He watched the movement, the knife. Shifting his tail and finding no pain, no blood, no tightness. 
Brando could still feel the tension radiating from his body. But he didn’t struggle. He let him.

Brando cut more, careful not to graze the scales. One after the other, the knots loosened, the net slowly falling away, making it easier to move. 

Brando helped detangle the net from his scales, stopping when he heard a hissing sound. 
Once free, Brando sat back on his heels, placing the knife onto the stone, in plain sight for the creature. 

The man moved, just slightly, testing, the fin flapping against the water, rolling his stiff shoulder once. 
He glanced up then, meeting Brando’s eyes. It wasn't the same look, more seeing him than assessing, less on edge. 
His jaw worked, eyes flickering over Brando's face. When he spoke it still sounded unfamiliar but less shaky, "You..." he started, wetting his lips like he was searching for the words, "Didn't...hurt." 

Brando's mouth twitched, something warm in his voice, "Yeah, of course not." He shook his head, "Wasn't gonna."
The man studied him for a moment, really seeing him this time, eyes catching on the dried blood near Brando's hairline, something in his eyes softening for a moment. 

Then, he straightened, tail moving through the shallow water, smooth and quick, shooting Brando one last look before he dove beneath the surface, water closing over him like he never was here in the first place. 
The glimmer vanished under the cool waves, only wet rocks and tangled mesh left behind. 

Brando dragged a hand through his hair, sweat beading on his temples as he huffed out a breath that had been stuck in his chest. 

This was real. God, it was. 

For a long moment, Brando stayed exactly where he was, kneeling against wet stone with seawater pushing softly around his boots. The torn net still rested beside his hand, heavy and dripping where he’d dropped it, tangled strands shifting slightly every time the tide pulled at them.

The water looked normal again.
Just waves rolling against black rock, sea foam breaking white at the edges, sunlight scattering gold over the surface. 

Nothing beneath it now. No glimmer. No dark curls. No impossible eyes staring straight through him like they belonged there.

Brando exhaled slowly, dragging a rough hand down his face before letting it settle briefly against the back of his neck. His pulse still hadn’t calmed properly. He could feel it in his throat, in the slight tremble sitting under his skin, adrenaline slow and lingering now that the moment had passed.

You didn’t hurt.

The words echoed strangely in his head.
A sharp voice carried over the shoreline then, distant but loud enough to cut through the sound of the tide.
"Captain!"
Brando blinked hard, his head turning automatically toward the wreck further down the beach. The ship sat crooked against the shore exactly where he’d left it, crew still moving back and forth between the deck and sand, hauling salvage from the lower hold before the tide shifted again.

"Captain, you alive over there or what?"
A few tired laughs followed faintly after it.
Brando swallowed once before pushing himself upright carefully, his shoulder protesting immediately. He glanced back toward the water one last time.

Nothing.

Still, his eyes lingered there a second too long before he finally looked away.
Then he turned and started back along the shoreline, boots sinking into wet sand as the noise of the crew slowly swallowed the sea again.

 

Day Two

The name

 

The night had passed slowly and without much rest.

Cold crept in once the sun disappeared, settling damp and heavy through the thin sleeping space they had thrown together from salvaged canvas and torn sailcloth, the air near the shore carrying enough salt and wind to seep into bone after a few hours. 

Most of the crew had eventually collapsed where they could, exhausted enough to sleep through the ache in their muscles and the constant sound of waves rolling against the reef. 

Brando had barely managed more than scattered moments of sleep between stretches of work.

Every time he closed his eyes properly he saw splintering wood beneath stormlight again, heard ropes snapping somewhere in the dark above him, felt the sickening impact of the reef beneath the hull all over again.

So he had stayed awake instead, moving through the wreck with a lantern long after midnight, checking damage, counting supplies twice, listening to tired suggestions from the crew while building plan after plan in his head for how to get them off this shore alive. 

And every quiet moment in between, his eyes had drifted back toward the dark water beyond the reef before he could stop himself.

The day hadn't been much better. 

The heat had settled into everything by now. Into the sand, into the warped wood beneath Brando’s hands, into the salt stiffening his shirt against his skin.

The sun hung lower than it had at midday but it still burned bright against the shoreline, glaring gold across the water hard enough to make his eyes ache every time he looked up for too long. 

Sweat dragged slowly down the side of his neck and disappeared beneath the open collar of his shirt while he tightened another length of rope around the patched railing, rough fibers burning faintly against the healing cuts in his palms.

The ship looked less like a corpse now.

Still wounded, still crooked against the reef where the storm had thrown her, but no longer split open and helpless. 

They had spent the entire day working without pause, hauling soaked cargo onto shore before the tide could steal it back, hammering loose boards into place, cutting ruined sailcloth apart to salvage what they could still use. 

Temporary patches covered the worst breaches along the hull now, uneven and ugly but seaworthy enough for the moment.

Crates sat farther up the beach beneath stretched canvas to keep them dry overnight, and someone had finally managed to get a fire going near the sleeping area. 

Exhaustion hung over the entire shoreline.

Men moved slower now, shirts clinging damp to their backs, skin reddened from sun and salt alike.

Someone laughed somewhere behind him before immediately groaning about their shoulders. Another voice answered with a curse. Wood knocked against wood in uneven rhythm farther down the beach where two crew members still argued over measurements neither of them cared enough to do properly anymore.

Brando barely listened.

He braced one boot against the railing and pulled the knot tighter, jaw tightening faintly when pain pulled through his shoulder again. Everything hurt now in ways that had settled too deeply into his body to register as temporary anymore.

His hands were scraped raw, dried salt crusted pale across his forearms, and every muscle in his back felt heavy from lifting soaked cargo and wood planks since sunrise.

He should’ve been thinking about supplies. About repairs. About whether the patched hull would survive deeper water once the tide shifted again.

Instead, his thoughts kept dragging themselves back to the reef.
To dark curls soaked black beneath sunlight.
To wide brown eyes fixed on him so intensely it still sat strangely beneath his ribs when he thought about it too long.

Human. That had been the part he couldn’t stop thinking about.
Not the tail, the impossible shimmer of scales beneath the water or the fin cutting sharply through the tide.
It had been the face, the expression.
Fear looked the same no matter who wore it.

Brando exhaled slowly through his nose and leaned harder against the railing, eyes drifting toward the water without meaning to.

Sunlight scattered across the surface in fractured gold, bright enough to hide anything beneath it.

Yesterday replayed itself anyway.
The net twisted tight around blue scales, blood in the water, that sharp, panicked sound torn from his throat when Brando moved too quickly.

And then softer things after. The way he'd watched his hands.

Slow.

The word still lingered strangely in his head, rough around the edges but careful, spoken like someone testing a language he barely knew.

Brando swallowed and dragged the back of his wrist across his forehead, smearing sweat and salt together.

He still remembered the feeling of the tail beneath his fingers while he cut the net loose, smooth scales shifting against his skin, powerful even trapped.
And afterward, once the panic eased enough for him to stop struggling, there had been something painfully human in the way he looked at Brando. Something he still couldn't quite shake.

Trust, fragile and careful still but undeniably given.

And then he’d vanished beneath the water like he belonged to it more than the tide itself.

Brando frowned faintly at the thought before tightening another knot harder than necessary.

"Careful, captain," someone called lazily from nearby, "you keep pulling rope like that and she’ll snap again just to spite you."

A few tired chuckles answered that.

Brando huffed quietly through his nose, not quite smiling as he finally let the rope go. His palms stung immediately.

The sea breeze shifted slightly then, cooler than before, carrying the sharp smell of salt and seaweed across the shoreline.

By the time they sat down around a fire, the sky hung in faint blue and left over orange, the air cooling slightly as the evening breeze rolled in from the sea.

His men sat in a loose circle, picking on bread and drinking whatever was left of their supplies before it got bad. A few of them complained about their backs and the heat and how hauling wood wasn't for them despite having endured worse things.

Brando huffed out a laugh through his nose, muttering about them being dramatic on purpose. He took a sip of rum that had been passed to him, boots dragging through the sand in front of him. 

Someone told a story from the market today, someone else started playing a idle melody on the guitar that miraculously survived the whole tragedy. 

Brando half listened to it, occasionally contributing to easy conversation but his mind was elsewhere. 
His body felt stiff, his hands still sore and aching. He flexed his fingers once, passing the rum to the next one. 

Brando leaned back on his hands, the sand burning faintly in the wounds. He didn't really care. His gaze drifted over the crew, still lucky nobody got seriously injured. 

The flames lowered with every passing hour, the warmth welcome against their damp skin. 

Somewhere nearby Buster barked once, sharp and sudden enough to drag Brando from his thoughts for the first time in nearly an hour.

He glanced at him, watching Buster wag his tail and trail around in the sand. 
"What's up with him?" Someone asked.
"Probably saw a fish." Someone else waved off. 

Brando's mouth twitched, watching with amused interest how Buster sniffed the ground like he found treasure.

The dog barked again.

Brando frowned slightly, glancing on the direction Buster had been sniffing. 
"What's wrong boy?" He asked, already pushing himself upright.

Buster barked again, twice, louder now, a sharp little whistle escaping him. 
"Hey!" Brando stood up, the sand uneven under his boots, his legs groaning in protest.

And Buster ran. 

Brando looked after him for a moment, something mildly unsettling twisting in his stomach. 
Not really bad, more like an instinct pulling at him.

"I'll get him." He said to no one in particular and then he moved. 

He followed Buster's footsteps, the little paw prints in the wet sand, past the wreck and driftwood, the tide splashing against his boots sometimes. 

Buster was out of sight now, barking loud enough to be heard across the beach.
Brando shook his head, exhaling through his nose. 

That dog was ridiculous, running to chase seagulls or something. 
And still Brando could feel the way his pulse picked up just slightly, something in his chest tightening that wasn't exhaustion alone. 

He walked a little faster without meaning to, something pulling him along. 

The sun still felt warm on his skin.

He slowed near the reef for a moment, squinting against the sun. 

Buster was near the shoreline, paws splashing through the water, tail wagging excitedly as he jumped and barked, already ready to play. 

That's when Brando saw him.

Half submerged in the water, shoulders wet, water droplets sliding down his arms, sand sticking to the underside of them. 

Dark curls stuck to his head, some flat to his temples and forehead, dripping off the ends, some of them already drying in the heat, a little frizzy from salt water. The faint shine of scales beneath the shallow water. 

And Brando's pulse kicked up instantly. 

The man from yesterday.

He eyed Buster with wide eyes, shoulders drawn a little as Buster barked directly at his face and the man's tail splashed once in the water, startled at the noise, the wave behind him raining salt water onto himself and the dog, who only shook himself and barked again. 

The man tilted his head, studying the dog a little closer and Buster was quiet now. He stepped closer too, his nose almost touched the one of the man in the water. 

He lifted his hands, a careful, confused gesture, maybe trying to touch the dog. 
Buster immediately started sniffing him like he was inspecting his new friend. Then, his tail started wagging harder, moving the sand beneath him. 

The man blinked at the dog, then glanced at his own hands, something deeply curious crossing his face.

"Buster!" Brando's feet moved before he could really think about it, quick steps carrying him to the shore before he gently grabbed Buster by his scruff, pulling him away from the sea creature.

The man looked up at Brando then, recognition flickering in his eyes but he didn’t move away, didn’t vanish beneath the waves like yesterday. 
Instead he leaned on his forearms in the sand, keeping his eyes on Brando's hands. 

Buster was still moving excitedly, paws wet now. Brando glanced at the dog, then at the merman who was studying them both. 

Buster didn't look scared. If anything he looked like he found a new playmate and was incredibly excited about it. 

The man didn't seem to be alarmed either, maybe a little surprised. But calmer than yesterday. 

Brando's shoulders dropped automatically when he realized that nobody got hurt. He loosened his grip on Buster, then slowly settled cross-legged into the sand. 
Shallow waves hit his shins, soaking his pants. Buster settled under his arm, enjoying the way Brando's hand immediately started moving, scratching his ears and patting his head. 

The man eyes had still not left Brando. 
There was something gentle in them now, something Brando hadn’t seen underneath the panic yesterday. 

The sun caught his skin, making it almost glow. 
Brando's eyes trailed over him once. "You okay?" He asked softly, his voice almost getting lost beneath the sound of the sea. 

The man straightened slightly, biting the inside of his cheek.
Something about that little nervous gesture was oddly endearing.

The man glanced down at himself. "No net." He said, just as quiet. Then after a second. "Not hurt." 

That sounded surer. More certain. 
Brando's mouth twitched involuntarily. 

A wet hand came up to gesture vaguely near Brando's head. The side where he injured himself. 

Brando's own hand came up instinctively, stopping just short of the cut. "It's fine." He said quickly, shaking his head. "Had worse before."

The man lowered his hand back into the water. "No. You're hurt too."  It came out slow, a little broken but it was a sentence. 

Brando blinked, taken aback for a moment. "You actually understand me quite well, don't you?" He breathed. 

The man nodded once. "Talk is not ...that... easy." 

"Speaking my language isn't easy for you?"

He nodded again. 

Brando shifted in the sand, resting his forearms on his knees. "It's okay, we can go slow."
The man seemed to relax a little more now, his posture looser. 

For some reason it had never occurred to Brando that Sirens didn't speak like humans did. 
Who would've thought that? 
He only ever heard stories about their songs. About how it was a call that lured sailors to the waves. 

Never anything about words or what they sang about, just that unconscious, unrelenting pull it seemed to have. 

Buster wandered back over a moment later like the entire shoreline belonged to him, paws sinking into the wet sand as he sniffed curiously at the man again.

The man watched him approach this time instead of startling, head tilting slightly as the dog pressed his nose against the wet skin of his wrist. His fingers moved carefully over Buster's fur after a second, uncertain at first, the slow up and down motion more imitation than instinct.

Buster immediately leaned into it.

The man's eyes widened just slightly at the reaction, blinking down at the dog while his hand stilled for a second before continuing the motion a little more confidently.

Then he looked back up at Brando. "What is this?"

Brando glanced down at Buster automatically. "That's Buster." The answer left him before he realized it explained absolutely nothing. He huffed quietly through his nose. "He's a dog."

The man's gaze dropped back to the animal immediately.

"...Dog."

