Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tomo didn’t believe in miracles until the day he met him.

Spending the summer at his grandfather’s chalet in the woods has always left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. It’s a well-established tradition in his family: his parents find it simpler and safer to drop him off there before leaving for their holidays, rather than to know him home alone.

As a child, Tomo was rather content with this arrangement. The mountains were a fun environment to explore, their tall trees offering a million chances for him to climb freely and collect pine cones like treasures. His physique grew strong and solid thanks to the exercise, and his personality developed as bold and fearless.

The ordeal has become more and more unbearable with the surge of his teenage years. Why can’t he chill at home, hang out with his friends, or be granted some precious alone time? Every time he tries to bring up this option to his mother, she shakes her head and insists he’s not ready for such a responsibility.

“You would blow up the house the first time you use a matchstick,” she says. It’s utterly unfair— because yes, Tomo has burned something once. But it was an accident, and he was nine years old. At the ripe age of twenty, he believes to have more than redeemed himself for what concerns his cooking skills.

However, in the end, he is too weak-hearted to impose his tantrums on his stressed parents. If a repetition of their honeymoon without their son around is their ideal vacation, who is he to steal their couple's time? So, he doesn’t object when his mother’s dented red car drives him to the bus station.

“Be safe on your way,” she advises. “Remember to help your grandpa and to be patient. He’s getting old, so he isn’t as energetic as he used to be.”

The whole trip is a series of sighs and longing glances cast outside the window. Tomo’s mind won’t cease torturing him, fantasizing about the adventures he might have had if he stayed home. Daily ice cream appointments with Thoma, beetle fights with Itto at the park, and perhaps weekly hangouts at Komore Teahouse.

Locked aboard a bus to hell, he finds himself missing even Yuki. Ayaka’s dog has a strong passion for harassing Tama, and it’s hilarious enough to make the entire group laugh wholeheartedly, including Ayato from his high horse. It comes at a high price, though: an arm covered in kitty scratches, and at least three consecutive nights of denied cat cuddles.

Alas, none of it will happen.

🞰 🞰 🞰

The ax plunges into the tough bark, sending shivers of pain through Tomo’s arm. Lost in the reminiscences of his journey to the mountains, he almost forgot what he’s doing and how dangerous his task is. The nostalgia hits harder on misty days, when not a ray of sunshine peeks from behind its cozy gray covers.

His mood has changed over the years. The months he spent in the woods were once upon a time sprinkled with fun activities: he helped his grandfather draw milk from his only cow, watched him turn it into cheese and butter, or played in the forest with his cousin Yoimiya.

Those happy afternoons are long gone now. As soon as Tomo grew some muscles and became too old to fool around chasing fairies and spirits, there was nothing left for him but the hard (yet oh-so-useful) task of chopping wood for the winter.

It doesn’t matter that he sucks at it. “I’m getting old,” his grandfather whines every dawn. “I can’t do it anymore by myself. I hire a boy from the village in the winter, but at least in summer I can count on my beloved grandson to stock up for the cold season…”

Without fail, Tomo falls prey to his own gentle soul. Unable to deny him the favor after witnessing firsthand the exhaustion on the man’s limbs and having massaged his sore back and shoulders, he reluctantly accepts.

His grandfather is as stiff as the logs he’s cutting, no longer in the prime of his youth. In order to spare his body from premature destruction (and to save his family some money), Tomo dutifully sucks it up and sweats his forehead off throughout the hottest hours of July.

Today is especially brutal. Compared to the dog days of the city, summer is milder in the mountains, what with the high peaks and the shadow cast by the trees. Yet, despite wearing nothing but a tight-fitting shirt and a ragged pair of shorts, Tomo is soaking wet barely ten minutes in.

Another piece of wood comes off with a loud noise. Tomo quickly adds it on top of the pile he has formed, ridding it of the smaller branches that aren’t suitable for being burned. He proceeds upwards on the path in search of more trunks to chop, not quite satisfied with the ones currently surrounding him.

When he lifts his gaze, his chest sinks.

A gorgeous willow stands fierily by the pond, its dark-brown bark and bright green foliage beckoning him from a distance. If Tomo closes his eyes, the distant echo of a melody tickles his eardrums, as if the plant itself was calling out for him to pay a visit.

He feels horrible at the thought of cutting it down. Life is a balance, a cruel game of give and take: humans reap the lives of unfortunate forest creatures in exchange for fleeting warmth in their fireplaces. Snow and frost can be lethal if one isn’t prepared to face their fury.

The most Tomo can do to repay mother nature is to plant a seed for each trunk he steals. Or, sometimes, to turn her sacrificed creatures into something breathing new life— pieces of custom furniture, little trinkets he crafts with his rough hands, keychains to sell on the market. It’s his secret hobby, the only pastime keeping him sane in the woods without any connection to browse the internet under the bedsheets.

“Sorry, pal,” Tomo mutters an apology to the willow, caressing its trunk with his open palm. The crooked benches almost reach the water, swaying right above the surface and rippling it with every gust of passing wind. “Nothing personal. I promise I’ll turn you into a wonderful item.”

He swings his ax and, with a precise and practiced hit, dives it straight into the bark. The tree is tougher than he planned: when he pulls at the handle again, he finds the tool completely stuck, trapped within the plant.

“ Guess that’s my punishment for trying to kill you, ” Tomo thinks.

Alas, he needs that ax. If he dares to return home without it, he will be dead meat instead. His grandfather will probably hang him from the ceiling by his toes, or something equally as jarring.

Tomo seizes the grip and pulls. He pulls and pulls, his muscles swollen from the effort, as he pours all of his energy into it. The blade is immovable, stuck between the thick fibers of the trunk with no means to escape.

“Oh, come on,” he groans. He presses a boot against the trunk for leverage and pulls some more. He isn’t the strongest guy in school for nothing, after all. He spent his entire teenage years polishing his physique and competing with others at the gym. Will a stupid tree be the cause of his defeat?

His sweaty palms slip over the handle. With a horrified shriek, Tomo realizes he has lost his grip on the ax. He watches idly as the deadly object flies away from him, twirling in the air in all its deadly potential, and prays whatever god is up there in the sky that nobody is walking by the pond. The outcome would be worthy of a B-class splatter movie.

Thankfully, nothing happens. The ax lands in the center of the pond with a loud splash, and quiet returns to the clearing. No victims, no tragedies. Tomo’s conscience has been spared from the burden of accidental murder for yet another day. Not that he’s any happy about losing his grandfather’s precious baby, of course.

Tomo exhales in frustration and approaches the water to retrieve his companion. “Where are you, little ax?” he playfully calls out, perhaps expecting the object to answer his plea. “Come here, don’t let gramps kill me tonight!”

Realizing how silly he must look from the outside (damn, the fairies must be judging him so hard), he accepts his fate. He will have to retrieve it manually, dipping his arm in the fresh water. Hopefully, there won’t be any fish to nibble at his fingers or weird poisonous substances from the lilypads.

He takes a moment to admire the landscape. The pond is simply beautiful, sitting in the middle of a clearing. Short tufts of grass and colorful flowers bloom around the perimeter, spreading their dry petals over the surface.

