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It’s an ugly day, the sort that lingers after a night filled with storms. The sky is dark and the air is heavy and humid, sitting like a rock in your lungs.
You find your way to your usual place and hang your legs over the edge of the barnacle-crusted old dock. You sit there alone for a good hour before you begin to worry that maybe he’s moved on, maybe he’s gotten tired of always being told no. But soon, you spot a long line of silver snaking below the tide, too large, too brilliant to be just another ocean fish.
A head pokes through the water. Hair the color of honey, adorned with bits of gold and chunks of old jewelry—every kind of shiny thing that drifts to the ocean floor over the course of a century—reminds you of everything the sunshine isn’t.
As always, Monoma is quick to begin with his daily badgering. Today, you actually listen.
“It wouldn’t hurt you know,” Monoma purrs, chin sinking beneath the rippling surface, “not if I were the one to do it. That’s not a promise most can make.”
The waves are still angry, and every time they roll in it sends a misty spray across your face. You don’t flinch at the feel of salt sticking to your cheeks, distracted as you are. Thinking.
Eyes—blue-grey, almost the color of the sea itself—float in place, peering past your pensive expression, falling on something that makes them narrow.
“You’re doubting me.” Monoma never been the sort to avoid an issue, has never been one for subtlety.
“No. It’s just a hard choice to make.”
He straightens out so his shoulders peek through the water. His smug expression is gone, washed away the very moment he realizes you aren’t rejecting the idea outright this time. “It isn’t though. You’d lose nothing and gain everything; calling it a choice is being generous.”
“But it would be permanent.”
Monoma blinks slowly and his eyelids gleam when the scales there catch some of the light peeking out through the shroud of grey. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not something I can take lightly, Monoma.”
“Neito,” he corrects.
“Neito,” you repeat under your breath, letting your hand hang below the water, swaying along with the rhythm of the surf. “Forever is a long time to be anything.”
“You’d rather be ordinary for a short while.” He sighs in the exaggerated manner he’s so fond of. “Ordinary and unhappy.”
You try to catch a bit of sea foam on your palm. Just when you think you have it, it drifts through the space between your fingers. Even the fizzling feeling against your skin fades easily.
Short-lived.
Insignificant.
Gone.
You try to inhale, to calm yourself, but everything is shaky. The air is as thick as water; you can’t seem to force it down.
“Are they all stronger afterwards?” You ask, teeth digging into the meat of your bottom lip.
“Not all. But you will be.” Monoma assures, drifting in closer. You feel something—cool but warm, smooth but rough—curl around your ankles.
The logical part of your brain takes over. You fight to yank your feet back onto the dock, but Monoma holds you in place. His mouth is twisted into a slight smile. The message behind it is clear: “If I’d wanted to drag you down, I would have done it by now.”
You swallow hard and try to loosen up. “How do you know that?”
“Because I picked you.” Monoma leads his hands upward, rising from the water as he drags his palms along your calves, your knees, the outer part of your thighs. Then he rests his elbows on the bit of dock at either side of you and pushes himself to eye level. “Because I wouldn’t waste my time on someone if I thought they’d end up disappointing me.”
Up close like this, his eyes seem different. Still blue, but shifting, swirling like a wave around his pupils. Like the rest of Monoma, they’re almost human. Pale skin gives way to glistening scales just below his navel. Lithe muscles stretch downward into the deceptively-delicate curve of his tail and fins. They conceal power. Once you’ve seen him, there’s no mistaking exactly what he is.
And you could be like him too, if you wanted. Could borrow—no, could have strength like his. All you’d have to do was trade away the meager things you had. Give up the loneliness, the loss, the longing for something else. In return, Monoma would give you everything. He’d share everything with you.
“Do you want to change?” Monoma finally asks. Thunder rumbles somewhere along the horizon.
You nod.
His smile stretches wider, thinner. “You have to say it.”
“Yes, I want to change.” You comply. “Want you to change me.”
A flash of lightning at the corner of your gaze has you turning away from him, but he’s quick to pull you back by your chin, webbed fingers leaving no room to squeeze through. The thunder follows, then the wind, but you hardly notice. Why would you when it’s all so dull in comparison to Neito? Neito’s voice, low and haunting, humming to the tune of the growing storm. Neito’s damp hair, heavy with jewels, tangled through your fingers. Neito’s smooth-but-rough hand along the back of your neck tugging you forward, urging you down, down…
And you follow, let the water devour you.
It’s chaotic beneath the surface; your sense of calm abandons you as you’re thrown about in the current. You flail to orient yourself in the murky depths, but the sea is relentless. It’s a blaze, forcing its way down your throat and nose, scorching you from the inside out. You’re not alone though. Through the black flecks beginning to flit across your vision, you catch a faint glimmer of something. You stop fighting and allow your limbs to go heavy.
There’s no point in trying to make sense of anything. It’s all blurry, a mess of darkness interspersed with flashes of silver. There’s the sensation of being pulled, then released. Left to drift, then cradled in the arms of something solid and steadfast. The pain is gone, replaced by a heavy, sleepy feeling that makes your eyes drift shut.
Drowned. The word echoes like a warning, one you should know the words to by now. You aren’t frightened, don’t feel betrayed or upset. You can’t bring yourself to feel much of anything—nothing but the calm nothingness.
Nothing but the mouth fastened against yours, prying your lips apart and breathing a strange sort of coolness into you.
Nothing but the tingling of relief spreading through your chest, the sensation of being able to breathe without breathing.
Nothing but Neito and the vague understanding that your legs are being cocooned in a thick blanket of scales.