The word sounded careful in his mouth, quieter than before, like he was testing how it should feel on his tongue.

Buster wagged harder at the attention and suddenly stretched up enough to lick directly across the man's cheek.

The man blinked sharply, recoiling just enough to stare at him in visible confusion before wiping the water and sand from his face with the back of his hand.

Brando laughed quietly before he could stop himself, the sound softer than most laughter had been these last two days. "Buster," he called gently.

 

The dog immediately turned and trotted back toward him, tail wagging so hard his entire body moved with it. He licked across Brando's hand once before dropping heavily into the sand beside him with a pleased huff.

The man watched the entire thing carefully. "It does that?"

Brando scratched absentmindedly behind Buster's ears. "Yeah." His mouth twitched faintly. "Means you guys are friends now."

The man stared at the dog for a long moment after that, something quietly bewildered flickering across his face.

 

Brando leaned back on his hands, one leg stretching out toward the water. 
The man watched that too. For a long moment, neither said anything. The wind blew through Brando's hair, the breeze colder now as the sun sat lower, almost touching the water. 

Brando tilted his head, watching the way the tail emerged from the surface sometimes, just shallow but the blue catching sunlight, without fail, drew Brando's gaze to it every time. 

"So..." Brando started, slower now, choosing his words carefully. 
"You know what I am." he said, glancing down at Buster. "And what he is."

 

When he looked up, their eyes met, the man sunken into the water to his shoulders like he needed to cool off but he was still listening. 
He was further away now and Brando shifted closer on instinct. 

The words hung somewhere in his throat before he forced them out. "What are you?"

The man stayed quiet for a moment after the question left Brando’s mouth.

Not uncomfortable quiet, more like he was thinking. 

 

His fingers dragged absently through the water beside him, the movement slow enough to send little ripples toward the shore. Buster immediately leaned forward to investigate them, paw splashing into the shallow water again.

The man blinked at him once before looking back at Brando. Then, slowly, he pushed himself a little closer through the tide.

Brando tried very hard not to notice that, which became impossible the second the man moved closer.

 

The water only reached the man's waist now, the tail still hidden beneath the shifting surface except for flashes of blue whenever the waves rolled back. Up close, Brando could see the salt drying faintly against his skin where the evening air touched it.

The man thought for another second, brows pulling together slightly like he was sorting through words before speaking them.

"Different places..." He started slowly, voice rough around the edges of the language. "Different names."

Brando stayed quiet, listening.

"Sea people." He glanced briefly toward the horizon as if searching for the right phrasing there too. "Merfolk. River singers." He made a small motion with one hand, uncertain. "Many names."

 

The corner of Brando’s mouth twitched faintly.

The man's eyes found his again. "Humans..." He paused. "Humans call most of us sirens."

The word settled strangely between them.

Not like a monster story.
Not like drunken sailor tales thrown around noisy taverns.

 

It was a name, spoken softly in that deep, almost hypnotic voice while the tide moved quietly around him.

Brando found himself staring again before he caught himself doing it.

Sirens. 

The word that had been thrown around in taverns and in ports. Drunk sailors slurring about them, about seeing one. Escaping one. 

People who claimed they heard the songs. Some who said their ship had been attacked, most of their men drowned.

 

Brando wet his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. His fingers flexed in the fabric of his trousers. 
This man didn't look like a monster. 
Undeniably beautiful. 
Ethereal, yes, but not unnatural.
Not strange in the way a creature like that should look. 

There were no glowing eyes, no sharp teeth. 

If anything he looked strangely human. 

Maybe that was the first sign. Maybe that was what people fell for first before the voice hit them.

And maybe Brando was about to make the same mistake. 

He let out a quiet breath through his nose. "So the stories are real."

 

The man leaned his forearm on the shore again, sand sticking to his arms as he rested his chin there. And then, slowly, he let his fin emerge from the water, wide and uneven, a light blue color in contrast to the dark tail, the skin almost see through but thick. Water trailed down, tracing the shape of it before he lowered it again, moving slowly in the waves. 

Brando followed the movement with his eyes, captivated by the shine. And the man watched Brando watch him.

 

"What stories do you know?" He murmured, the words coming easier now. 

Brando's breath caught for a moment, his gaze dropping to the sand, then back up like it was common decency. 

 

He cleared his throat, feeling his heart pick up the pace. "I heard of... ship wrecks and drowned sailors."

The man tilted his head, his gaze unreadable. 

So Brando kept going. "About sirens singing from the reefs."

"What do you really want to know?" The man asked now. It didn’t sound impatient, if anything it was curious.

 

Brando huffed quietly through his nose, trying to ignore the fact that his pulse had betrayed him completely already. The wet sand shifted beneath him when he adjusted his leg, one boot dragging absently through the shallow water.

The man was still watching him with that calm, unwavering focus that made Brando feel strangely transparent beneath it.

Brando rubbed a hand over his jaw once before finally asking, "Do you really sing men into the sea?"

 

For a second the only sound between them was the tide washing softly against the reef.

Then the corner of the man’s mouth twitched.

"You ask like you know answer already."

 

Brando barked out a short laugh despite himself, dropping his gaze briefly toward Buster where the dog had fully sprawled into the wet sand beside him. "I know stories."

"Stories are loud," the man murmured.

 

The wind shifted around them, cooler now. Dark curls moved across his forehead and he pushed them back absently with wet fingers before continuing.

 

"We sing." He dragged his hand slowly through the water beside him again, watching the ripples spread outward. "Sometimes people follow."

 

Brando snorted softly. "That sounds exactly like the stories."

 

The man looked at him for another long second before his gaze flicked briefly toward the wreck farther down the shore. "Humans also follow shiny rocks."

 

Brando frowned immediately. "Treasure is different."

 

"Is it?"

 

There was something almost unfair about how calmly he said things like that.

 

Brando opened his mouth, fully intending to argue, then realized halfway through that he didn’t actually have a good defense for piracy motivated by gold and bad decisions.

 

The man noticed.

 

Brando could tell by the faint amusement shifting through his expression before he lowered himself a little deeper into the water again, shoulders disappearing briefly beneath a wave before reemerging slick with seawater.

 

Brando swallowed once, forcing his eyes back to the man's face.

 

"Do you really…" He hesitated, fingers flexing against his knee. "Eat people? Or just drown them?"

 

The amusement faded slightly then.

"Some do."

 

There was no hesitation in it, no denial.

The water moved quietly around him while he looked somewhere past Brando for a moment, expression harder to read now.

 

"Some need food," he said after a second. "Some want revenge."

 

Brando’s brows pulled together faintly. "Revenge?"

 

The man nodded once.

"Humans hurt us." His voice had gone quieter again, rougher around certain words when he spoke too long. "Hunt us. Keep us." His fingers curled loosely in the wet sand near the shore. "Sometimes they find them again later."

 

Something uncomfortable settled heavily beneath Brando’s ribs.

The man looked down at the water when he spoke again.

 

"Some are only cruel." His expression tightened just slightly. "They do it because it is fun."

 

The breeze carried the sharp smell of salt and seaweed between them. Somewhere farther down the beach Brando could still hear distant laughter from the crew around the fire, softened by distance and wind.

He studied the man quietly for a moment, watching the way the last sunlight caught against the scales beneath the water.

 

Then, softer now, "Do you have questions for me?"

 

That seemed to genuinely surprise him.

 

His eyes lifted immediately, blinking once before his posture loosened again. Buster chose that exact moment to wander back toward the water and press his nose insistently against the man's wrist.

 

The man automatically reached down to smooth his hand over the dog’s wet fur again while he thought.

 

Brando tried very hard not to find that unbearably endearing.

 

Finally the man asked, "Why do humans go where they cannot breathe?"

 

Brando stared at him for a second before a laugh escaped him again, quieter this time. "Adventure."

 

The man looked genuinely baffled. "That is bad reason."

 

Brando huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh, boots digging into the wet sand more now.

 

The sun was almost gone, the sky darker at the edges as the stars started to appear, a faint glimmer in the sky. 

 

The tide was stronger now, the air still not cold despite it. Water lapped at the man's shoulders, catching in his curls sometimes. He didn't seem to care. 

Brando could see the tail moving beneath the surface, stronger now like he was working against the tide to stay. 

 

"Some sailors look for something at sea. That's why they are out there."

 

"Like you?"

 

Brando glanced at him. "Yeah."

The man turned his head, looking at the ship wreck. "Not with ship like that. Not my fault." 

 

Brando snorted quietly, dragging a hand through his hair, slightly damp at the edges. "No that was just sheer bad luck."

 

"Ship still hurt."

 

"Damaged."

 

The man paused, then nodded. "Damage." 

 

Brando shrugged like it didn't matter even though he couldn't stop thinking about it. "We'll repair it and set sail again."

 

"Where to go?" 

 

Brando smiled, his eyes landing on the stars. "North." He shifted closer, the wet sand dragging against his pants before the cool water hit him. He didn't flinch, didn't shift back. He was close enough now to feel the man's body heat seeping through his sleeve. 

 

For some reason, Brando hadn't expected that. 

He pointed to the brightest star in the sky. "That's the north star."

 

The man followed the direction of Brando’s hand immediately, eyes lifting toward the star above them.

 

For a moment he only watched quietly while the waves moved around him, tide brushing against Brando’s boots now hard enough to shift sand beneath them.

 

"That one always stays north," Brando explained, lowering his hand slowly. "If you know where it is, you know where you are." He glanced back toward the wreck further down the shore. "Most sailors navigate like that."

 

The man’s gaze moved from the stars back to him again, thoughtful in that steady way Brando was starting to recognize already.

 

"You move through sea," he said slowly, "and ask sky where to go."

 

The corner of Brando’s mouth twitched.

 

"When you say it like that it sounds stupid."

 

The man didn’t laugh, though there was something quietly amused in his expression again. He turned his hand through the water absently, fingers trailing beneath the surface.

 

"Why?"

Brando looked back toward the stars himself. There were more of them visible now, scattered faintly across the darkening sky while the last orange light disappeared behind the horizon.

 

"That’s how we find land," he said after a second. "Routes too. Currents help, but..." He shrugged one shoulder. "Humans can’t read the sea the way you probably can."

 

The man frowned slightly at that. "You cannot feel tide?"

 

"Not really."

 

The silence that followed lasted just long enough for Brando to realize how ridiculous that probably sounded to someone born in the ocean.

The man stared at him for another long second, visibly trying to understand how humans survived at all.

 

"Then humans should not sail them."

 

Brando laughed again before he could stop himself, quieter this time as he leaned back on his hands. "Honestly? You might be right."

 

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, not entirely sure whether Brando was joking.

"But that’s the fun part," Brando added, glancing sideways at him. "The risk. The adventure."

 

The man looked genuinely unconvinced.

 

Brando could see it immediately in the faint pull of his brows and the way his tail moved beneath the water again, stronger against the current now.

 

Still, after a moment, he gave a slow nod like he accepted the explanation even if he clearly thought humans were catastrophically irrational. 

 

Then, a low laugh slipped out, breathy and barely there but Brando heard it. He looked at him then, the moonlight catching in his curls, along the wet skin, making him shimmer silver. 

 

"What's so funny?" Brando asked.

 

 The man shook his head before the laugh escaped him again, fuller this time, carrying quietly over the water. "How are you still alive? This is ..." he let his hand drop into the water, the smile still tugging at his lips. "Stupid."

 

Brando couldn't help but laugh. 

 

The moon sat higher now, the sky darker. 

 

The tide had climbed higher while they talked. Farther down the beach he could still see the fire burning low between the wreckage, faint voices carrying through the wind every now and then.

He should probably go back.

 

For some reason the thought sat strangely in his chest.

The man remained close to shore, forearms resting in the wet sand while the tide rolled around him in slow, steady waves.

 

"I should go back," Brando said quietly, though he didn’t sound particularly convinced by it himself. "If I disappear too long they’ll probably come looking for me."

 

The man didn’t answer, he just looked down at the water like he didn't want to leave either. 

 

Brando pushed himself upright slowly, brushing damp sand from his palms while Buster stretched beside him with a tired groan.

 

He hesitated before taking a step back. "Wait."

 

The man looked up immediately.

Brando rubbed the back of his neck once, suddenly feeling ridiculous for how awkward this felt after everything else they had talked about.

"I never got your name."

Brando shifted slightly in the wet sand before adding, softer this time, "I'm Brando."

 

The man looked hesitant for a moment, rising and sinking with the waves slightly as the tide got stronger again. His lips, now pale from the cool air, were pressed together into a thin line briefly. 

 

He pushed himself upright, sand sticking to wet skin, lips parting as he looked for the right words. "Hard to say. For humans." 

 

Brando smiled a little at that. "It's okay. I want to try."

 

The man's fingers curled into the sand for a moment before he drifted a little out into the water. 

Brando frowned, thinking he'd upset him, maybe drove him away.

 

But the man just gestured him to come closer. Just the subtle wave of a hand, his eyes never leaving Brando's face. 

 

"What?" Brando asked, already shifting closer, his shins fully submerged in shallow water now. 

 

"Not here." The man said, gesturing toward the surface. "Sound wrong."

For a moment Brando didn't move, glancing at Buster near the shore who didn't seem to be alarmed by any of it, then back out into the dark water. 

 

The man was there, waiting, looking at Brando like he half expected him not to follow. 

 

Brando took a quiet breath and moved farther into the water. 

His knees sank into wet sand, the waves soaking his pants, his hands diving deeper into the water until it reached his elbows. 

 

And the man saw that as a sign. 

 

They were closer now as they held their gaze, their faces not far apart and Brando nodded, a small gesture.

 

The man sank slowly back into the water, never widening the distance, not shrinking it either as Brando followed.

 

The surface closed over the man's head, dark and cool, just deep enough that he was fully submerged but still visible. And he waited there, still looking through his lashes. 

Brando stopped short before the surface, a small wave rising to wet the tip of his nose. He hovered there, watching the man underneath the sea. 

 

This is how it goes, the thought came involuntarily. This is how the stories sound.

And with overwhelming clarity, Brando realized that the man could drown him any minute now.

And he was still doing it, stupid as he might seem. 

 

But then again, if he wasn't half as reckless, how would he ever see something so beautiful, so new? 