The vine-tangled trees reflecting on the crystalline mirror, the butterflies fluttering about, the chirping of birds… Everything makes the place look magical, like a scene straight out of a children’s book. Tomo wishes he had taken his phone to capture the view, because this is what dreams are made of.

He crouches on the shore, determined to get the job done quickly. He flings his arm inside the water and moves it around in an attempt at locating the bottom. It’s lukewarm, only slightly heated by the sun thanks to the foliage’s filter.

“Yo, yo, ax. My friend,” he chants again, his head up high to breathe in the breeze. “Where did you go? I need you, babe.” Why is this pond so deep, anyway? It looks so small, yet he’s shoulder-deep into it and not close to seeing its end.

He glances down to check if he can measure the remaining distance by eye… and his heart almost jumps out of his ribcage.

A pair of dilated red eyes are staring back at him, right underneath the surface. The stranger has silver locks scattered about, and the most curious expression Tomo has ever seen plastered on someone else’s face.

He jumps back, butt sinking into the mud. What the hell is a man doing in the pond? Is he swimming, though it’s definitely forbidden by at least fifteen warning signs along the path? Is he drowning, maybe, or already dead? Is Tomo just hallucinating after his mayonnaise-heavy meal?

Before he can wave goodbye to his ax, get up on his feet, and leave the cursed clearing for the rest of his life, something emerges from the water in a triumph of splashes. Heavy drops drench Tomo’s legs and shoes, while the mysterious person shakes his head to throw back his hair.

Tomo’s mouth opens in awe and fear. The stranger’s head shines a bright silver, a red tuft of hair peeking on his side. His torso is bare, covered in scales, and… is that a tail? Grandpa warned him against eating expired mayonnaise, but Tomo never learns, does he?

The man turns to face him. “My apologies.” His voice is softer than a cloud. If clouds have a sound at all, that is. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You dropped this.”

He offers him his palms. Resting on top of them is his ax, safe and sound, if only a little wet. Rust is surely going to assault the iron, unless Tomo remembers to treat it properly before heading to bed.

A flashback from the past emerges at the back of Tomo’s mind. He recalls a fairytale his mother used to read to him before sleep. A pretty fairy emerged from the depths of the lake to put a lumberjack before a choice: two axes to pick from, though neither was similar to his actual one. It was a means to test him and see whether he was greedy or pure-hearted.

“Are you gonna ask me to choose between a gold and a silver ax to test my virtue?” Tomo asks, wary. “Because if yes, it won’t work. I’ve been instructed about you… lake people’s antics.”

“Huh?” The man looks puzzled, as if he isn’t following a word of his delirious speech. “I don’t know what you’re referring to. I saw your ax falling into the pond and wanted to give it back to you. Does this not belong to you?”

Tomo stares at the tool in his hands. Yeah, it’s his alright. The scratches on the handle and the cat-themed washi tape wrapped around the grip make it impossible not to recognize at a glance.  “Alright. Thanks, then.”

Once the business transaction is over, the stranger flashes a kind smile. “Goodbye.”

He dives back. The end of his tail is on full display for Tomo to see as he does so, red and brighter than a ripe apple. He has just talked to a damn mermaid, apparently. And he hasn’t died nor passed out after being hit by a strange spell.

Tomo retraces his steps in a flash, running fast enough for the world to melt in a blur around him. It’s best to hurry before more weird things happen, or the forest’s curse washes over him. He must have hallucinated— overwork and heat do things to a man’s brain.

🞰 🞰 🞰

An annoyed exhale shatters the silence of the pastures as the final piece of fabric is retrieved from the clothesline, and promptly thrown inside the basket lying by Tomo’s feet. From the duties of a lumberjack, it seems he has evolved into his grandfather’s handmaid. He woke up at the break of dawn to handle the laundry, while the man busied himself milking his cow.

“Poor Buttercup must be tired of this harassment,” he groans to himself, feeling much like an old man himself. “Being groped by calloused hands twice a day since she has had a conscience. What a life.”

And of course, the list of his tasks isn’t over so soon. After fetching the dry laundry, Tomo is put to good work mowing the grass, uprooting invasive shrubs, cutting ingredients for lunch, and mopping the floor. Which, at least, spares him from the tedious wood-chopping duty for the time being.

Tomo sets off for a stroll before his grandfather can miraculously spawn more chores for him to carry out. He prepares himself an emergency sandwich, grabs a bottle of water, and ties his trekking boots.

“Are you setting off?” His grandfather stops him at the entrance, a large box brimming with fresh fruit and vegetables precariously balanced in his arms. “Remember to follow the path. Rescuers can’t reach you easily on these slopes.”

Tomo nods, far too aware of the risks. He has saved a handful of people himself, in the past, careless youngsters who didn’t bother double-checking their maps before adventuring in the intricate parts of the forest. “By the way, have there been any strange sightings around here?”

“No?” The man furrows his brow. “Why, Tomo? Did you see a ghost or something?”

Nothing of the sort— how crude to compare a mermaid to a haunting spirit. However, he doesn’t want the man to call him delusional and spoil his mood for the walk, so he drops the topic. “Nevermind that. Do we have bread?”

He waits patiently as his grandfather vanishes inside, past the kitchen door. He reappears after a few seconds, three stale loaves held in his wrinkly palms. “Here you go. Wanna take some for your lunch?”

Tomo grabs the smaller piece of bread, not wishing to steal precious food from his own flesh and blood. “Not quite. Thought I might feed the birds while I eat and rest.”

He returns to the woods following the usual path. The heat is more bearable today, the dazzling sun rays mellowed by a light breeze from the mountain peak. Had he not set his mind on where to go, Tomo would gladly consider a hike up the slope, to see the world from above and touch the clouds with his fingertips.

He hadn’t noticed it before. When the pond is nothing but a dot on the horizon, the crystalline waters barely visible through the natural barrier of the underbrush, the air already feels magical and light. Tomo would have loved to catch this detail as a child, when most of his time here was spent chasing imaginary fairies and spirits around. An enchanted clearing would surely have tickled his fancy back then.

But as an adult, he’s here to prove something else. He has come back to ensure the mermaid is real and that he isn’t going insane, losing his mind at a faster pace than his grandfather despite being barely at the beginning of his twenties.

“Mister merman?” Tomo yells at the top of his lungs once he’s close enough to the pond’s surface. He can still see the shape of his butt in the mud, with frail little plants blooming in the cavities he has unwillingly dug. “Are you here?”

No response. Did he seriously imagine it all?

A sweet perfume lingers in the air. Lavender mingled with bergamots and lilies, with a distant note of rose petals. So many different plants grow in this area of the forest, even those which normally would have nothing to do with one another. As if a pixie gardener was assembling a magical grassland for their folk.

Tomo takes a sit on the ground, slotting himself in the same spot as yesterday. It doesn’t matter if his pants get soaked with dirt— they’re meant to be used, after all. He has neglected his passion for hiking for such a long time, they at least deserve some war scars.

He snaps the loaf in two, again and again, until his palm is full of crumbs that he throws upon the water, scattering them all over the surface. If nothing happens, he can at least say he has fed some birds. Or killed some lacustrine microscopic wildlife, he guesses.

Tomo waited by the shore, nervously chopping up the bread piece by piece. As an enjoyer of nature and a defender of wildlife, he feels horrible for polluting the pond in such a hideous way. Alas, it’s the only idea that came to his mind when brainstorming summoning rituals for a merman.