 

*He won't hurt me,* something inside him said. And this voice was louder than any story he'd heard in taverns. 

 

Brando took a deep breath and followed him inside, the waves giving way, eyes closing breifly as cold salty water hit his face.

 

And for a moment everything stilled. The sounds from the land were muffled here, some eerie quiet filling the atmosphere. 

 

Brando opened his eyes slowly. 

 

For a moment he forgot to move.

 

The world beneath the surface looked wrong in the most beautiful way imaginable.

 

Moonlight fractured through the water above them, breaking silver across the man's skin in shifting patterns that moved with every wave. His dark curls floated weightless around his face now, drifting slowly in the tide while his eyes stayed fixed on Brando’s like he had never looked away once.

And beneath him—

 

Brando finally saw all of him.

 

The tail moved freely here, powerful and effortless beneath the water, scales catching pale light whenever it curved through the tide. The deep blue darkened almost black farther down before the color burst brighter again near the wide fin behind him, moving slowly enough to keep them suspended there together beneath the surface.

 

Beautiful.

Not in the way gold or jewels were beautiful, something older, alive.

 

Brando’s pulse stumbled hard enough he felt it in his throat.

The man watched him for another second before finally speaking.

 

And the sound—

 

His true name sounded like three voices speaking underwater at once. One too deep to hear, one sharp as whale-song, one vibrating through Brando’s ribs instead of his ears.

 

Gælh’aeon.

 

The sound wrapped strangely through the water around them, fluid and layered in ways Brando’s mind could barely follow before instinct finally slammed back into him hard enough to burn.

 

Air.

 

Brando jerked upward immediately, breaking through the surface with a sharp inhale, seawater running down his face while his heart hammered wildly beneath his ribs.

 

A second later the man emerged beside him again, far calmer, water sliding from dark curls as he pushed them back from his forehead.

 

Brando stared at him, still trying to catch his breath properly.

 

"...That is absolutely not fair," he managed finally, voice rough from salt water and laughing disbelief.

 

The man tilted his head at him, not judgemental. "I told you. Can't say." 

 

Brando wiped seawater from his face, still trying to process the sound of it.

"Gæl..." He stopped immediately, grimacing. "No, wait."

 

The man was already smiling again.

 

Brando frowned harder, trying once more, slower this time. The strange deep note beneath the name caught somewhere useless in his throat.

 

The man laughed quietly, shoulders shaking faintly in the water.

"You can't do it," he murmured.

 

"I absolutely can," Brando argued immediately before attempting it a third time and somehow making it worse.

That earned him another laugh.

 

Brando dragged a hand down his face with exaggerated despair. 

 

The man's eyes stayed bright with amusement now, moonlight catching silver across the water around him.

 

Brando exhaled through his nose. "I need to call you something." His voice softened slightly after a moment. "And I'd rather not butcher your name every five minutes."

 

The man tilted his head, still watching him carefully.

Brando hesitated, turning the sound over in his head again before trying carefully: "Galen?"

The man blinked once.

 

Then slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted again.

 

"Okay, okay, I get it." Brando said, waving him off. It irked him more than he liked to admit. 

 

"Bran...do." 

 

Brando looked up, slightly startled. The man was looking at him again, a concentrated frown on his face. "Brando." He said again, more smoothly. 

 

Something warm twisted unexpectedly beneath Brando’s ribs.

"Yeah," he said quietly, unable to stop the grin pulling at his mouth now. "That’s me."

 

The man watched the expression spread across his face like he was trying to understand it too.

 

Then the amusement returned almost immediately.

"And you still cannot say mine."

 

Brando groaned dramatically. "You are enjoying this far too much."

 

The man’s shoulders shifted with another quiet laugh.

 

Brando dragged wet fingers back through his hair before pointing at him accusingly. "I still need something I can actually call you."

 

The man tilted his head slightly. "You try harder."

 

"I am trying harder."

 

"You sound injured."

 

That earned him a sharp bark of laughter.

 

Brando shook his head, seawater dripping from his curls now too. "Your name sounds like an ancient curse sailors whisper before storms."

 

The man looked entirely too pleased by that comparison.

 

Brando narrowed his eyes at him for a second before sighing heavily through his nose. "I didn’t expect a human name, obviously, but..." His voice trailed off while he studied him again.

 

He dragged a hand through his wet hair. His sleeves clung to his arms now. "Do you have a nickname?"

 

The man frowned slightly. "I...don't know...what—"

 

"Oh, uhm..." Brando glanced around the shore like there was a better option written there. "Some people call me Bran. Do you have something like that?"

 

The man shook his head softly. 

Brando bit the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with something that didn't sound deeply offended to a mythical being. 

 

Then, hopefully, he said, "Is Galen okay?"

 

The man pulled a face, a grimace that looked like he just insulted him. "Sounds like whale sounds." He muttered. 

 

Brando huffed out an exasperated breath. "You're making this hard."

He shook his head weakly, growing more and morw frustrated with it. "I can't do the sound. I can't say it right."

 

Moonlight shifted across the water between them. Across dark curls floating against his cheeks, silver scales beneath the surface, bright eyes fixed steadily on Brando like he was waiting to see what happened next.

 

The water moved quietly between them.

Brando looked at him for another long moment, trying to imagine introducing him to anyone from the crew.

Impossible.

Nothing about him fit against the world Brando knew. Not the voice, not the eyes, not the impossible tail moving beneath dark water.

And still, somehow—

His mouth moved before he fully thought it through.

"...Wilson?"

The man’s brows pulled together immediately. "What?"

 

Brando rubbed a hand over his mouth, suddenly looking vaguely embarrassed now that the word existed outside his head. "I don't know where that came from."

 

"But yeah," Brando admitted eventually. "It's a pretty name."

 

The man immediately pulled a face.

"Pretty?" he repeated like the word itself offended him. "Sounds like shipwreck."

Brando barked out a laugh. "Come on, it's good."

 

The man still looked deeply unconvinced.

 

He turned the word over carefully anyway, trying to shape it properly. "Wil...on."

 

The soft hiss of the S blurred strangely against his accent, the sound catching wrong in his throat.

 

Brando blinked once before laughing again. "Well now you just sound offended by it."

 

The man frowned slightly. "Wilon." Then again, "Wilsn" 

Somehow that sounded even worse.

 

Brando was still grinning when the man tried again under his breath. 

 

"Wil."

That one landed softer somehow, simpler. 

And the way he said it felt finally right. Like it belonged to him 

 

The man tilted his head slightly like he was testing the shape of it.

"...Wil."

 

"Yeah," Brando said, a little breathless. "That's good."

 

He laughed quietly under his breath, still shaking his head a little.

"Wil," he repeated once more, softer this time like testing the shape of it himself.

Wil’s tail shifted beneath the surface again at the sound.

Then the silence settled differently between them.

 

The tide rolled quietly around them now, colder than before, moonlight breaking silver across the water between them.

Brando became suddenly aware of how soaked he was, sleeves clinging heavily to his arms while wet sand stuck to his knees.

Buster lifted his head nearby with a sleepy huff before dropping it back into the sand.

Farther down the shore the fire had burned low enough to barely glow anymore.

Brando let out a quiet breath through his nose.

 

"I really should go back," he admitted eventually, quieter this time.

Wil looked toward the distant wreck for a moment before his gaze returned to Brando again.

 

"Your people worry."

 

Brando huffed out a laugh. "Unfortunately, yes."

That earned him another small smile.

Neither of them moved immediately.

 

Wil was still watching him.

The corner of Brando’s mouth pulled upward faintly.

"Goodnight, Wil."

The word seemed to catch him off guard slightly.

 

"Good..." He hesitated briefly before trying again. "Night."

 

The unfamiliar sound sat strangely in his mouth, softer than most human words did.

 

Brando smiled helplessly at that. "Yeah," he murmured. "That."

 

Buster stood now too, shaking water and sand off his fur. 

He trotted next to Brando across the shore, his legs sore and aching from the cold, clothes heavy with water.

 

He rounded the wreck quickly, already seeing most of his crew packing up remaining food, settling to sleep.

 

"There you are, Captain!" Someone called.

 

"You look like a drowned rat." Someone else said.

And Brando only huffed a quite laugh, the cold and mockery almost irrelevant to the way his chest felt. 

 

Day Three

Captain

 

The sun sat high overhead, turning the beach into a furnace.

 

Heat rose from the sand in shimmering waves, sticking to skin and clothes alike. Sweat gathered beneath the band tied around Brando's forehead, dampening the darkened strands of hair that had long since escaped and curled against his temples. His shirt hung open halfway down his chest, the fabric darkened in places where sweat had soaked through and dried again.

 

The wreck no longer looked quite as hopeless as it had two days ago.

 

Still broken and battered but alive.

 

Men moved across the beach carrying timber salvaged from the damaged sections of the hull. Hammering echoed across the shoreline. Rope creaked, someone cursed loudly after dropping a tool.

 

Brando shifted the weight of a plank higher against his shoulder and crossed the sand toward the ship, boots sinking slightly with every step.

 

"Not that one," he called before one of the sailors could lift a warped board. "The shorter plank. Left side."

 

The sailor groaned dramatically. "It's three feet away."

 

"It's also the right one."

 

The man muttered something under his breath but swapped the boards anyway.

 

Brando smirked and continued walking.

 

His shoulders ached. Everything ached for that matter. 

The heat sat heavy at his back, his skin drying with salt and sunlight, making everything feel tighter than it needed to be. 

 

His arms still felt heavy from hauling timber since dawn, and every muscle complained when he climbed the temporary supports beside the hull. He dropped the plank into place and stepped back while another sailor secured it.

 

"Good. Hold it there."

 

The smell of salt, tar, wet wood, and sun-baked rope filled the air.

 

A gull screamed overhead and then somewhere nearby Buster exploded into a fit of barking.

 

Brando glanced down in time to see the dog racing across the sand after absolutely nothing, ears flying wildly behind him.

 

"He's lost his mind," one of the crewmen observed.

 

"He never had one."

 

That earned a few laughs.

 

Buster ignored them entirely.

 

The dog skidded through a pile of wood shavings, nearly collided with a barrel, recovered somehow, and continued sprinting down the beach with the determination of a creature pursuing a very important mission.

 

Brando shook his head, the grin lingering anyway.

 

A gust of wind rolled in from the sea, carrying blessedly cool air with it. Brando lifted a hand, wiping sweat from the back of his neck before squinting toward the horizon.

 

The water glittered beneath the afternoon sun, bright enough to hurt his eyes.

 

For a moment he simply stood there, breathing hard from the work, feeling sweat run slowly between his shoulder blades.

 

Then someone shouted. "Captain!"

 

Brando turned. One of the sailors was waving from the opposite side of the wreck.

 

"The support beam's shifted."

 

"Again?"

 

The sailor spread his hands.

 

Brando sighed, exhausting evident in his face. "Of course it did."

 

He hopped down from the support structure, boots hitting the sand with a dull thud. His knees protested immediately.

 

The ship was determined to make them suffer for saving it.

The thought almost made him laugh.

 

Instead he adjusted the band around his forehead and headed back toward the hull.

 

The afternoon stretched on beneath the relentless sun, measured in planks carried, ropes tightened, and problems solved one at a time.

Exhausting, familiar and strangely satisfying.

 

This was the part he understood. This was what he could manage. 

 

Find what was broken, fix it and keep moving. Because that was easy. That was in his control. 

 

Brando rolled up his shirt with quick fingers, his gaze traveling over the shore, the sand, the leftover planks he'd had to bargain for at the market. It wasn't good but it would do. 

 

It was all they could afford and the longer they stayed the more he had to think about the journey, the food, the water, whenever they could survive with what they had until they found the next harbour. 

 

He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders once like it could get rid of some of the tension in him. 

 

Something near the shore shifted and Brando looked up automatically, expecting another problem.

 

And there he saw it. 

 

A head of dark curls, dripping with sea water. Then deep blue scales shining underneath the surface. Something in Brando's chest loosened. 

 

He wasn't even near the reef this time instead floating in the water near the beach, near the dock where the other ships usually sat. 

 

Their eyes met immediately, like Wil had been waiting for him to look up. It didn't look urgent or that he necessarily wanted to say something, instead his eyes were steady and calm, like he was simply watched because he wanted to. 

 

Brando smiled, quiet and private before turning to look over his shoulder. "I'll be right back!"

 

His navigator looked up briefly and nodded, "Captain." 

 

Brando turned and closed the distance the shore. Hot sand kicked up underneath his boots, crunching slightly with his shifting weight.

 

The sun reflected harshly off the surface, making him feel blinded sometimes. 

 

Wil was gliding through the water until he could rest his arms on a rock, leaning his weight against it. His fin flapped once out of the water, making it splash. Brando welcomed the droplets that caught on his overheated skin.

 

"Hey," Brando said, automatically lowering himself into the sand, one knee planted next to his boot, halfway submerged in shallow tide. 

 

"Hey," Wilson said, his voice soft and quiet. His hair was already drying in the heat, curls fluffing up frizzy and damp. His cheeks looked a little red, the tips of his shoulders too. 

 

Like he'd been out of the water for a little too long. 

 

Brando pulled the band from his forehead, dragging a hand through his sweat damp hair. Wil watched the motion like he was trying to memorize it.

Brando had stopped trying to guess why.

 

"How long have you been here?" Brando asked, a little concern in his voice that he couldn't shake. 

 

Wil shook his head. "Little time." He glanced at the ship, the damaged hull, the patched leaks, the ripped sails that were carefully sewn shut.

Then, his eyes found the other crewmembers, the way they walked around, carrying and fixing things that Wil probably didn't have use for. He dove a little deeper when someone turned, the water reaching his shoulders. 

 

Then finally, he looked back at Brando. "They listen to you."

Brando chuckled, "I mean, yeah." He shrugged one shoulder. "I am the captain."

 

Wil hummed like he considered that and left it at that. 

 

For a moment the only sound between them was the distant hammering from the ship and the steady rush of waves against the shore.

 

Then Wil shifted slightly. "I got something."

 

Brando blinked. "What?"

 

Wil didn't answer immediately.

 

Instead he held out one hand above the water.

His fist was closed tightly, seawater dripping from between his fingers. Droplets slid down his wrist and disappeared back into the tide.

 

For a second Brando simply stared at it, then, slowly, he held out his own hand.

 

Wil's expression brightened slightly, not enough for most people to notice but enough for Brando to.

 

Carefully, Wil placed whatever he was holding into Brando's palm.

 

The object landed wetly in his palm, cool and smooth. 

Brando looked down.

 

A shell rested against his skin. It was small enough to disappear inside a pocket, its surface smooth from years beneath the sea. 

 

Shaped in a gentle spiral that widened toward the opening. Its surface shimmered beneath the afternoon sun, deep blue melting into pale silver near the edges. Tiny ridges ran along the curve like waves frozen in place.

 

The inside caught the sunlight differently, reflecting soft iridescent colors that shifted when he tilted it, shades of blue green and silver.

 

Like light moving beneath water.

 

Brando turned it carefully in his hands.

 

His gaze lifted back to Wil. "For me?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.

 

Wil tilted his head slightly. "Yes."

 

Like there was no reason to question it.

Like that was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Something strange settled warm beneath Brando's ribs, because Wil had seen it somewhere beneath the sea and thought of him.

 

Brando looked back down at it, running his thumb along the smooth curve.

 

"It's beautiful."

 

Wil's shoulders lifted faintly in a small shrug. "Pretty."

 

Brando laughed under his breath. "Yeah." His fingers traced another ridge along the spiral. "Pretty."

 

Wil looked pleased with that answer.

 

Brando turned the shell in his hand, looking up at Wil with a grin. "You wanna see something we humans do?"

 

Wil watched him for a beat, then nodded. 

Brando tossed the shell in the air once, catching it again and holding it up against his ear. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the sound. 

 

He smiled to himself, looking back at Wil who stared at him like he'd lost his mind. 

 

"You can hear the ocean in it."

 

Wil blinked at him, gesturing vaguely behind him. "Ocean is here."

"That's not the point."

"Then what point?" Wil asked, frowning like that didn't make any sense.

Brando laughed. "Here."

 

He shifted closer, his knee digging deeper into the sand, extending the shell toward him.

Wil looked immediately suspicious.

 

"Listen."

"I hear ocean already."

Brando sighed. "Just do it."

Wil looked at the shell, then at Brando but he took ot despite the visible skepticism.

 

Immediately, he held it completely wrong.

 

Brando stared at him for a second. The shell was pressed sideways against his cheek.

 

"That is not your ear."

 

Wil frowned. "It near ear."

 

Brando barked out a laugh. "Close enough isn't how this works."

 

Wil looked unconvinced but made no effort to fix it.

 

With a sigh, Brando leaned closer, his other knee coming down until he knelt in the shallow water. "Here."

 

He reached for the shell first, fingers brushing against Wil's knuckles. His skin was still cool from the water despite the heat of the day, cooler than it should have been beneath the relentless sun.

 

Wil went still immediately like he was waiting where this was going. 

 

Brando shifted the shell carefully, turning it in his hand before guiding it toward Wil's ear. The movement brought him closer than he'd intended.

 

His shoulder brushed Wil's, saltwater dampened the sleeve of his shirt where it touched bare skin.

 

The scent of the sea seemed stronger this close.

 

Salt and warm stone.

 

Brando swallowed for no reason he could identify. "Like this," he said quietly.

 

His hand closed around Wil's wrist to steady it, adjusting the angle slightly.

 

Wil's fingers curled instinctively around the shell.

 

The sunlight danced across the water around them, throwing shifting reflections over Wil's face. Across the freckles scattered over his nose. Across damp curls that had begun drying into loose dark rings around his temples.

 

For a second Brando became absurdly aware of everything.

 

The warmth of the afternoon, the water moving around his knee, the steady weight of Wil's arm beneath his hand, the fact that he could see individual droplets still clinging to Wil's eyelashes.

 

"Hold it there."

 

Wil obeyed.

 

Brando realized he hadn't let go yet. Neither of them seemed to notice.

 

"Do you hear it?" he asked.

 

Wil listened, long enough that Brando began to wonder if he was taking the joke far too seriously.

 

Then Wil's eyes shifted slightly. "...Hear your heart."

 

Brando blinked. "What?"

 

Wil didn't look away from the shell. "Your heart."

 

A small crease appeared between his brows as though he was concentrating.

 

"Is loud."

 

Brando suddenly became aware of exactly how close they were. His breath caught and Wilson lowered the shell again, looking at him. 

Then, he perked up, his head turning toward the sea like he was hearing something Brando couldn't. 

 

Wil took Brando's hand and placed the shell back in his palm.

"Need go."

Brando blinked at him like he just now caught up with his body. "What?"

Wil drifted away from the beach. "Mama." He said and Brando frowned. 

 

Wil glanced at him, apparently sensing the confusion. "She calling."

 

The answer should not have surprised him.

Somehow it did.

 

Wil lingered for another second, sunlight catching on the water running down his shoulders before he dipped backward.

 

The sea swallowed him almost immediately.

 

A flash of blue beneath the surface, then nothing.

 

Brando remained where he was, looking down at the shell resting in his palm.

 

Something warm settled in his chest at the thought of Wil thinking of him.

And then something else followed close behind.

 

A strange discomfort.

Brando turned the shell over between his fingers, watching seawater gather in the grooves. Of course Wil had a mother. Someone had given him that impossible name, taught him to speak, to hunt, to survive. 

 

His gaze drifted toward the open water. Wil disappeared into the sea every day. There had to be people waiting for him down there. The realization settled strangely in his stomach.

"Captain!"

 

The shout carried across the beach.

 

Brando looked up. One of the crewmen was waving from the ship.

 

With a sigh, he pushed himself upright and tucked the shell carefully into his pocket.

 

"Coming!"

 

The familiar weight of responsibility settled over his shoulders again.

 

Yet even as he crossed the beach toward the ship, he found himself glancing once more toward the wate, just in case.

 

The beach had grown quieter by the time Brando finally stepped away from the ship. 

 

The sun hung low over the horizon now, turning the water molten gold where it touched the sea. Long shadows stretched across the sand, softening the sharp edges of the wreck behind him. 

 

Brando wandered along the shoreline with no particular destination, both hands buried deep in his pockets. His fingers found the shell automatically, turning it over and over against his palm, tracing the smooth spiral without looking at it. 

 

Waves rolled in and retreated around his boots while his gaze drifted endlessly across the water. Out there, somewhere beyond the reflection of the setting sun, Wil had disappeared hours ago. 

 

Brando told himself he was only enjoying the evening air. The cooler breeze. The quiet after a long day's work. Yet his eyes kept returning to the sea all the same. Never toward the beach. 

 

He stopped near a stone, sitting halfway in the water, halfway at the beach, the warmth of sunlight still trapped on the surface. 

 

A ripple disturbed the surface farther out.

Brando noticed it immediately.

Before he could stop himself, the corner of his mouth lifted.

 

The familiar shape of dark curls broke the surface, followed by eyes so dark they almost looked black in the fading light.

 

Brando stepped closer, the smile still on his face. "Wil."

Wilson looked up at him. "You waiting?"

 

Brando felt heat crawl up his neck. "No." He gestured vaguely behind him. "I was just...walking. Taking a walk. You know? Just..." Brando trailed off, dragging a hand through his hair. 

What the hell was he even talking about. 

 

Wil watched him for a moment until he said with certainty. "You waiting."

 

"I wasn't."

 

"Oh."

 

The answer came so easily Brando almost believed he'd gotten away with it.

Wil tilted his head slightly. "Then lucky."

 

Brando frowned. "What?"

 

A small smile tugged at the corner of Wil's mouth. "I came."

 

Brando stared at him and Wil's smile widened just a little.

"Oh, shut up."

 

Wilson grinned amused, his eyes landing on the ship again, somewhere else in his head.

 

"You keep shell." He said after a while, not more than a murmur.

 

Brando glanced down. His hand was still buried in his pocket, wrapped around it.

 

"Oh." His ears immediately felt warm. "It was a gift."

 

Brando looked sideways at him. "You watched the ship all afternoon?"

 

Wil's gaze followed the distant outline of the wreck.

"Little."

 

"You were staring."

 

"Looking."

 

"Staring."

 

"Looking."

 

Brando huffed a laugh. Wil's mouth twitched again, his gaze staying at the ship. 

 

"They listen to you."

 

Brando groaned as he stepped toward the stone, sitting on the edge of it and kicking off his boots somewhere in the hand. 

 

"We already talked about this."

 

"They do."

 

"That's usually how captains work." Brando said, rolling his shoulders.

 

Wil hummed thoughtfully, still watching the wreck. "You like it."

 

Brando blinked. "What?"

 

"Captain." The word came surprisingly smooth now. "You like it."

 

Brando looked back toward the ship.

 

The patched hull, the ropes, the men he'd sailed with for years, the people depending on him.

For once he didn't answer immediately.

 

"...Yeah."The admission came quieter than expected."I do."

 

Wil smiled like he'd already known. 

 

The conversation drifted into a comfortable silence.

 

Below the rock, the tide rolled steadily in and out. Wil rested his arms on the warm stone, chin balanced on his wrists while the last sunlight caught in damp curls. 

 

Wil's attention drifted back to the wreck. The last of the sunlight caught on the patched hull, turning the newer boards gold against the older wood. 

 

He had been watching it all afternoon, Brando realized. Watching the repairs. Watching the crew. Watching him. His tail cut lazily through the water beneath the surface while his gaze followed a sailor hauling rope across the deck.

 

"You work much."

Brando laughed. "That's because I'm the captain."

 

Wil considered that. "You carried five planks," he said eventually.

Brando looked at him. "You counted?"

 

A smile tugged at Wil's mouth.

Brando shook his head, laughing under his breath. "You were watching me."

"I was."

 

Wil's eyes returned to the wreck. For a while he said nothing, studying the patched boards and repaired mast while waves rolled softly against the rock beneath Brando's feet.

"Still looks dead."

Brando barked out a laugh. "She's not dead."

"Sea broke it."

"Damaged."

"Broke."

Wil sounded entirely convinced of this. 

 

His hand emerged briefly from the water, gesturing first toward the ship and then toward the ocean beyond it like the argument should be obvious.

Brando groaned. "You're being incredibly rude about my ship."

"Little rude."

The answer carried no remorse whatsoever.

 

A warm breeze rolled in from the water. Wil's curls shifted with it while his attention remained fixed stubbornly on the wreck.

 

"You spend many days." It wasn't really a question.

 

Brando looked toward the repaired mast. "Sometimes months."

 

Wil's eyebrows rose.

 

"Months?"

 

"If you're building one."

 

Wil looked back toward the wreck, his expression tightening slightly as he traced the shape of the patched hull. 

 

"Months," he repeated, sounding vaguely offended by the idea.

Brando laughed. "Sometimes."

 

Wil stared at the ship for another long moment before looking back toward the sea.

"Then storm break in one night."

The way he said it made it sound like the final argument in a debate.

Brando hated that he had a point.

 

Wil frowned. "Bad trade."

 

Before Brando could come up with a response, Wil planted both hands on the stone and pushed himself upward.

 

Water streamed from his arms and shoulders as he hauled himself onto the rock beside him.

 

For a second Brando forgot what he was saying.

 

The movement was graceful until it wasn't.

 

The last part ended with an inelegant thump against the stone and a quiet splash as part of his tail remained in the water below.

 

Wil adjusted himself comfortably and stayed there. 

 

Close enough that Brando could feel the lingering coolness of seawater radiating from his skin, close enough that their shoulders would touch if either of them moved.

 

Brando became very interested in the horizon.

 

The sun hovered just above the water now, turning the sea copper and gold.

 

Wil shifted beside him, like it was hard to get truly comfortable on the rough surface of the stone but he didn’t slide back into the water. 

 

Brando's gaze dropped to his tail, the deep blue scales catching and reflecting light like treasure. Up close it looked even more unreal, the iridescent shades of blue bleeding into each other. 

 

He could see muscles flexing underneath as Wil's fin flapped in the water. 

 

Wil braced himself on his hands, his shoulders slumping slightly as he watched the water, the horizon, the ship occasionally. 

 

Brando glanced sideways at him. There was something ethereal even with his human half. The curls sat messy and wet around his shoulders, deep dark eyes scanning the beach like he saw it differently then Brando and maybe that was true.

There was the faintest trace of freckles against skin that glowed golden in the light, his chest rising and falling evenly. And maybe it was just that he was this close but he felt the urge to reach out and feel skin. 

 

"I'm sorry for hitting you." Wil said eventually and Brando blinked.

"What?"

Wil lifted his tail. "With fin." 

 

Brando frowned slightly, his brain taking a moment to catch up. Then it came back to him. After the storm. When Brando tried to cut him out of the net. 

 

He shook his head, "No, it's fine."

"It is not."

"You were scared." 

Wil got quiet for a moment. "Scared."

"Yeah." 

 

There was a quiet pause between them and Brando nudged Wil's shoulder, nearly knocking him off the stone. "Besides, it didn't even hurt."

That made Wil burst out in a tiny bubbly laugh, shaking his head before he looked back out to the reef. 

 

The light caught again, this time near Wil's ear. 

Brando looked automatically. An earring dangled from one ear, small and pointy, and Brando didn't remember seeing it before. 

 

"What's that?" He asked before he could stop it.

Wil looked at him, then followed his gaze, his hand coming up to the earring instinctively. "Shark teeth."

 

"Tooth."

 

Wil paused. "Tooth."

Brando tilted his head. "Is it hunting treasure? A trophy?" 

Wil's hand stilled on the earring for a split second before it sank again. He seemed to think for a moment before he nodded. "Yes."

 

Brando's brow lifted like he hadn't really expected that. "Really, you killed it?"

Wil's mouth twitched, "Very dangerous."

Brando narrowed his eyes at him, "Oh shut up, I was serious."

"Me too!" Wil exclaimed, louder than he'd been all day, animated, alive, "Swear. Some sirens keep human teeth."

Brando nudged him with his elbow again, his cheeks tinting pink. "Knock it off."

 

Wil laughed quietly to himself. "Was a joke."

"It was a terrible joke."

Wil shrugged, the grin still on his face. "My friends laugh."

 

There it was again. That little bitter feeling that Brando didn't truly know anything about him. It faded just as fast.

"Your friends have bad taste."