Right when he is about to give up and leave, something moves. A splash of water hits his eyes, forcing them shut. When he opens them again, the merman’s silver hair peeks from the surface, his red eyes barely visible above the water.

“Bread?” he says, sarcastically. “Do I perhaps remind you of a duck?”

A tingle of joy stirs up Tomo’s chest. He’s real— he’s there. He’s right in front of him in all his ethereal beauty, snowy locks, and ruby irises. His therapist would be proud of him. “Well… Sorry, I have no idea what mermen eat.”

He looks at the creature. A few bread crumbs are sticking to his hair, and a cute pout bends his lips. He seems so utterly offended that Tomo, a mere mortal, is oblivious to mermaid diets. “It’s not like we even believe you to exist, y’know,” he is very tempted to say for a solid second.

“Small aquatic vertebrates,” the man replies nonchalantly. “When I wish to eat, that is. It isn’t strictly needed for creatures like me to survive.”

Oh, that’s convenient. So many problems in the world would be solved if one could go months or years without nourishment… Unfortunately, humans cannot afford such luxury. “Heh, fine. I’ll fetch those next time.”

“No need,” the merman stops him with a polite gesture of his hand. “I am alright by myself. Goodbye.”

He plunges back, trying to dive into the pond and vanish once more. But Tomo hasn’t made all this trip to get nothing in return, if not a chance to be called an idiot in between the lines and a free ticket to humiliation land.

“No, wait.” Tomo seizes the man’s wrist before he can disappear. Their glances collide… With white hair falling over his shoulders and elegant fins around the curve of his neck, the stranger looks so charming. “P-Please. Can you stay for a bit?”

What kind of question is this? Second-hand embarrassment slaps him on the spot for being so bold in front of a stranger. If the roles were reversed, he would surely feel mildly creeped out by a random guy demanding he keeps him company after one single chance encounter. He wouldn’t be surprised if the merman just ripped his arm off and fled to the abyss of the pond.

“Hmm…” For some reason, he is still here. “I’m not sure.”

Deprived of any remaining sliver of dignity, Tomo resorts to his secret talent: pitiful begging. “Please. I don’t have anybody to talk to, and you seem… cool. I’d like to chat for a bit.”

The merman’s cheeks flush a pale cyan. Tomo understands in one single instance that one, his kind doesn’t have red blood like any regular human, and two, that he isn’t used to being complimented. Maybe they’re both lone souls. There must be a reason why such a wonderful being has chosen isolation in this godforsaken clearing within the woods.

“Alright,” he eventually accepts. “Only for a bit, though.”

In hindsight, perhaps Tomo should have planned the next step more thoroughly. Because, once the merman has hopped out of the water and rested his back at his side, tail dipping in the pond to stay hydrated, he has no clue what to talk about.

“Hmm… Lovely day, don't you think?”

Oh, man. This is the best he can come up with? Really? The months of isolation in this deserted mountain surely eroded his social skills. He’s never had problems being talkative, capable of drowning in words even a corpse. It’s all gone in a flash right when he needs it most.

The merman doesn’t seem to mind. He sits up, hugging his tail closer to his chest. His skin is covered in droplets, glistening in the sunlight. “Yes. I haven’t felt such a pleasant temperature in quite some time. It is often too frosty or too hot for me to sit outside of the pond.”

“I can imagine.” Even though they aren’t touching, Tomo can feel how cold the man’s body is. It must be freezing down there, in the depths of the pond. It’s so much deeper than it looks, the purity of the water concealing the truth. “It’s comforting to have someone to talk to.”

The merman nods. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Well, I don’t live nearby.” Tomo leans back, his palms plunging in the tufts of grass sprouting from the mud. The sun feels scorching on his bare arms, the heat soothed only by the thinnest veil of humidity. “I come here in summer to help my gramps out, but during the winter I live in the capital.”

“Gramps…” The merman brings a hand to his chin, pensive. “I might have seen him before. He used to chop wood near this clearing, but he rarely ventured to this pond.”

How many years ago, anyway? His grandfather hasn’t worked as a lumberjack in at least two decades, by now. Tomo has heard about his so-called winter helper ever since he was born… But then again, who is he to judge how old a merman is? Surely, time is a different concept for him.

“I can imagine,” Tomo says in an amused exhale. “With the bad balance he has nowadays, I wouldn’t want him to approach the water, anyway.”

The man doesn’t seem to follow his reasoning. He simply flashes a tense smile, squinting in Tomo’s direction like he is some sort of alien. Maybe he has never seen a human from so close? The veil of nostalgia in his eyes tells a different story, though.

“So, hm.” Tomo clears his throat with a light cough. “What are you , exactly?”

The man takes a good look at himself. His fins and tail are painted in the same hues as his irises, a flashy red with white and brown spots. It reminds Tomo of a koi fish— but a cooler version, of course. “I… don’t know. I am me . What are you?”

“I’m a human, duh.” Tomo realizes how ridiculous his question might have sounded to the man’s ears only when he hears it addressed at him. He points at the fish attributes with a finger. “Are you a merman?”

The man shrugs. “I assume so? If that is the term you would use.”

Alright, no more questions on the matter. Tomo isn’t the type of person who minds fine details, so… he doesn’t care whether it is right or not. Merman it is, and he will make do with this word. “Have you always lived in this pond?”

“Not always.” He averts his gaze, suddenly bashful. “I settled here less than two hundred moon cycles ago.”

Crap, not the moon cycles… Tomo regrets not paying more attention in science class when he was in high school. Even in the remote chance he’s going to attend college, astrology and anything moon-related certainly won’t be involved. “And… Aren’t you bored with nothing to do all day?”

The merman’s attention has been captured by the waterlilies floating on top of the water. “I wouldn’t say so… I barely notice the passing of time.” Another shrug, another shake of his head. “Sometimes I come out of the pond and the world is bathed in snow. The following morning, the sun rays are blinding and a young man is chopping wood by the forest doors.”

Tomo doubts that’s exactly how it works, but little does he know about the way merfolk perceives it. Maybe that’s a part of immortality (or longer timespans in general): you live forever, but don’t fully enjoy the amount of time you’re given.

“Good for you. I, for one, am bored as hell,” Tomo groans. “There’s nothing for me to do here, and no one to talk to except for my gramps and the old men who live in the hut above ours. Even my kitty is at home.”

Those shining red eyes are on him now. Big, intense, with thick eyelashes that seem carved out of ice. Now he understands why mermaids are always portrayed as gorgeous beings in fairytales… There is clearly some truth buried within them.

Faced with silence, Tomo finishes his proposal. “What would you say if I came here sometimes? Just for a chat, you know. I can bring you food.”

“I’m… not good at talking.” The man’s face lit up again in an ocean of dark cyan. “And my life isn’t interesting. I have no stories to tell.”

“Worry not!” Tomo chummily slaps his shoulders. The merman shudders, obviously caught off guard. His skin is damp and soft, the kind of coldness that comes after one has stayed in the water for too long. He smells vaguely like waterlilies and mold. “I’m good at it. I’ll do the chatting, and you’ll do the listening. Feels less lonely, you know?”