 

Wil laughed again, quieter this time. The sound settled somewhere warm in Brando's chest.

 

The sun had nearly disappeared now. Only a thin strip of gold remained along the horizon, bleeding slowly into deep blue. The water reflected it all back in broken pieces.

 

For a while neither of them spoke.

 

Brando watched the waves roll against the rocks below, listened to the distant sounds of his crew somewhere behind him, felt the coolness radiating from Wil's skin beside him.

 

It was strange.

 

When he was a boy, sirens had belonged to stories. Warnings.

Monsters with beautiful faces and sharp teeth waiting beneath dark water.

 

Sailors spoke about them in taverns with lowered voices. Men disappearing from ships. Songs drifting across the sea at night. Death waiting beneath the waves.

 

Brando glanced sideways at Wil. At the shark tooth earring.

The damp curls. The ridiculous grin that still hadn't fully left his face after his terrible joke.

 

Nothing about him felt like a monster.

Not because Wil was harmless.

 

Brando had seen the tail. The strength in it. The teeth.

 

But because somehow all the stories had forgotten to mention that sirens might also have mothers. Or friends. Or terrible senses of humor.

 

Wil caught him looking. "What?"

 

Brando looked away immediately. "Nothing."

Wil hummed softly, clearly unconvinced.

 

Brando rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.

 

"Can I ask you something?"

 

Wil's attention shifted immediately. There was a faint caution in it now, buried beneath curiosity.

"You always ask things."

 

Brando laughed quietly.

 

"Yeah. That's true."

 

For a moment he watched the waves breaking against the rocks below. The question had seemed perfectly reasonable in his head. Sitting here beside Wil, with the sun almost gone and the sea stretched endlessly around them, it suddenly felt ridiculous.

 

"Would you..." He hesitated, dragging a hand through his hair. "God, this sounds stupid."

 

A small smile appeared on Wil's face. "Then maybe not."

 

"Thanks."

 

"Welcome."

 

Brando snorted a laugh despite himself before glancing sideways at him. "Would you maybe sing for me?"

 

The smile disappeared.

Not abruptly. Just slowly, as though the question had caught Wil somewhere unexpected.

 

For a moment he only looked at him.

"Sing?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Wil frowned slightly. "Now?"

 

"I mean..." Brando shrugged. "If you wanted to."

 

The confusion didn't leave his face.

 

Brando watched him struggle with the question for a moment before realization finally clicked into place.

 

"The songs," he clarified. "The siren songs."

 

Something shifted behind Wil's eyes. A quiet seriousness that hadn't been there a moment ago.

 

The last strip of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon. Shadows stretched across the water while the first evening stars began to appear overhead.

 

Wil looked away first.

 

His gaze drifted toward the open sea, following the darkening line where water met sky. The wind lifted a few damp curls from his forehead before they settled again.

 

For a long time he didn't answer. Long enough that Brando began to regret asking.

 

Maybe it was rude.

 

Maybe it was something private.

 

Maybe—

 

"No."

 

The word came softly, certain.

 

Wil still wasn't looking at him.

 

Brando blinked. "Oh." The disappointment slipped out before he could stop it.

Wil's fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the stone. "I don't know what happen."

 

That made Brando look at him again.

 

Wil's gaze remained fixed on the water. "If I sing."

 

And Brando understood that the answer hadn't been refusal.

It had been concern and somehow that felt worse. Or maybe better.

He wasn't entirely sure.

 

Brando looked out into the water, his feet dragging through the water below. "Okay." 

 

Beside him, Wil relaxed slightly. Not enough that anyone else would have noticed it, but Brando felt it all the same.

 

The tension left his shoulders. His grip loosened against the stone.

 

The sea had turned almost black now, reflecting only scattered streaks of starlight and the distant lanterns burning near the ship. Somewhere behind them, Brando could hear laughter carrying faintly across the beach.

 

"Maybe another question."

Wil's voice was quieter this time.

Brando laughed softly through his nose.

"You sure?"

A small smile returned.

"Maybe."

 

Day Four

Almost

 

The mornings were cooler than the afternoons..

 

Not cold, but cool enough that Brando welcomed the water around his legs as he stepped into the shallows. Gentle waves lapped against his knees, clear enough that he could see pale sand shifting beneath his feet whenever the tide rolled in.

 

The sun had only just begun to climb above the horizon, painting the sea in muted gold and silver rather than the blinding brightness it would carry by midday. Most of the crew were still asleep. A few early risers moved somewhere behind him near the camp, their voices carrying faintly through the morning air.

 

For once, nobody needed anything from him.

 

Brando exhaled softly and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the beach without much care. The fabric landed in a crumpled heap beside his boots.

 

The cool water felt incredible against skin still sticky with sweat from the night. He scooped up a handful and dragged it over his shoulders, shivering slightly as it ran down his chest and back. Then another.

 

The salt never truly left. It clung to everything out here.

Skin, hair, clothes, ships.

 

Brando scrubbed a hand through his hair and tilted his head back toward the pale sky.

 

A day or two, maybe less.

 

The thought settled heavily in his chest.

The repairs were nearly finished. Food had become a problem days ago and every meal required more careful counting than the last. Water was holding out a little longer, but not by much.

 

Soon they would leave. They had to.

The realization should have felt reassuring.

 

It was what he'd wanted from the moment they washed ashore.

 

Instead he found himself staring out across the water and thinking about a pair of dark eyes and a laugh that sounded strangely pleased with itself after a terrible joke.

 

Brando snorted softly under his breath.

He bent to splash more water across his arms, rubbing away dried salt from yesterday's work.

 

Only a day or two. And somehow he already missed him.

 

Brando bent to scoop up another handful of water, dragging it across the back of his neck before letting it run down his shoulders. The sea was cool enough that it chased away the last remnants of sleep. 

 

He rolled one shoulder, already turning slightly toward the beach. If he was going to wash properly, he'd have to—

 

Movement caught the corner of his eye.

 

Brando looked up and nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

"Jesus christ, Wilson!"

A few yards away, Wilson blinked at him from where he leaned against a cluster of rocks jutting out of the water. The sea reached almost to his shoulders, dark curls damp and tangled around his face. He looked entirely at ease, one arm draped lazily across the stone as though he'd been there all morning.

 

"Morning to you too," Wilson said.

 

Brando pressed a hand against his chest. "You're gonna kill me one day."

 

Wilson frowned slightly. "What?"

 

"You could make yourself heard."

 

The confusion deepened. "I am heard."

 

Brando stared at him for a moment before giving up immediately. There was no explaining this.

 

A laugh escaped him despite himself as he shook his head and scrubbed both hands through his hair.

 

"How long have you been there?"

 

Wilson glanced briefly toward the shoreline as though genuinely considering the question. "A little while."

 

Which, as usual, meant absolutely nothing.

 

Brando sighed through his nose and bent to splash more water over his arms. The morning sun had climbed a little higher while he wasn't paying attention, pale gold catching on the surface of the water and breaking apart around his legs whenever he moved.

 

Behind Wilson, the dock creaked softly with the tide. Somewhere farther up the beach a gull cried out.

 

The siren watched him for another moment. "What are you doing?"

 

Brando looked up. "Washing."

 

Wilson hummed softly. His gaze lingered for a moment before drifting elsewhere, following the movement of water running down Brando's shoulders and chest before settling on the abandoned shirt lying in the sand.

 

The morning breeze tugged at the fabric.

 

Brando bent to splash more water over his arms, scrubbing away the last traces of dried salt. When he straightened again, Wilson was still watching him.

Not staring exactly, observing.

 

The same way Brando had spent days watching scales catch sunlight or a fin disappear beneath the surface.

 

Something about the realization made the corner of his mouth twitch.

"What?" Brando asked.

Wilson tilted his head slightly. "Nothing."

The answer came suspiciously fast.

 

Brando shook his head, wading back onto the shore, water running down his calfs. He dragged his hands through his hair, slicking them back before reaching for the waistband of his trousers.

 

Then he paused.

 

A strange prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck.

Slowly, Brando looked over his shoulder.

Wilson was still watching him, not even trying to pretend otherwise.

Brando stared.

Wilson stared back.

The morning breeze rolled in from the sea, tugging lightly at the damp fabric clinging to Brando's legs.

"...What?"

 

Wilson tilted his head slightly. "What?"

 

Brando gestured vaguely between them. "You are looking at me."

"I am."

The answer came so matter-of-factly that Brando nearly laughed.

 

Wilson's gaze flicked briefly over him before returning to his face, entirely unbothered.

Brando rubbed a hand across his mouth, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "Right."

His fingers settled once more at the waistband of his trousers, then stopped again.

Wilson was still looking.

"Wil."

"Hm?"

Brando hesitated. "Do you mind...?"

Wilson frowned faintly. "What that mean?"

 

Brando huffed out a breath. "It's like...would it bother you?"

"Oh," Wil said lightly. "No, I'm good."

 

And he'd said it with such ease and certainty that Brando didn't know what to say to that other than, "No?"

Wil shook his head. "Don't mind."

"Right."

Brando rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and looked toward the water. That seemed fair enough.

 

He hooked his fingers into the ties at his waist and loosened them, the damp fabric slipping lower against his hips.

Almost immediately he became aware of Wilson's gaze.

 

Heat crept up the back of his neck.

Brando stopped. "Wil."

"Hm?"

"Could you turn around for a minute?"

Wilson blinked. "Oh." The realization seemed to arrive all at once.

"Okay."

 

Without argument, he turned away from the shore, resting both arms across the rocks and looking out toward the open water instead.

Brando waited, just to be sure.

Wilson remained facing the sea.

Satisfied, Brando finished undressing and waded back into the shallows.

 

The water wrapped around him immediately, cool against sun-warmed skin. He exhaled softly and dipped beneath the surface, letting the sea wash away the last traces of sweat and sleep.

 

When he resurfaced, slicking wet hair back from his face, Wilson was still turned away.

 

For a moment, Brando found himself watching him instead.

The morning light caught along the curve of damp shoulders and tangled dark curls while small waves broke lazily against the rocks below.

 

Then he shook his head and went back to washing.

 

He scrubbed seawater through his hair, dragged a hand across the back of his neck and shoulders, letting the cool water wash away the last traces of sweat and sand. The harbor was beginning to wake now. Somewhere beyond the beach came the distant thud of wood and the cry of gulls circling overhead.

 

When he finally looked up again, movement caught his eye.

Wilson's head snapped forward so quickly it was almost impressive.

Brando stared.

Wilson stared very intently at the horizon.

A smile tugged at the corner of Brando's mouth.

"I saw that."

The tips of Wilson's ears turned faintly pink. "What?"

 

Brando straightened again, still grinning. "I saw you looking."

"I was just—" Wil started, breaking off immediately. "Why is it—"

"Wilson." Brando warned.

"I—"

"Quit it."

 

Wilson's mouth snapped shut.

 

Brando shook his head, fighting a smile as he ducked beneath the surface one last time. By the time he emerged again, Wilson had turned firmly back toward the horizon.

 

He finished washing in peace.

A few minutes later he waded back onto the shore, water streaming down his legs. He dried himself as best he could and pulled his trousers back on, followed by his shirt.

 

When he finished tying the last knot, he glanced toward the rocks.

 

"You can look now."

 

Wilson turned immediately.

 

Brando had just finished dragging his shirt over his head when he looked up and caught the faint pink still lingering around the tips of Wilson's ears. The sight sent a spark of satisfaction through him.

 

Oh, this was far too easy.

 

He bent to grab his boots from the sand, shaking water from them before sitting down on a sun-warmed rock.

 

"Didn't know you were so curious."

 

A groan escaped Wilson before Brando had even finished speaking. "I wasn't."

 

"Hm." Brando pulled on one boot, fighting a smile.

 

Wilson refused to look directly at him now, his attention fixed stubbornly on a point somewhere over Brando's shoulder.

 

That alone nearly made him laugh. "Anything else you'd like to ask?"

 

This time Wilson actually dropped his head into his hands. "Brando."

 

"Just making sure."

 

His grin widened as Wilson muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

 

Brando dragged a hand through his wet hair, glancing back at Wil with amusement. "See you later?"

Wil looked somewhere beyond the beach. "Don't know. I have things to do."

Brando laughed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Wil nodded. 

"I see." Brando said, pulling on the second boot before he started walking back to the ship. "See you later, Wil."

 

By the time the work was done and the ship mostly patched up, the sun was already low again. 

Brando ended up on the beach almost without thinking about it.

The sand was still warm from the day's heat. He dropped onto his back a few yards from the water and stretched out with a groan, one arm thrown over his eyes. Every muscle in his body ached. His shoulders burned from hauling timber and rope, and his hands felt permanently rough with salt and splinters.

 

The steady hush of the waves rolled over him. Somewhere farther down the beach, gulls argued over something. From the harbor came the distant creak of wood and the muted voices of sailors settling in for the evening.

 

Brando let out a slow breath and sank deeper into the sand, feeling it shift beneath his weight. The warmth seeped pleasantly into his back.

 

He heard a splash somewhere behind him, cutting through the sound of the waves and a smile pulled at his mouth before he even looked. 

 

"You sleeping?" Wil asked, swimming closer to the shore. 

Brando cracked one eye open. "I thought you were busy."

"I was."

Brando hummed quietly and closed his eyes again, enjoying the way the sun warmed his face. 

 

He could hear the water moving behind him somewhere, then the crunching of sand, probably from Wilson resting his arms at the shore. It felt peaceful and quiet. 

 

And Brando tried not to think about their departure. That they'd technically have to leave soon. That he'd leave this behind.

But he was never one to settle long, stay in a city, keep people around that weren't his crew.

 

He wasn't bound to anything and he liked it like this. Usually... 

 

The thought was interrupted when a cold splash of saltwater hit him square in the chest.

He startled upright, blinking his eyes open just in time for the next wave to hit his face this time. 

 

He coughed once, his arms coming up to shield himself, then he dragged a hand over his face. "What the hell—"

A few more droplets hit him and he looked over to the culprit.

 

Wil was perched on the shoreline, arms sticking with sand and he had a playful gleam in his eyes as he moved his fin again, splashing him more. 

"Stop thinking." He said simply. 

Brando stared at him for a moment. "Wil." 

"Bran."

 

Brando lifted himself onto his knees, shooting him a warning glare. "Don't."

Wilson didn't look impressed at all. "Or what?"

 

Brando opened his mouth even though he didn't have an answers ready and immedietly got splashed again. And again. 

And Wilson seemed to find a liking to it as Brando started cursing and dodging the water until he eventually scrambled to his feet and crossed the beach.

 

He didn't even know how that was supposed to help him other than trying to make Wilson stop on his own, but when he was knee-deep in the water and reached for him, Wil caught his arm.

"Wilson—"

And then he pulled.

Brando barely had time to suck in a breath before the world vanished beneath a rush of cold water.

 

He surfaced again just a second later, his hair flat in his face, soaked as water rushed down his face. He pushed them out of his eyes, sputtering and blinking rapidly until he didn't only see water. 

 

Wilson was already grinning at him, his fin flapping in the water like he was excited. Brando huffed out a breath, looking down at himself, submerged in the sea up until his shoulders, his shirt, pants and boots soaked to no repair. 

 

"You're an asshole, you know that?" 

"You can handle a little water." 

Brando splashed him back immedietly which obviously didn't do anything. 

Wilson barely reacted.

"There."

"There what?"

"Now we're even."

Wilson looked down at himself and then back at Brando.

"No."

Brando laughed despite himself.

"You're impossible."

Wilson grinned.

Then disappeared.

 

The water swallowed him so quickly Brando barely saw him move. One moment he was right there, sunlight glinting off dark curls and wet skin, and the next there was only the restless surface of the sea.

 

Brando turned slowly, scanning the water around him.

"Wilson?"

 

Something brushed past his leg.

He yelped and spun around just in time to catch a flash of silver beneath the surface.

 

"Oh, you're a menace."

 

Wilson surfaced several yards away, laughing.

Brando swam after him. It was entirely pointless.

 

Wilson dove again before he got halfway there.

 

The sea distorted everything beneath it, turning him into shifting flashes of movement and light. Brando would catch glimpses of a powerful tail cutting effortlessly through the water before it vanished into the blue again.

 

For a while he simply watched.

 

Wilson moved through the ocean the way gulls moved through the air. There was no hesitation in it. No wasted effort. Every turn seemed effortless, every dive smooth and precise. The water didn't resist him. It carried him.

 

Brando had seen him swim before but never like this.

Never when there was nothing else to distract him. Never this close.

 

Wilson emerged from beneath the surface several yards away, hair slicked back and shoulders gleaming with seawater.

 

"What?"

 

Brando realized he'd been staring. "Nothing."

 

Wilson narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then he pushed off again.

The movement sent him gliding forward with startling speed.

 

Brando shook his head. "Show off."

Wilson laughed. A moment later he was beside him again.

 

Before Brando could ask how he'd crossed the distance so quickly, Wilson caught his hand.

Instinctively, Brando tightened his grip.

 

Wilson's smile widened, then he tugged gently.

 

Not enough to pull him under, just enough to encourage him forward.

Brando let himself be pulled.

 

For a few moments they moved together through the water, Wilson guiding the pace while Brando kicked to keep up. The sea rolled around them in long, easy swells and the evening sun turned the surface to liquid gold.

 

It felt strangely effortless, not because Brando was any good at swimming.

 

Because Wilson never let him fall behind.

 

Eventually Brando's lungs made the decision for him.

 

"Alright," he gasped, swatting ineffectively at Wilson when the siren darted past him again. "Enough."

 

Wilson laughed and disappeared beneath the surface.

 

Brando turned and began making his way back toward shore before Wilson could come up with another terrible idea.

 

By the time his feet found sand again, his chest was burning pleasantly and every muscle in his body felt loose and heavy from the swim. 

 

He stumbled the last few steps through the shallows and let himself fall backward onto the wet beach with a groan.

 

For a moment he simply lay there, staring up at the sky. The sun hung low above the horizon, turning everything gold.

His heart was still racing.

 

Cool water rushed around him as a wave rolled in, soaking his clothes all over again before retreating.

 

 He tried to catch his breath.

 

A splash sounded nearby.

Then the familiar rush of water as Wilson followed him in.

Brando turned his head.

 

Wilson settled beside him, half in the surf, close enough that Brando could hear his breathing beneath the sound of the waves.

 

Brando laughed, a quiet, breathless sound, the kind that escaped before he could stop it, more from exhaustion and pure joy than anything else.

They lay there together for a while, just feeling the sun and the sand and the cool waves around them. Brando could feel Wil's arm brush his when he shifted, feel the warmth of him despite the damp skin. 

 

He didn't even care that he was laying here soaked to the bone, his only pair of boots probably ruined for ever, wet sand sticking to his hair, his clothes, placed where wet sand never should be— 

It didn't matter. 

 

What mattered more than any of that, more than even the ship or the departure or— if Brando was going to be very, brutally honest with himself— the treasure they were still trying to find since they sailed months ago, was laying right beside him in the sand. Scales and skin and wet curls and eyes so dark they swallowed the light.

 

Brando felt it in his chest, in his throat, in his fingertips. And if he allowed himself to think about it, it scared him more than any storm ever did. 

 

Brando swallowed, pushing himself up to sit and Wilson rolled onto his back with all the grace of a wet dog before pushing himself in as much of a sitting position as he could.

 

For a while neither of them spoke.

 

The waves rolled in and out around them, hissing softly over the sand. Brando rested his forearms on his knees and stared out toward the water.

 

Or at least he pretended to.

 

His attention kept drifting elsewhere.

 

Wilson's tail stretched through the shallows beside him, most of it out of the water now. 

The fading sunlight caught on the scales, turning the deep blues molten gold where the light struck them, and every now and then the broad fin stirred lazily, sending small ripples across the surface.

 

Brando found himself watching the movement, then the pattern of scales, then the way the light caught along the curve of it.

 

"You staring."

 

Brando glanced up.

Wilson was looking at him. A smile tugged at Brando's mouth.

 

"A little."

 

Wilson snorted. "Why?"

 

Brando looked back at the tail. "Because it's hard not to."

 

The fin flicked once through the water.

 

"It's fascinating."

 

Wilson made a face immediately. "It is not."

 

Brando laughed. "Wil."

 

The siren shrugged, suddenly very interested in the waves washing over the sand. "It's just tail."

 

"Just tail," Brando repeated, quieter now.

 

"Yes."

 

Brando shook his head. "I think you're the only one who believes that."

He tilted his head, still watching the muscles twitch beneath the scales. His fingers flexed in the sand. 

He swallowed. "...Can I?"

Wilson's head shot up, "What?"

Brando's eyes met his. "Touch it, I mean." He nodded at it. "The scales."

 

Wilson followed his gaze down to the tail stretched through the shallows.

 

For a moment he looked genuinely confused, then he shrugged. "Okay."

Brando stared at him. "Okay?"

 

"You asked." As though that explained everything and maybe it did.

 

Brando laughed softly and shifted closer through the sand. Up close, the scales looked even stranger. He'd seen fish scales before, of course, but these were larger, overlapping in neat rows that caught the fading sunlight and threw it back in flashes of gold.

 

For a second he hesitated, then he reached out.

 

The first touch was careful, almost tentative. The scales were smoother than he'd expected, cool beneath his fingertips despite the warmth of the evening sun. He let his hand drift lightly over them, following the direction they lay.

 

Wilson went very still.

 

Brando glanced up automatically. "You alright?"

 

Wilson blinked. "Yes."

The answer came a little too quickly.

Brando's mouth twitched. "Right."

 

His attention returned to the tail.

 

The muscles shifted faintly beneath the scales when the fin moved, powerful even at rest. He could feel it now, the strength coiled there beneath skin and scale alike.

 

"Still think it's just a tail?"

 

Wilson huffed. "Yes."

 

Brando smiled. "I don't believe you."

 

The fin flicked, sending a sheet of cool water over both of their legs.

This time Brando was almost certain it had been deliberate.

 

And still his fingers kept tracing the scales like they were the most incredible thing he'd ever seen.

Wilson looked away, somewhere near the horizon, anywhere else than Brando, the tip of his ears growing hot. 

 

Brando leaned back again, letting his eyes rake over all of the man beside him. The way his chest rose and fell quicker, the little shell necklace he'd decided to wear today, the way his jaw flexed absently.

 

"Beautiful." Brando breathed, the word escaping without checking.

And Wil ducked his head, the blush spreading to his chest. 

He looked at his own tail, the fin flapping once. 

"My friends have better tail."

 

Brando lifted a brow. "Yeah?"

Wilson nodded quickly, "Better colors."

Brando huffed out a small disbelieving laugh, hardly more than a breath. 

He didn't mean the tail, he didn't mean the scales.

 

He meant the entirety of the impossible creature that he'd spent every free minute with since the storm had hit them. 

The beautiful man who's touch felt like it would light him aflame every time they brushed. These eyes that looked like molten honey when the sun hit.

 

He was completely and utterly transfixed by Wil and frankly he didn't want it to stop. 

 

For a minute he didn't even realize he'd been staring.

Then, Wilson turned to look at him and whatever Brando had been thinking vanished completely. 

 

Wil's eyes trailed over his face, searching at first, then settling somewhere near his eyes. And then, in a split second that Brando could've imagined, they dropped somewhere to his mouth. Then slowly back up like he tried not to think of it.

 

And Brando found himself unable to move.

Neither did Wilson.

 

Day Five 

Why

 

The sea was calm that night.

Brando sat with his knees drawn up, watching the stars reflect across the water. Beside him, Wilson floated lazily near the rocks, the tip of his tail breaking the surface every now and then.

 

"How many stars are there?" 

 

Brando laughed softly. "You planning on counting them?"

 

Wil hummed quietly, looking up at the stars like they would offer him answers to something he didn't ask. "Maybe." 

 

Brando huffed out a quiet laugh. "That's gonna take a lot of time, Wil."

Wilson shrugged. "I don't care." Then, he looked back him. "You can count them. You gonna see them." He said, like a fact.

 

Brando glanced at him, then back to the sky. "Maybe." A small grin stole itself onto his lips. "I'll count them for you."

 

Wil watched him for a long moment, something unreadable crossing his face. "Don't promise if you don't do." 

That made Brando pause, his chest tightened for a second.

 

Promises. 

 

He'd yet to keep so many of these. He looked back out into the water.

His voice came quieter now. "We're leaving tomorrow morning." 

 

Wil didn't answer but Brando could feel his eyes on him.

Brando's arms tightening around his knees, his mouth suddenly dry. He wished he hadn't said it. Not on their last evening together.

But the thought of leaving tomorrow without Wil knowing was worse.

 

Brando's eyes traced the shape of the waves crashing on the shore, the stars in the cloudless night sky. Anything not to look back at Wilson and see these dark brown eyes look at him like that. 

Like it could promise him all he ever wished for. 

 

Brando knew it wasn't true. 

 

He'd always want to travel, always want to see the world. But God did he wish he could've stayed. 

 

"Where you go?"

 

Brando still didn't look at him, still watching the waves. His boots dragged through the sand. "There's an island somewhere near the east coast." He said, the same words he'd repeatedly told his crew. 

 

Wil moved closer to the rocks, resting his arms there, his tail moving slower now. 

 

"Legend has it there's a treasure in an old wreck, guarded by the dead pirate crew of a ship named the Silver Scale." Brando huffed a humourless laugh through his nose. "Just a ship landed on ground with nowhere to go, no food and no water. They died with nothing but their gold underneath their asses." 

 

Brando shook his head, something coming up sour in his throat. "They were careless. Didn't think ahead."

 

"You do?"

 

Brando looked up and found Wilson watching him intently, like he was reading the real answers behind Brando's words. 

Brando held his gaze for a while, then nodded. "Yes." He said, surer now. 

"I won't let my crew suffer. We got enough food and water to travel there and go back."

 

"Your ship broken."

 

"We fixed it."

 

"Can break again." 

 

Brando was quiet for a moment. He looked back at the water again, like he could see the journey, his voice was quieter now, softer. "Everything can."

 

Wil rested his chin on his arms. "It is legend. Means you don't know if it's there." 

Brando closed his eyes. Wilson had that habit of being persistent and pushing and being right which was probably the mist infuriating part. 

"We'll figure it out." He said, and maybe he was stubborn but he didn’t care. His fingers flexed, curling in the fabric of his pants.

 

Wilson waited for a moment, considering it. His eyes were softer now. Like he was tired too. "What if not?"

Brando glanced sideways at him. "What?"

"What if it's not there?" Wil said, and Brando could tell he was choosing his words deliberately, talking slower like he wanted every one to land right. 

 

"We'll find another." Brando said automatically because he didn't have an answer. 

Wilson shook his head. 

"What?"

"Stupid." Wil said and Brando frowned, just slightly offended but not enough to snap back. 

Wilson went on. "Why risk hurt. Why go look for gold if you could die. Why—" his mouth snapped shut, his brows drawn together like he was fighting with himself. "Why go?"

 

The words echoed a little between the stones, traveling over the sound of thw waves and a small breeze caught in Brando's hair but that wasn't what made him shiver. 

 

Something in Wilson's face looked harder now. Like he didn't like that he asked at all. 

It sat weird in Brando's stomach. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting metal. 

 

"I promised." Brando said finally. 

 

"You promise me." Wil said, faster now, a little louder and Brando looked at him. "Promise me you count the stars. Means you come back and tell me." He looked so urgently convinced at that, like he needed to believe that was true.

 

Brando's chest tightened painfully.

 

He stretched his legs out into the sand, his boots nearly brushing the tide. Then, he lifted himself onto his feet. Wil watched every move like he expected Brando to leave any second.

 

Instead, Brando climbed onto the rock where Wil still held on. It was still warm from the sun underneath him. Brando rested his elbows on his thighs, staring at the dark water for a moment longer before speaking. 

"You want a real answer?"

Wil nodded slowly. "I asked." 

Brando pushed his hair out of his face. "Right."

 

He took a moment, just to breathe, just to gather his thoughts and Wilson let him, waiting patiently for an answer that was supposed to be satisfactory. Maybe that was worse. 

 

"I..." Brando sighed. "I promised my crew we'll find the treasure. Or any treasure really." He looked up at the stars for a moment, then the ship. "They have families to feed. They have people to come home to." Then, he added quieter. "I don't." 