Instead of blurting out an immediate answer, the man seems to ponder the offer carefully. He mulls the matter over and over, weighing the ups and the downs, then reaches a final verdict. “Alright. Then, goodbye for the time being.”

He leaps forward, ready to dive into the pond. In an automatic gesture, Tomo grabs his arm once more, having one more thing to ask. “So, this means I can come and see you again?”

“Yes,” the merman’s smile softens, surprise melting into fondness in his gaze. “No bread next time, though. Okay?”

Tomo lets out a breathy giggle. Was it that offensive to him? “How can I let you know I’ve arrived, then?”

“Call my name. I’m Kazuha.”

The sound of it is so pretty… It must roll so nicely on the tip of one’s tongue. Tomo can’t wait to try saying it out loud, on their next encounter. “I’m Tomo.”

“I know.” Kazuha squirms out of his grip, falling into the water with a splash. He hesitates right above the surface, waist-deep into the crystalline mirror. “I’ve heard your grandfather yell this name a few times, many moon cycles ago.”

It must have been when he was a toddler, and gramps brought him along his work as a lumberjack. Rather than chopping wood only for himself, he used to gather some spare logs for his neighbors and friends in the village down the slope. Too bad they’re all gone now, either dead or moved to town.

With that, Kazuha is gone. And, damn— Tomo thinks he’s fallen in love with his soft-spoken voice.

🞰 🞰 🞰

Tomo tries his best not to be offended by the concerned look Kazuha throws at the bowl in his hands. He woke up at dawn to prepare this meal for him: his signature dish, rice salad with some pieces of scrambled eggs, vegetables, and slices of ham cut into the shape of a kitty. Perhaps it’s the preposterous amount of mayonnaise he has poured on top that upsets the merman?

“I…” Kazuha hesitates. “Did you make this… for me?”

Tomo shoves the bowl in between his hands. “Who else? Now take it and tell me if it isn’t the most delicious thing you’ve tasted in your whole life.”

Reluctantly, the merman gives in to his whims. Once he has figured out how to wield chopsticks, he shyly brings a portion of rice to his lips, licking the grains to taste their flavor. Then, he takes a bite.

Joy fills Tomo’s heart upon realizing that Kazuha is, in fact, enjoying his meal. The timid munches grow bigger and faster, and half of the bowl has been emptied in the blink of an eye. Truly a victory for him in the war for mom’s kitchen.

“My apologies,” Kazuha mutters after a few minutes, handing him the remaining rice. “I’m not used to human food, so… I’m afraid I have hit my limit. My stomach can’t take any more.”

Tomo’s smile grows impossibly wide. “Worry not. I’m flattered you tried it. I’ll finish this, don’t worry!” Loyal to his word, he devours what’s left of his specialty, not bothering to keep the slurps at bay. Not that a merman could know anything about decor and table manners, anyway.

Kazuha’s eyes never land on him while he feasts. He stares at the pond, lost deep within his thoughts, and barely moves. His chest heaves faintly with each breath he takes, and his damp hair sways in the breeze whenever it rises from the valley. Aside from this, he would easily pass as a marble statue.

His stomach full, Tomo lies against the grass, his back scratching at the moist dirt. The butt-shaped print he left on his first visit has disappeared, covered by fresh grass and little sprouts. Minuscule pink flowers peek through the thin green mantle. Hard to believe it’s been less than a week.

“Vegetation grows so fast here,” he comments. He plucks a stalk and places it in between his lips, lazily chewing on it as a stress reliever. A bad habit he’s had since childhood, his mother tells him. “Is this clearing enchanted or something?”

Kazuha seems to wake from a century-long trance. He clumsily moves closer, lying flat on his belly to get a better look at him. The tip of his fishtail melts into the water from where it’s dipped in the pond. He doesn’t seem to plan on crawling out completely any time soon.

“I don’t know,” the merman says. “There are many legends about this place, as far as I’ve heard. But it’s mostly haunting stories about ghosts or prankster fairies… I haven’t met any of them.”

Something in Tomo’s childhood shatters at this revelation. So, the adventures he imagined as a kid, when he was the proud knight loved and guided by the pixie folk, were nothing but delusions. Quite predictable, yet disappointing nonetheless. Growing up truly sucks. “I see.”

“I must admit, though, that it does look magical at night,” Kazuha adds. His smile softens, an undecipherable sparkle shining in his red eyes. “The fireflies float above the water and dance between the leaves. It’s quite a dreamy sight, even from underwater.”

It sounds amazing. Not only the description— the overall idea of visiting a pond in the middle of the forest, with nothing but the moonlight to illuminate his steps and a merman as his companion, feels like the adventure he has always been denied. What he deserved and yet didn’t get. “I will definitely come one of these nights.”

Kazuha chuckles. “Watch your step, please.”

“Don’t worry!” Tomo flashes a bold pose, his chest swelling with pride and confidence. “I know these slopes like the back of my hand.”

There isn’t much to add after that. They’ve eaten, basked in the sun, and sealed the vow to meet again. After a few more minutes of lazy comfort, Tomo stands up on his feet and bids Kazuha farewell. He needs to prepare for their nocturnal appointment: his torchlight is still buried at the bottom of his luggage, and he’ll need to hide some warmer clothes. Not to mention, craft a plan to elude his grandpa’s guard.

An unusual sight awaits him at the cottage. A battered red car is parked at the edge of the street, its brakes holding on for dear life to the slippery grass under its tires. In all the years Tomo has wasted up this mountain, his parents haven’t come once to see him.

His mother’s blond hair is the first thing he sees when slamming the door open. “Ah, Tomo. You’re back,” she greets him with a wide smile. “Did you go chop wood?”

“Nah.” Tomo takes off his boots and abandons them at the entrance. “Just a stroll down the pond. Did something happen?”

He runs a quick inspection of the room. His father is nowhere to be seen. His grandpa is there, as healthy as when he left the cottage in the morning. Boiling-hot tea is resting in twin mugs on the table. No signs of an emergency can be detected— he relaxes, at last.

His mother shakes her head. “No, darling. We’ve come to relay an invitation to you.” She pats the zabuton at her side, inviting him to sit down with them.

 He does as he’s wordlessly told. “An invitation?”

“Your friend, Ayato, has offered you to spend the rest of the summer at his family’s mansion by the sea,” she explains. “Your dad and I have given it a lot of thought, and… We do feel bad for keeping you locked up here every single year.”

What horrible timing. Until last month, he would have killed for a chance to return to civility. See his friends, hang out every afternoon, and cry over homework together, far away from the frozen evenings of the woods.

But now… He doesn’t want to go. “I think I will pass,” he says. “I have something to do here and, well, at least I can sleep without heat or disturbing noises. But tell Ayato I’m super thankful, okay?”

Before anyone can question his sudden change of mind, Tomo disappears into his temporary room, right under the rooftop. The wooden planks creak under his steps as he crawls towards his bed, his little safe corner.

“What happened to that boy?” he overhears his mother say.

And grandpa’s answer is the usual philosophical line. “Perhaps he fell in love with the mountains. It happened to me when I was a child, too.”

Nah, they’re mistaken. It’s not the mountains that he’s in love with.