 

Wil tilted his head. "You don't?"

Brando shook his head. "My mother died when I was young. We couldn't afford medication. We hardly had anything to eat. So she got weaker." 

 

Wilson hummed. "Dad?"

Brando scoffed, a bitter little sound. "Bastard left us early. Went to sea and never got back." He leaned back onto his hands. "He was a pirate too. So maybe I'm just like him." 

 

Brando let his head fall back, watching the sky, a wave of quiet washing over them. "Maybe I wanted to be like him. Free."

 

"Your dad run from you. Not free. Pathetic."

 

Brando felt his chest lurch at the words, his gaze dropping back to the waves. "...Maybe." 

 

Wilson pushed himself up until he could sit on the stone next to Brando. And the closeness made the sting between his ribs worse. 

 

"You care." Wilson said. "For them. For all of them but you." 

Brando laughed weakly. "I'm a captain."

Wilson thought about it. "You make that word mean anything you please." 

 

Brando didn't answer, watching Wilson's fin drag through the waves.

"What do you want?" Wil asked after a moment.

 

The question hit like a punch. Because there was more than one answer and maybe none of them was good. Maybe he didn't even really know. 

"Real answer." Wilson murmured then and Brando watched the way the moon reflected in the waves because he couldn't look at him directly. 

 

"I want..." Brando pressed his lips together. It felt like jumping into cold water. "I want to see the world." He said, and it felt true. So he kept going. "I want to sail and see the stars and new places and move. I want to work with my hands and I want to be responsible for them. I—" he swallowed.

 

"I want to find that treasure and have them never worry about their people again and maybe I want to have people of my own to care for one day." His voice broke on the last words, blinking hard. 

 

Wilson didn't answer for a long moment. "I'm here." 

A sound escaped from Brando's chest that almost sounded like a laugh mixed with a sob and he pressed his eyes shut. 

 

This was pathetic. It sounded so simple and yet he couldn't. He couldn't stay for him even though he wanted nothing more. But for how long? He'd want to be at sea again. He was going away, it was settled. He had responsibilities. 

 

"It's not that easy." He said.

"You make it hard." Wil answered. 

"Wil." Brando said, firmer now, like he didn't want this discussion because it was unfair and at the same time he knew he was making it harder. There was no right answer. 

 

Wilson went quiet. His tail moved lazily through the water, the breeze catching against damp skin. He looked at the water like he wanted to dive in and not return and maybe Brando would've deserved that. 

 

Instead Wil took a quiet breath and spoke again. "I feel sick." The last word came out with more trouble again. 

Brando twisted to look at him. 

 

Wilson swallowed, his dark curls hanging partially in his face.

"What?"

"Since storm."

Dread settled in Brando's stomach. "Are you hurt?"

Wil shook his head. "No hurt."

Brando frowned immediately. "Sick how?"

 

Wil looked frustrated by the question. His fingers tightened against the edge of the rock. "I don't know."

 

"That's not helping."

 

"I know." The answer came out sharper than intended.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

 

The waves rolled against the shore below them.

Brando studied him in the moonlight. Wilson looked healthy. More than healthy. There wasn't a mark on him.

 

"You eating?"

 

Wilson turned his head and gave him a look that suggested the question itself was ridiculous. "Yes."

 

Brando let out a breath through his nose. In hindsight, it was a stupid thing to ask.

 

"Sleeping?"

 

This time the answer didn't come immediately.

 

Wilson's gaze drifted back toward the water, following a wave as it rolled across the sand and retreated again.

 

"...Sometimes."

 

Something unpleasant settled in Brando's stomach. "Sometimes?"

 

"I sleep."

The answer was defensive enough that Brando immediately knew he wasn't going to like it.

 

"Wil."

 

"I do."

 

"How much?"

 

Wilson groaned and dropped his face into his hands for a second before dragging them back through his curls. "I don't count."

 

Brando rubbed at his forehead, trying to organize his thoughts.

"Alright." He exhaled slowly. "Does anything hurt?"

 

For the first time, Wilson didn't answer right away.

The hesitation was brief, barely noticeable, but Brando caught it anyway. "Yes."

 

Brando straightened. "Where?"

 

Wilson's hand came up and settled against the center of his chest. "Here."

 

Immediately, Brando felt his pulse kick harder. "Your chest?"

 

Wilson nodded and the dread from earlier returned in full force.

 

"When?"

 

For a moment Wilson only watched him. Then his eyes flicked away again. "When I think."

 

Brando frowned. "What?"

 

"When I think."

 

The answer made absolutely no sense.

He stared at Wilson for a second, waiting for him to elaborate.

When he didn't, Brando tried again.

"...About what?"

 

Wilson looked out across the dark water.

The silence stretched. A breeze stirred through Brando's hair. Somewhere below them, a wave broke against the rocks.

"You."

 

Brando forgot whatever he'd been about to say.

 

Wilson's ears had gone pink, not bright red, just enough that Brando noticed.

Enough that suddenly he became aware of the way Wilson refused to look directly at him.

 

"Me."

 

"Yes."

 

Brando stared. "What do you mean, me?"

 

Wilson finally looked back at him then, visibly frustrated. "I think about you."

 

Brando opened his mouth but nothing came out.

 

Wilson didn't seem willing to wait for a response. "When I wake up."

His fingers tightened against the stone. "When I swim." Another pause. "When I eat."

 

Brando could only watch him.

 

"When I see your ship." Wilson swallowed. The movement was small, but Brando saw it. "And when I know you leave."

His voice had dropped almost to a murmur. "My chest hurts."

 

For a second, Brando genuinely forgot how to breathe. The realization settled heavy and warm in his chest and it felt like it was going to boil over. 

He understood now. 

All the questions, the looks, the laughs. 

 

Brando turned to look at Wilson fully now, one leg twisted underneath him and he reached out a hand to tug a few stray curls behind his ear. He could see the slight shiver running through his body at the touch.

 

Brando's face softened. "I know what that is, Wil." 

Wilson turned his head slowly to look at him. "Yeah?"

Brando smiled, "I've got the same."

 

Wil stared at him for a moment, and that's when Brando decided to move. His hand cupped Wilson's cheek, soft and warm when he leaned against the touch and then Brando leaned in. 

 

Their lips brushed, softly at first, questioning and Wil's breath hitched against his mouth. Then, Wilson's hands came up to lay on Brando's chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat there, his damp fingers curling in the fabric of Brando's shirt and he kissed him back. 

 

The careful and soft press of lips and Brando tilted his head, making it easier. Wilson sighed into it, like a weight got lifted off him. Brando could feel his own heart flutter in his throat and when they parted, Wil didn't look at him at first, his eyes still closed, his breath uneven. 

 

It was quiet for a moment. Then, Wil opened his eyes. 

"Why did you do that?" He asked, almost a whisper. 

"Because I couldn't bear the thought of not doing it." 

Wil's forehead brushed Brando's, damp curls tickling his skin. "That is unfair." Wil said after a moment. "You make it harder."

 

Brando leaned back enough to look him in the eyes, his hand still on Wilson's cheek, feeling the soft skin, the warmth of him. 

And before he could stop the words, they burst out.

 

"Come with me."

 

It was selfish and stupid and impossible and he knew that. But Wilson made him want to be a little selfish. Was it bad to want it all? Was it bad that he didn't want to choose? That he was scared he would choose wrong? 

Maybe. 

 

Wilson's face twisted, just briefly. "I can't," he said quietly. "Can't keep up with the ship. Too fast. It's dangerous."

 

Brando held his gaze for a moment, his mind looping over and over, trying to find an answer, a solution and he came up with nothing useful. 

 

He cupped Wilson's face with both hands, making him look at him. "I'll be back by fall." He said, firmly, sincerely, a complete disregard of everything that could go wrong along the journey. 

 

Because he believed it. If Wilson was waiting for him, he'd believe he would come back no matter how far, how long, he was away. 

 

Wilson's breath hitched painfully in his chest. "How many moons is that?" 

Brando laughed, a quiet, soft sound. "Moons?"

"Yes," Wil gestured up at the sky. "How often is the moon full until fall?"

 

Brando considered that for a second. "Four or five."

Wilson didn't look like he liked that answer but he nodded. "You come back. You promise me."

 

Brando kissed himm again, shorter this time, his thumb brushing his cheek. "I promise. And I'll have all the stars counted by then."

Wim laughed wetly and Brando wiped the tears that spilled away with his thumbs. 

 

A siren was crying for him. 

His voice was shaky when he spoke again. "You love me?"

Brando huffed out a broken, wet laugh. "Yeah." He shook his head. "God, help me Wil, I do." 

 

Wilson closed the distance this time. The kiss was firmer, like sealing a promise and Brando let him. 

Then, Wilson looked at him again, really looked. And the words didn't come easy but he tried. "I love you." He said.

 

And Brando knew that was the only thing he ever wanted to hear. 

 

Day Six 

Departure 

 

The morning arrived cold and pale.

 

A thin layer of mist still clung to the water beyond the reef while the first light of dawn painted the horizon in washed-out shades of gold and blue. The sea was calm. Too calm. Gentle waves rolled against the hull in a steady rhythm, and the ship shifted softly beneath Brando's feet as if eager to be moving again.

 

Around him, the deck was already alive.

 

Sailors crossed back and forth carrying supplies, securing ropes, checking repairs one last time before departure. Voices drifted through the morning air, mixing with the creak of timber and the distant cry of seabirds circling overhead. Somewhere near the bow, Buster darted between a pair of sailors carrying a bundle of canvas, his tail wagging furiously while one of them swore after him. The dog barked happily and disappeared beneath a stack of barrels.

 

Brando should have been focused on the work.

 

Instead, his eyes kept drifting toward the shore.

 

The reef sat dark against the brightening water. Beyond it, the beach stretched empty beneath the dawn sky. Every time he looked away, he found himself looking back again a few moments later, searching the rocks, the waves, the familiar places where Wilson usually appeared.

 

Nothing.

 

The knot in his chest tightened.

 

Maybe it was too early.

 

Maybe Wilson was still asleep somewhere beneath the water. Maybe he was hunting. Maybe he simply hadn't come up yet.

 

Brando clung to those possibilities longer than he should have.

 

The sun climbed higher. The mist began to burn away. The crew finished loading the last supplies aboard.

 

Still nothing.

 

The empty water started to feel deliberate.

 

Like a goodbye.

 

Brando stood near the rail with one hand resting against the weathered wood, staring toward the reef as the realization slowly settled over him. Heavy. Unwelcome.

 

Maybe Wilson wasn't coming.

Maybe last night had been enough.

 

A voice pulled him from the thought.

 

"Captain?"

 

Brando barely heard it. His gaze remained fixed on the shoreline. The rocks. The water. The empty stretch of sea beyond.

No dark curls. No flash of blue scales beneath the surface.

 

Just the morning.

 

"Captain."

 

This time he turned.

One of the crew stood waiting expectantly beside the anchor line, ready for orders.

 

Brando looked back one last time.

 

The sight hit him with surprising force.

The reef bathed in early sunlight. The calm water. The place where six days ago everything had changed.

Empty.

 

For a moment he considered waiting just a little longer.

A few more minutes.

Long enough for Wilson to appear.

Long enough to see him one last time.

 

But the ship was ready. The tide was turning. His crew were watching him.

And some promises could only be kept by leaving.

 

Brando swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "Set sail."

 

The words felt heavier than they should have.

 

The sailor nodded and hurried away to pass on the order.

 

Brando remained where he was for a moment longer before turning toward the wheel. The familiar wood settled beneath his palm as he took his place at the helm, while behind him the ship slowly began to wake to motion and the shoreline started, almost imperceptibly, to slip away.

 

The ship pulled away slowly at first.

The sound of creaking timber and shifting sails carried faintly across the water as the distance between vessel and shore began to grow. Sunlight flashed against the repaired hull. The white canvas caught the morning breeze.

And then it was moving.

 

A dark shape surfaced beside the reef.

Wilson broke through the water with a sharp breath and immediately reached for the familiar stone, fingers curling around its rough edge.

For a moment he simply stared.

The sails were up. The distance was growing.

A hollow feeling opened somewhere beneath his ribs.

No.

His fingers tightened against the rough rock.

 

He hadn't said goodbye.

The thought struck harder than it should have.

Last night had felt final in all the wrong ways. Too many promises. Too many things left unsaid. He had fallen asleep curled against the reef after the sun came up, exhausted and happy and aching all at once. Too late.

 

The ship was leaving.

 

Wilson watched it for another heartbeat, then he pushed off the stone.

 

Cold water closed around him and instinct took over immediately. His body cut through the sea in one smooth motion, powerful strokes sending him forward. The familiar rhythm settled into his muscles. Water rushed past his scales. Sunlight fractured into shifting ribbons around him.

 

Faster. Wilson drove himself harder.

 

The ship was still close enough to see when he surfaced again.

He caught sight of white sails against the brightening sky.

Still there.

He dove again.

 

The sea rolled around him in currents he knew as well as his own hands. Fish scattered from his path. Sand and stone blurred beneath him. His tail drove harder, muscles flexing beneath blue scales.

 

When he surfaced again, the ship was still moving.

 

Wilson pushed faster.

 

A stubborn ache was beginning to spread through his tail now. The kind that came from sustained effort rather than speed. He ignored it.

Again. Again. Again.

Every time he surfaced, he searched for one thing.

Not the sails, not the hull.

Brando.

The ship had become large enough in his life that he could recognize it instantly, but that wasn't what he wanted.

He wanted him.

 

The next time Wilson broke the surface, a familiar figure stood near the wheel.

Even from this distance he knew him. The shape of his shoulders. The golden hair catching sunlight.

Wilson's heart lurched. Brando.

 

For a second he forgot the ache in his muscles entirely.

He lifted one arm out of the water.

 

The distance swallowed any chance of a voice reaching him. Still, he raised it anyway as if that would somehow be enough.

 

The figure at the wheel moved. He Turned.

 

And even across all that water, Wilson knew the exact moment Brando saw him. Something tightened painfully in his chest.

He swam harder.

The ship surged forward beneath a fresh gust of wind. Wilson answered with another powerful stroke.

Then another.

 

His tail was burning now.