🞰 🞰 🞰 

It is a tragically known fact that weather changes rapidly in the mountains, more chaotically and unpredictably than down in the valley. However, Tomo had underestimated just how much nature enjoys suffocating his wishes: the day after choosing when to organize his secret escape at the pond, a tremendous storm ravages the forest.

Tomo is startled awake by the deafening crash of the wind against the tiles. When he opens his eyes, his heart racing in his chest, there’s a hole in the roof that lets all of the rainwater pour inside his attic room. His books are soaked in no time, and the thick droplets sink into the fibers of the furniture he has arranged there.

The rest of the night feels surreal. After finding a temporary solution to the damage dealt to their cottage, Tomo and his grandfather hop on the three-wheeler van to visit their neighbors. Walls have tumbled down the slope, trees have fallen onto the pastures and scared the cattle away, windows have been shattered by the hail… The wreckage brought about by this violent tempest is going to take a long time to be mended.

Considering the tragic circumstances, Tomo considers himself lucky to postpone his dreamy date to only two weeks later. His muscles are sore and his brain is fried by the hours of labor and help he has spread around like candy, but he wouldn’t pass up on this chance for any reason.

The woods are eerie in the pitch-black darkness. Tomo walks up the familiar path with his flashlight in hand, a down jacket wrapped around his torso. His boots slip on the wet pebbles and sink into the puddles at the edges of the road. The foliage rustles around him, the echo of it turning into a disturbing whistle. When the clearing appears in his sight, he feels like he’s born anew.

“Kazuha!” he screams as soon as the pond is nearby, cheerfully running down to the shore. The grass is fresh under his soles, still wet from the long rain and the dew. “Are you there?”

Summoned by the call of his name, Kazuha splashes out of the water. The scales on his chest and neck, as well as the little fins by his ears and elbows, are glowing a pale turquoise light. Tomo almost drops the flashlight from the surprise, frozen on the spot as if petrified.

“You’ve come at last,” Kazuha says. He approaches the edge of the pond, resting his forearms on the muddy shore. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Tomo sits by his side, careful not to lose his balance. “Sorry about that! The storm has dealt quite a huge blow to the village. I’ve had to help with repairs.”

“The storm…” Kazuha appears lost in thought for a moment. “Yes. I’ve heard the trees crying. It must have been fierce.”

A gust of frosty breeze makes Tomo shiver. He curls up in his coat, thanking whatever divine being is watching over him for reminding him to pack winter clothes in the heat of summer.

Kazuha leans back, returning to the center of the pond. “Turn your flashlight off,” he suggests. “And come here. It’s warm, I promise.”

“Or you just think so because you live there,” Tomo comments, skeptical. Anyway, he does as he’s told, standing up on his feet and unbuckling his belt. His boots come off first, followed by his pants and coat. The shirt is the last item to be tossed on top of the neat pile on a mossy rock.

There’s something incredibly awkward in stripping before someone else, be it a merman or a human. Tomo feels exposed and vulnerable. It doesn’t help to have Kazuha’s piercing gaze lingering on his naked body throughout the process. Not a single move goes unnoticed… He probably sees nothing weird in staring at a human’s bare butt.

Tomo dives into the pond as soon as he’s done. Upon impact with the water, death grabs him by the throat. It’s so cold; it rips air off his lungs and leaves him gasping under the surface. But gradually, he adapts to the temperature, until he’s actually better off there than outside. “It’s not too bad.”

“I told you,” Kazuha giggles. He’s so close, a breath away from him— his silver locks sprayed across the surface tickle Tomo’s forearm. “Now, follow me.”

He takes him by the hand. Contrary to Tomo’s expectations, Kazuha’s fingers are surprisingly smooth. He remembers spending too many hours in the bathtub as a child, his skin covered in wrinkles when he eventually crawled out. There’s nothing of the sort on this perfect palm.

Tomo keeps himself afloat while following his lead. He realizes a second too late what he’s doing: how dangerous is it to blindly trust a merman in a body of water? At night, when the whole mountain is asleep except for the wolves high up on the peaks.

Kazuha might drown him there and nobody would know. His grandfather would find his lifeless body in the pond hours (if not days) later, and it would turn into a scandal. ‘Careless local boy wanders too close to the water and meets a tragic demise,’ the local newspapers would say. They would debate whether it was suicide or a mystery.

He should pay more attention to folklore stories and the warning within them… Thankfully, though, it seems Kazuha has different plans in store. He pulls him towards the center of the pond, their hands intertwined tightly as if he fears Tomo may sink the moment he lets go. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

Tomo gulps. A faint aroma of flowers comes from Kazuha’s loose hair, a delicate tang he couldn’t smell until they were this close. From such a short distance, he can see each and every droplet falling down his chin, rippling the water’s surface in its landing.

He’s gorgeous— damn, he truly is. Tomo has thought so from the get-go. According to tradition, merfolk are meant to be as stunning as possible, so as to lure reckless sailors to their deaths. It shouldn’t be surprising.

It was just never this obvious . A delicate face, ruby-red irises framed by colorful gills and fins, softly glowing in the dark. And what is worse, an absolute crime, is that Kazuha doesn’t seem aware of his beauty. He’s humble and shy, reserved and modest… All virtues that Tomo can’t help but fall for.

“For the show,” Kazuha whispers, oblivious to his inner struggles.

Words die down Tomo’s throat when the first firefly appears. Right before his eyes, the pond is painted in brand-new hues: a million yellow dots sparkle above the surface, turning the water into a wonderful light show.

He has seen videos from the main festival of a neighboring city, where people light up a million paper lanterns and send them flying in the sky with the duty of carrying their wishes along their journey. It’s a dazzling sight, something Tomo has been craving to witness since his childhood. What he’s staring at right now isn’t much different from that. It might be even better. Cities can never hope to reach this level of magic.

Catching a glimpse of his stunned reaction, Kazuha bursts into a breathy giggle. Surely, it must be entertaining to watch someone lose their marbles over a scenery he sees on a daily basis. But for Tomo, this is… unexplored territory.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Kazuha asks. He swims nigher, the fins on his tail peeking out of the water as he moves. A cheeky firefly lands on his shoulder, casting its shallow glow onto his face. “Takes your breath away.”

“Just like you.”

Ah, damn. Tomo’s unfiltered thoughts slip past the barrier of his lips before he can get a grip on himself. It’s late to take it back or to add awkward explanations that would justify what he’s uttered. Because Kazuha has heard him indeed, his jaw dropping in surprise.

What should he do now? He means it, yes. Kazuha is the best view on this mountain— prettier than the light show, the snowy peaks, and the verdant trees of the forest alike. Seeing him in this special atmosphere, when the world ceases to exist and it’s only the two of them, entertained by the wonders of nature, makes his heart thump unevenly in his chest.

Instead of retreating in disgust and diving into the depths, Kazuha stays. He glances up at Tomo with half-closed eyelids, his thick white lashes sparkling in the moonlight. His parted lips look glossier than ever, perfectly wet and moist.

Tomo wonders what a merman tastes like. And losing all of his remaining self-restraint, he closes the gap between their faces in a flash, until their noses brush together and their breaths mingle. Kazuha doesn’t flinch— he lets him in, eyes fluttering shut to grant him permission.

Is this… is this honestly happening? Never in his wildest dreams would Tomo have imagined he’d kiss a merman, someday. His whole life has been turned upside-down since their meeting. Rejecting the offer to leave the lonesome mountains and flee to the sea is a decision that the Tomo from a month ago would have hated himself for.

Tomo’s arm latches around Kazuha’s waist underwater, pulling him closer until their chests are firmly pressed together. The touch ignites a spark in his racing heart; it’s at the same time colder than the night breeze and warmer than the summer sun. Closing his eyes as well, Tomo closes in.

Something tickles the tip of his nose. When Tomo’s eyes snap open, a second before their mouths collide, they’re greeted by a set of horrendous bug legs. A firefly has chosen his face as a resting spot, its tiny butt still shimmering faintly.

That’s how little it takes to crush the spell. Tomo jumps back in horror, clumsily flailing in the water to keep himself afloat after the shock. And of course, entertained by the sheer ridiculousness of the scene, Kazuha bursts into laughter. That’s a lesson for him: romance is frailer than a rose petal, blooming at unexpected times and withering just as quickly.

“Shit, that scared me!” Tomo yells. The echo of his voice sends every other insect away, putting an end to the grandiose show. “Damn, what timing.”

Discomfort washes over them. Tomo isn’t sure what to gaze at, too embarrassed to make eye contact but too entranced to pack up and leave. He can’t pretend nothing has happened tonight. Something changed, and there’s no point in denying an obvious truth.

Is Kazuha’s heart beating as fast as his? Are his emotions in shambles as well, whirlpooling crazily in his chest and stomach until nothing makes sense anymore? That’s exactly how Tomo feels right now. Shy, in love, and confused.

“Hm…” Kazuha keeps his head low. “Let’s get out of the water before you succumb to hypothermia.”

He has a point. His muscles are sore from the prolonged effort, the tips of his fingers and toes numb. Having a tail must be convenient at times like these. “Yeah. Let’s.”

Tomo’s cheeks are on fire when he returns to shore, the wind immediately slapping his wet skin. He wears his clothes in a rush, regretting not taking plenty of towels with him— he didn’t plan to go for a night swim in his naked glory, that is.

Kazuha flops at his side, elbows sinking into the mud. He waits for him to be ready without peeping, his glance lost somewhere in the woods. From the corner of his eye, Tomo can see him gulp, hands fidgeting with his hair. They’re both painfully conscious of the bizarre development of their bond.

“Thank you.” Tomo buckles up his pants and sits at Kazuha’s side, allowing their elbows to touch. “I’ve never seen anything this beautiful before.”

Is he talking about the fireflies or him? It’s so out of character of him to be vague. Yet, it’s his only choice if he doesn’t wish to worsen things. Creating too much tension would only make Kazuha cower in fear, overwhelmed.

The merman shakes his head, splashing water all over Tomo’s clothes. “I can’t take any credit. Nature is wonderful per se.”

“I insist,” Tomo stubbornly says. “You showed me, so you deserve my gratitude.”

An amused sigh is how Kazuha surrenders. “Fine. As you wish,” he concedes. “Shall we watch the stars for a while?”

“Great idea.” Nothing but the pristine canvas of the starry sky can soothe Tomo’s stupor. He lies on his back, ignoring the sting of the grass stalks piercing his bare wrists and neck, and keeps his chin up.

It’s quite futile. Even though the stars are stunning, shining bright above their heads far from the light pollution of the city, Tomo’s brain is elsewhere. It’s stuck in a loop, playing the moment of their almost-kiss over and over, until time itself seems to melt.

He was seriously going to kiss Kazuha. And he doesn’t regret trying, even after the heat of the moment has dwindled, even after his heartbeat has retrieved its regular pace. And the reason is unquestionable.

He has fallen head over heels for a merman.

🞰 🞰 🞰 

And when the realization of his feelings strikes him, the world burns to ashes. It’s almost as if Tomo has been unconsciously suppressing his love for a long, long time. Once the dam has been breached, it overflows at once, ravaging anything in its path.

It starts with the minor things, the negligible details. Tomo catches himself unwillingly counting how many times Kazuha chuckles during their conversations, how often he plays with his hair to relieve the tension, and how many times he humbly averts his gaze. He could distinguish his scent in a whirlwind of perfume, even blindfolded in a room full of odors of all kinds. He can read his moods just by the sound of his voice and his chosen wording.

It snowballs at incredible speed. Before the fateful night date at the pond, Tomo was comfortable around Kazuha. The merman was a safe haven for him, an anchor of peace and sanity within a summer that would otherwise be brimming with self-doubt and corrosive loneliness. What’s left of this now?

Nothing. Nothing is calm anymore. Tomo’s heart races at the faintest touch, on the brink of jumping out of his ribcage. His palms are sweaty, and he swallows thickly every minute or so. When their fingers brush together, his whole being ignites as if set aflame… and, if he makes the mistake of glancing at Kazuha’s lips for too long, his mind gets lost in improper fantasies.

He’s doomed.

The two weeks after their secret date wreck his soul like a hurricane. When the sun sets over the mountain peaks, Tomo crashes in bed tired from feeling , drained of all energy just by the sheer act of resisting the temptation to kiss him. Perhaps this is the real charm of mermen. Perhaps he, after all, is a careless sailor who has strayed too far from the safe shores.

He can’t judge whether Kazuha reciprocates or not. He is different since that night, too: he seems shyer and more self-conscious. He fiddles nervously with his bangs and nails, as if he was always stressed around Tomo. A veil of cyan blush coats his cheeks throughout their afternoons.

These are good signs indeed. Any idiot could agree that Kazuha does indeed look and act like a teenage girl in love. Tomo’s issue is different: do mermen even perceive “love” the same way humans do?

And also, what would happen if they confessed their mutual feelings? A human cannot be with a merman. Especially not Tomo , who will be forced to return to his city in less than a month. Kazuha can’t write letters or send e-mails; he can’t grow  a pair of legs and walk out of the pond to follow him home.

They’d have to settle for a relationship made of summertime, spending the frozen winters on their own without a chance to talk or check up on one another. It would be terrible for both of them. The mere thought of being apart for so long tears Tomo’s heart to pieces. That’s why he wisely chooses to keep it a secret, in hopes of forgetting about Kazuha by the time he’s on the bus headed home.

This doesn’t mean, though, that Tomo doesn’t feel. His emotions are very much present. There is affection, tenderness, and joy in the smallest things. And there is misery when he thinks of leaving. It’s normal, it’s expected— it’s just what love entails.

The only element that takes him by surprise is jealousy .

“Look.” Kazuha shows him the object he has retrieved from the pond. It’s a flower, its gorgeous purple petals stretched out in the sunlight. A glass bell covers it, preserving it from aging. Only some clumps of moss were sprinkled over the bronze base.

“Where is this from?” Tomo asks.

“I’ve kept it underwater with me for many years,” Kazuha says, a hint of devotion in his tone. “It’s my special treasure, so I wanted you to see it.”

Tomo blushes at the honor he’s being bestowed with. Peeking at the private life of someone as reserved as Kazuha is a legendary privilege. “Where did you find it?” he asks. “It’s violetgrass. It blooms on the tallest cliffs and in moist environments. Its roots are strong enough to grip onto the sharpest rocks.”