 

The muscles along its length felt heavy.

Each movement demanded more effort than the last.

Still he refused to stop.

Brando was still there, still watching.

 

Wilson could see him looking back every time he surfaced. The distance between them grew anyway, cruel and unstoppable.

The sea that had always felt endless suddenly felt too small and too large at the same time.

 

Not enough to reach him, too much to cross.

Wilson pushed again.

 

His tail answered sluggishly this time. Exhaustion had settled deep into the muscle.

The ship pulled further ahead and Brando became smaller.

Wilson's chest hurt.

Not from exertion. That familiar ache, the same one that had followed him since the storm.

One more attempt. One more.

His body refused. The next stroke faltered.

He tried again. 

 

Wilson slowed despite himself.

 

The sea carried him upward and he floated there, suspended between sky and water.

 

Far ahead, the ship continued onward. Brando was still standing at the wheel, still looking back.

 

Wilson lifted a hand one last time, a useless gesture.

 

A goodbye he hadn't managed to give on shore.

 

The ship kept moving.

 

And eventually, slowly, he let himself stop following.

 

That night, when the sun finally vanished beneath the waves, the golden light long gone and replaced by the striking silver glow of the moon, Wilson surfaced again, still near the reef, still where Brando left him. 

 

And he looked up at the darkened sky, the stars that Brando had promised to count for him and lastly at the moon, full and bright and unwavering. 

"One." Wilson muttered to nobody but himself before he turned and dove back in, vanishing under cold waves. 

 

Epilogue 

Wait

 

The first moon passed easier than Wilson expected.

Not because he missed Brando less but because Brando was still everywhere.

 

The memory of him lingered stubbornly in every corner of the reef, woven into the stones and waves and stretches of shoreline where they'd spent those six days together. Wilson still caught himself turning whenever he heard laughter carried across the water by distant sailors, his heart stumbling before he remembered.

 

Not him.

 

At night, he climbed onto the same rock and watched the stars appear one by one above the sea.

 

Brando had promised to count them.

 

The thought always made something warm ache beneath his ribs.

 

Wilson could still hear his voice if he closed his eyes. Still remember the roughness of his laugh. The warmth of his hands. The way sunlight turned his hair gold at the edges. The way his eyes looked when he smiled, blue as deep water beneath a clear sky, like pieces of daylight somehow trapped inside a man.

 

The memories were sharp enough that they hardly felt like memories at all.

 

Sometimes Wilson found himself speaking aloud before realizing nobody was there to answer.

 

Sometimes he looked up from the water expecting to find Brando sitting beside him.

 

The realization always arrived a heartbeat later.

He was gone, just for now.

 

That was what Wilson told himself.

Just for now.

 

When the next moon rose full and bright above the ocean, he sat watching its silver reflection stretch across the waves.

 

"Two."

 

The number slipped quietly into the night.

Then he slid back beneath the water and continued waiting.

 

The second moon was easier to count and harder to endure.

Time had begun moving again.

 

The days no longer blurred together quite as badly. Storms came and went. Fish migrated through familiar waters. The tides shifted. The sea continued its endless rhythm whether Wilson liked it or not.

 

Every few days he surfaced near the reef and searched the horizon.

 

Sometimes at dawn. Sometimes at sunset.

Sometimes in the middle of the night when sleep refused to come.

 

The horizon remained stubbornly empty. Still, hope sat comfortably inside him. Brando had said four or five.

 

Two moons wasn't four.

The promise wasn't due yet.

Whenever doubt crept in, Wilson reminded himself of that fact.

 

Two wasn't four.

 

There was still time. He imagined Brando often.

 

Not in the desperate way he had during the first weeks, but quietly. Comfortably.

 

He imagined the ship cutting through calm water beneath clear skies. Imagined Brando standing at the wheel with the wind in his hair. Imagined him laughing with his crew.

 

More than anything, Wilson hoped he was safe. The thought arrived every night.

 

He hoped the ship held. He hoped the sea was kind.

He hoped Brando was eating, sleeping, smiling.

 

The moon rose again eventually, large and white above the water.

 

Wilson stared at it for a long time before speaking.

 

"Three."

 

The number sounded smaller than he expected. The sea swallowed it immediately.

 

The next moon was worse.

 

Not because he believed Brando had forgotten. Because the waiting had become real.

 

The excitement that had carried him through the first weeks slowly gave way to anticipation, and anticipation eventually sharpened into something heavier.

 

Fear. The sea was vast. Ships disappeared. Storms happened. Promises broke.

Wilson knew all of those things. He hated that he knew them.

 

Every vessel that appeared on the horizon pulled him from whatever he was doing.

He would surface immediately, water streaming from his hair as he stared toward distant sails.

 

For a few moments his heart always leapt. Maybe. But then the ship would come closer.

 

Wrong sails, wrong hull, wrong crew.

Never Brando.

 

The disappointment never became easier, Wilson simply became accustomed to carrying it.

 

The days felt longer now, the nights longer still.

He spent more time sitting on the rock, more time watching horizons, more time looking toward the stretch of sea where Brando had vanished months ago.

 

The stars had begun changing positions overhead. The air carried hints of a different season.

 

And for the first time, Wilson found himself counting more than moons.

 

He counted ships, sunsets and days, anything to make the waiting feel measurable.

Anything to make it feel like Brando was getting closer instead of further away.

 

When the next moon finally rose full above the water, Wilson was already waiting for it.

 

Its reflection shimmered silver across the waves.

 

For a long time he simply stared, then he lowered his gaze.

 

"Four." This time the word hurt.

 

Wilson found himself sitting at the stones every night until the night bled into morning, until the morning became noon, until he sun was too bright and he was exhausted. 

 

He dove into the water for a few hours just to surface again and watch the horizon, the passing ships. And the sun lowered again, and above him sat the moon, not comforting anymore. 

 

Maybe something had happened. The thought came stronger every night.

Maybe he was stranded. Maybe he had been hurt. It stung in his ribs but somehow, cruelly, less than if Brando had simply decided not to come back. Because he promised.

 

He had told him he loved him. 

 

The fifth moon wasn't even fully up yet but Wilson still leaned against the rocks, his arms showing scratches from thw rough surface he held onto every night. 

 

 

The sea moved lazily around the reef, dark water rising and falling against stone worn smooth by years of tides. Wilson barely noticed anymore. The sounds had become familiar, the waves, the wind, the distant creak of ships passing far beyond the horizon.

 

Another one drifted through the distance now, little more than a shadow against the evening sky.

 

Wilson watched it until it vanished, then he kept staring long after it was gone.

His fingers tightened against the rock. There had to be something else he could do.

 

The thought had been circling his mind for days now, returning every evening only to be pushed away again. It was stupid, pointless and maybe desperate.

 

Wilson rested his chin on his folded arms and stared out at the water.

 

He had never sung for Brando.

His kind used their voices to call, to lure. To reach across distances where words couldn't travel.

 

And every time Wilson had thought about doing it, he had stopped himself.

 

Because Brando had deserved a choice and Wilson had wanted him to stay because he wanted to, not because something in his blood told him to follow.

 

But Brando wasn't here.

The horizon remained empty and Wilson was tired of waiting with nothing but his own thoughts for company.

 

Slowly he pushed away from the rocks and slipped into the water.

 

The sea folded around him immediately, cool and familiar against skin and scales. He drifted near the surface for a moment, staring at the darkening sky overhead before closing his eyes.

 

Then he sang, the sound flowed through the water far more naturally than speech ever did, low and smooth and ancient.

 

Wilson felt it leave him and travel outward through the currents, disappearing into the vast stretch of ocean beyond the reef. The melody wound through the water effortlessly, carried by tides and distance.

 

He kept singing.

 

Minutes passed, the moon climbed higher, the sea listened.

Wilson opened his eyes and looked toward the horizon.

 

Nothing came and the song continued.

 

The water remained empty. No familiar ship appeared from the dark or pale sails changed course.

 

No answer came back.

 

Still he sang a little longer, long enough for hope to quietly become embarrassment, enough to realize he had no idea how far a song could travel, enough to understand that if Brando heard it at all, he was far too distant to follow.

 

Eventually the melody faded from his lips.

 

The sea swallowed the last note without ceremony and Wilson floated there for a while afterward, listening to the waves.

 

Then he looked toward the horizon one more time. Nothing had changed.

And yet, when he pulled himself back onto the rocks and settled into his usual place, his eyes remained fixed on the distance, just in case.

 

The morning was cold.

 

Not unpleasantly so, but enough that the wind carried a sharp bite as it swept across the deck and tangled itself through Brando's hair. Autumn had painted the sea in different colors while they were gone. The water looked darker somehow, the sky paler. Thin clouds drifted across the horizon, turning the sunlight soft and silvery instead of gold.

 

Brando barely noticed.

 

He was halfway up the rigging again.

 

"Captain's lost his damn mind."

 

The muttered comment drifted up from below, followed by a chorus of quiet agreement.

 

Brando grinned despite himself and shifted his footing higher.

 

Maybe they were right.

 

The reef was still little more than a dark shape in the distance, barely visible through the morning haze, but he couldn't stay on deck another second. Not when it was finally there.

 

Not when he was finally back.

 

The ship rocked gently beneath him as it cut through familiar waters. Wind snapped through the sails overhead. Somewhere below, sailors moved across the deck, preparing lines and arguing over something Brando couldn't bring himself to care about.

 

His attention never left the horizon.

 

It had taken months.

 

Months of storms and long nights and cramped quarters and endless water stretching in every direction. Months of wondering if Wilson was alright. Months of hearing his voice in his head so often that sometimes Brando caught himself turning around, expecting to find him sitting nearby.

And now the reef was there, close enough to touch.

 

Brando's pulse hammered against his ribs. He scanned the shoreline again but found nothing.

For a moment disappointment threatened to creep in.

Then he saw movement.

 

Brando froze.

 

A dark shape floated near the reef small from this distance, almost impossible to make out.

 

But he knew. God, he knew.

 

The breath left his lungs all at once. Wilson.

 

The relief hit so suddenly it nearly hurt.

Wilson had waited. Through every storm Brando had crossed, through every moon, through every day spent chasing a promise across the sea.

He had waited.

 

Brando laughed out loud, the sound disappearing into the wind.

 

Below him, somebody shouted something but he didn't hear a word of it.

His entire world had narrowed to the figure in the water.

 

Even from this distance he could see Wilson staring back with these impossible dark brown eyes, still and motionless as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

 

Brando understood the feeling. His throat tightened.

 

Then Wilson moved, only slightly but enough that sunlight caught against dark curls, enough that Brando knew he was real.

 

Brando didn't think, even for a second.

 

He dropped from the rigging onto the deck, ignored the startled curses that followed, crossed the ship in a blur and vaulted over the railing.

 

"Captain—!"

 

The shout was cut off by the splash. Cold water crashed around him.

 

Brando surfaced laughing, already swimming.

The ship, the crew, the treasure, the months apart—

 

None of it mattered because Wilson was there and Brando had finally come home.

 

The cold water hardly registered.

 

Brando shoved wet hair from his face as he immediately searched for him.

 

There. The sight hit him all over again.

 

Wilson was already moving through the water toward him, faster now, the distance disappearing with every powerful sweep of his tail. For a moment neither of them said anything. Brando simply stared, taking him in greedily, afraid that if he looked away the image would disappear.

 

 Five months and somehow Wilson was still here. 

 "Wil!" The name left him before he could stop it.

 

Wilson's head lifted sharply, then he was there.

 

The collision nearly knocked the breath from Brando's lungs.

 

Arms wrapped around him immediately, pulling him close enough that Brando could feel the familiar warmth of him beneath the cool seawater. He laughed, half from relief and half from sheer disbelief, his own hands gripping Wilson just as tightly.

 

For a moment neither of them seemed willing to let go.

 

The ocean rolled around them in slow swells, lifting them together before letting them sink again. Water dripped from Wilson's curls. Brando could feel his own heartbeat hammering against his ribs.

 

Eventually Wilson pulled back just a little and his hands came up to Brando's face and stayed there, cradling his head. 

 

Brando went still.

 

Wilson stared at him with an intensity that made his chest ache.

 

His thumbs brushed across Brando's cheeks, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. Like he was trying to memorize him all over again. Like he was checking that every piece was still where it belonged.

The touch lingered near his temple. Wilson's brows pulled together.

 

Brando followed the movement instinctively before remembering. "Oh." A laugh escaped him. "That."

 

The scar was small, barely noticeable unless somebody was looking for it. Wilson's thumb traced it anyway.

The look on his face made Brando's chest tighten.

 

"I'm okay," he said quietly.

 

Wilson didn't answer, his fingers remaining against Brando's skin, still checking.

 

Brando couldn't help smiling. "I've got so many stories for you."

The words tumbled out like he was boiling over. 

 

"We found the wreck. And Wil, you wouldn't believe half the things that happened after that. There was a storm near the southern coast and Buster somehow stole an entire fish from a merchant ship and—"

 

He broke off when he noticed Wilson wasn't really listening.

 

Or maybe he was, but not to the stories. His gaze remained fixed on Brando's face, moving over him carefully, like he was afraid to miss something.

 

The silence stretched between them before Wilson finally spoke.

"You're late."

 

Brando stared at him for a second, then laughter burst out of him so suddenly he nearly swallowed seawater.

"That's what you say?"

 

Wilson's expression didn't change, not even a little.

 

Brando laughed harder. The sound shook somewhere deep in his chest, months of worry and distance and longing unraveling all at once. "Yeah," he said, still grinning. "I know."

 

Wilson's hand tightened slightly against his cheek.

 

Something in Brando's chest softened completely.

He reached up, covering Wilson's hand with his own before leaning forward.

 

This kiss was nothing like the last one. There were no promises hanging between them now. No departure waiting in the morning. Not even a little uncertainty left, only the simple, overwhelming relief of finding each other again.

 

Wilson kissed him back immediately. Brando laughed against his mouth and Wilson finally smiled.

 

Notes:

It's done omg.
I've been working on this for a little while now and I am so happy to show it to you!
Maybe there will be more little AU's and Oneshots over time.

I hope you enjoy this little fantasy fairy tale and have as much fun with it as I had writing.

Let me know what you think
Lots of love and luck, I appreciate you guys so much
-Tharja♡