Kazuha listens, enraptured. His red eyes sparkle with wonder the more Tomo speaks, hanging from his lips like he’s revealing the secrets of the universe to him. “Someone special gave it to me.”

And this is the moment Tomo cracks.

Dull rage builds at the back of his throat. Who else has gotten this close to Kazuha before him? Gifting someone a flower, especially one enclosed in such pretty packaging, must mean they were extremely intimate. Maybe more than they are now. “Who?” he finds himself attacking.

Kazuha blinks in disbelief. Yeah, he’s right: it’s unlike Tomo to meddle with things so aggressively. He’s naturally curious and chatty, but he has never inquired about things with such haste. “A friend from a distant past.”

Alright. When the words friend and past land on his shoulders, Tomo’s fury vanishes into thin air. He has fucked up once, but he still has a chance to not worsen his position. “Can you tell me more?” he tries again, softer.

The shift in his tone seems to be appreciated. Kazuha’s stiffened muscles loosen up as he relaxes at Tomo’s side, moving closer to his body like a moth to a flame. “I had friends when I lived upstream, near the peak. I was born in a small pond right underneath the spring.”

Tomo has a vague idea of where that is. It’s a cold place, where nothing but pine trees and sparse plants are daring enough to grow. It must be difficult to dwell in the frozen waters of those streams… No wonder Kazuha is unaffected by the temperature of this lukewarm pond.

“One of them was a herb gatherer,” Kazuha continues. “His parents moved down to the bottom of the valley when the temperatures dropped. Winters became harsher and harsher, thus killing the plants they harvested for a living. He gifted me this on the day he set off.”

Now that the truth is out, Tomo feels awful for having negative emotions towards that unknown boy. He sends him a mental apology— if he’s alive, that is. Knowing Kazuha’s messed-up concept of time, he might have been buried six feet underground for centuries. How old even is he, by the way?

“As I said, it’s a rare flower,” Tomo says, feigning indifference. “You did well cherishing it.”

Kazuha giggles. “I would have treasured it even if it was weed. The thought behind it is what truly matters.”

Something mysterious kindles in Tomo’s heart: the desire for competition. This must be the instinct that animals feel while courting their chosen partner, when they need to destroy all competitors and stand out victorious. Even if the guy is a ghost from the past, Tomo needs to prevail.

“I’ll find you more of these,” he offers. “I know a good spot where some of them grow to this day. You’ll have a whole underwater garden of violetgrass by the end of next week.”

Kazuha casts a concerned glance at him. “There is no need to go such lengths for me, Tomo. Besides, my magic has weakened through the decades. I can only preserve one of these at a time—”

“I don’t mind,” Tomo cuts him off. “I want to give you flowers because I like you. And you can’t stop me, Kazuha.”

Evidently embarrassed by the indirect confession, Kazuha gives up on the fight. “Alright. I shall look forward to it, then,” he accepts. “But promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Of course.”

🞰 🞰 🞰

It’s a strange sensation, to proceed straight ahead rather than turn left at the intersection with the pond’s path. Tomo knows that Kazuha is down there, resting in the depths of the water as he waits for his arrival.

But today, he has a mission to accomplish. He polished his hiking boots, stuffed his backpack with enough food for two meals, and donned his most comfortable clothes. His destination is higher, where the water is crystalline and the cold numbs his fingers.

Being on a quest for Kazuha’s sake calms down his discomfort. It might mean skipping a date or two, but the joy on the merman’s face when he’d return home bearing bouquets of violetgrass would be enough compensation for the lost time. As an omen of good fortune, Tomo spent the night carving a little fish pendant to wrap around their stalks.

The first slope is a simple climb. With a firm grip on the soil and his hands latched onto the firmest lumps of dirt, Tomo makes his way up without breaking a sweat. He washes his hands in the nearby river, glancing at the woods around him. The vegetation is starting to thin out, though he knows he’s far from his goal.

In the following hours, Tomo pushes higher and higher. The village above his grandfather’s cottage, those gracious brown-roofed houses he used to gaze at when he was a child, are deserted. Some unmelted blocks of ice and snow obstruct the doors, giving the place an eerie appearance.

It’s so cold, despite it being the end of August. The temperature in the capital must be peaking right now— Tomo can imagine how much fun Ayato and his other friends are having on the sandy beaches of Inazuma. But well, screw them. He’s on delivery duty for a merman .

He moves on, nostalgia filling his chest. He had acquaintances here when he was younger, a pair of twin girls who would chase fairies around the forest with him. Finding out everybody has moved away stings more than he would have thought.

Tomo doesn’t halt his marching until he reaches the perfect height for violetgrass to grow. He strays off the path then, chasing the distant roar of the river, and walks along its banks to reach the waterfall. There, perched on the edge of the cliff, he finds a beautiful bush of flowers.

“I knew it!” he cheers, already imagining the sight of Kazuha’s smiling face upon receiving his little gift. Screw one treasure: he deserves to have dozens, no, thousands. And Tomo is here to provide him with all the spoiling he merits. “Now let’s get you, pesky little plant.”

The first part of the cliff is an easy climb. Tomo skillfully takes a step after the other, his feet and hands reaching for the safest rocks. He’s thankful for the experience he has earned throughout his childhood and on his winter holidays with his parents, or else he wouldn’t be this fast.

The violetgrass is in sight. The waterfall roars at his side while he ascends, its icy droplets landing on his arms and soaking his shirt. Pouring utmost attention onto his movements, Tomo manages to latch his hands around the bush.

“Sorry for cutting you off, little one,” he whispers to the plant once he’s close enough to rip it out of the rock. “I promise you it’s for a good cause.”

Maybe it’s a divine punishment for being greedy, for twisting nature and using it to his own advantage. Or maybe, it is merely an unlucky coincidence. As soon as the violetgrass is held in Tomo’s hands, his boot slips on top of a wet rock… and the world accelerates.

His instinct beckons him to cling to the plant. With a bone-chilling snap, the roots come undone under his full weight, thus losing their grip on the rock. Tomo falls down the cliff at breakneck speed, the petals still squished in his palm.

It gets confusing past that point. A sharp pain in the back of his head as he collides with the bedrock underneath, the forest spinning around him like he’s boarding a rollercoaster, and vomit crawling up his throat in a boiling trail.

He’s going to die, isn’t he? Crazy how quickly life can change. He was humming happily until a second ago, content about the success of his flower-seeking quest, and now he’s on the brink of disappearing from the universe. Without saying his goodbyes.

In a desperate struggle to survive, Tomo drags himself closer to the stream. People will find him easily there, in plain sight… assuming anyone will even come this far up the mountains. He doubts it, considering how barren the area has become.

Tomo’s temples throb, each pulsation weaker than the previous one. He’s fading, he guesses. A glance at the crumpled flower in his hand is all it takes for his mind to journey: he thinks about Kazuha, his gorgeous smile, and his silky hair. What a shame he won’t see him again… but meeting him was the best thing that happened to him in quite a while.

Blood pooling around his head is the last thing he sees before the landscape turns red. The void claims him fast, his consciousness fading to a nothingness he can’t escape.

🞰 🞰 🞰

KAZUHA

The purple petals of the violetgrass are as beautiful as ever, unchanged in their form and shine. It’s his magic that keeps it alive and still, as if time had frozen inside its glass bell. The only spell he was granted by his mermaid blood.

How long has he been staring at it? Time has gone by so quickly. The boy who gave it to him probably has a family to keep him warm during the winter now, with kids and nephews hopping around the house. It must be warm and cozy, much more than the freezing water of this stagnant pond he calls home.

Ever since Tomo promised to bring him more flowers, everything seems dull. Not because Kazuha is greedy, but rather because any item that the man delivers to him is sure to outshine anything he already owns. That’s just how precious this human is.

His heart has been still for many years, long enough for Kazuha to believe he had forgotten how to love someone else. Emotions easily dry out when one lives in solitude, swimming back and forth in the depths of a minuscule lake for decades without a single conversation.

The chance encounter with Tomo ignited something within his chest. He’s powerless before his body’s reactions: he blushes when they’re nearby, turning cyan all over whenever their limbs brush together by accident.

And as Kazuha waits for him to come, nestled on his favorite mossy rock on the pond’s floor, trepidation fills his soul. What is Tomo going to talk about today? What funny escape plan from his monotone routine will he provide? He is an anchor, a grip over reality. For the first time in decades, Kazuha feels grounded to the planet, conscious of his physical existence.

However, it’s odd. His conception of time might be confused, yet Tomo doesn’t seem the type of person who would be late when his honor is at stake. He swore he would bring him a batch of violetgrass by dusk… The sky is turning orange, and there’s no trace of him.

Normally, he wouldn’t mind. Days are like minutes for Kazuha; they come and go in the blink of an eye. And Tomo has other matters to deal with aside from visiting the pond: he might be busy with a task his grandfather dumped on him at the very last minute.

Then, why can’t he shake off an ominous feeling? His instinct rarely misses. If his inner alarm bells are ringing, then something must be amiss. What if something happened to Tomo on his way to the cliffs? It can’t be. No, he knows how to navigate the woods better than a forest watcher.

Kazuha’s head peeks out of the water. The clouds above him are turning redder by the minute, the moon growing clearer over the horizon. It will be evening soon, with the cold and danger it brings about.

“Relax,” he tells himself. “You’re being paranoid because you forgot what it means to have a crush. ” To have someone on his mind full time, to always fear for the worst. Emotions that faded into faint memories over time, a fire recently rekindled by Tomo’s wide smile and the dimples on his cheeks.

Checking won’t be too hard, will it? The flora and fauna of the pond won’t miss him if he’s gone for an hour or so. The fins on the sides of his face tremble in nervousness, as his mind computes a million scenarios where Tomo got hurt and died because of Kazuha’s passiveness.

So, with a heavy heart and ice-cold sweat running down his forehead, Kazuha decides to pay a visit to the higher peaks, where waterfalls roar and the currents are fierce. Such a sharp contrast with the serene quiet of the clearing…

The ascent is tougher than Kazuha recalled. The mere act of escalating a rocky wall depletes a great deal of energy from his untrained body. He reaches his limit rather soon, his abdomen sore halfway through the journey.

This is the consequence of years of laziness, he assumes: an untrained tail that hinders him on longer travels. The frosty water doesn’t help either, the fury of the waterfalls slapping his arms and head whenever he rides the current upwards. But, eventually and with quite a few struggles, Kazuha manages to reach the perfect height for violetgrass to blossom.

And the scene that meets his eyes is an awful sight to behold. Blood was mingled with water, the waves of the roaring river transfigured into an eerie pink nightmare. Feeling frozen all over, Kazuha swims up a few more feet…

Until he sees him , and everything loses its meaning.

Tomo is lying face-down on the riverbank, his sandy loose hair swaying in the currents. A large red puddle frames his head, and his skin is paler than the snow on the peaks. He’s unconscious, as if dead.

Mouthing out in terror, Kazuha darts to his side. He wraps his fingers around Tomo’s wrist like he was taught ages ago: the pulse is weak. Crumpled petals of violetgrass lie in his palm, soaked to the core and sprinkled with droplets of blood.

The reality of what happened hits him at once. Tomo is on the brink of death— and the cause is him . He wanted to get the promised flowers to him, to show Kazuha’s childhood friend that he was leagues ahead of him. Dying because of a stupid bet with a friend he hasn’t talked to in decades… How stupid of Tomo. And how damn lovable this romantic stupidity is.

 But what can he do now? Calling for help is hopeless. Nobody swims in the lakes and rivers of this mountain, where the weather is freezing cold even in summer, nor ventures this far up without following the main path. They’re alone in the middle of nowhere.

He can’t drag him back either. One, Tomo is too heavy for him to carry; two, the concussion would risk becoming lethal thanks to the fury of the currents. The only man who can provide support is Tomo’s grandfather. Kazuha needs to locate his cottage and go knock at his door.

But… This means he has to…

Ah, curses— He must. Who cares about memories and trauma when losing Tomo is a solid possibility? Each wasted second brings him closer to this tragic outcome. Gods, he doesn’t want to lose anyone else… Especially not the first spark of sunshine he has found in centuries.

Kazuha presses a kiss on Tomo’s stone-cold forehead. “I’ll get help,” he whispers, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Please, stay alive. Please.”

🞰 🞰 🞰

“Mama, mama!” The voice of a girl echoes through his mind. The look of pure horror twisting her facial features is to this day a tough sight to behold. “ He’s a monster!”

Isn’t that what he is, after all? Kazuha has met countless humans, yet not a single one of his kind. Merman, mermaid, fishman, sea dragon, fairy… The few who have been bold enough to approach him for a conversation have bestowed all sorts of colorful names upon him. Tomo was meant to be no exception.

Kazuha gasps, finally catching his breath after a frantic swim. Descending the stream all the way to the pond proved to be quite the struggle, a one-on-one war against the fierceness of the current. He has no time to rest, though, if he wishes for Tomo to survive.

“Monster, stay away from my daughter!”

Why do the worst memories come back to haunt him whenever he’s about to crawl out of the water? Half a century has passed since then, yet the hurt hasn’t faded. It will be different this time around: Tomo has met him in his merman form, so he won’t be shocked to find him changed into a strange creature. It will be fine.

Naivete was his enemy back then. He let people see, he made the humans aware of his true nature through a ridiculous accident. Bathing in the moonlight was a great idea on paper, but bore so many risks in practice.

He chose to ignore them and, once caught sitting on the lakeshore with a fish tail in the place of his legs and gills where his ears should be, the spell had broken. Everyone began addressing him with unpleasant names, those same people who hugged him and called him a friend moments prior.

Being different is bad— that’s what Kazuha retained from the experience. Merfolk isn’t appreciated. They’re made to be evil by local legends, depicted as sly predators who lure sailors to their deaths by charming them with their looks and voices.

Suddenly, all the compliments Kazuha was paid over the years lost their value. “You’re beautiful,” adults used to say. “Your hair glimmers like refined silk in the light of the stars.” It was all vain praise. In truth, nobody would see him that way anymore. He was ugly and unsalvageable in the eyes of the villagers.

He fled. He feared confrontation; he was terrified by the thought of being hunted down and beaten with rocks and fists, punished for his existence until he’d die in a pool of his own blood.

Kazuha had seen it happen before, when he lived in his birth pond with the rest of his long-gone family. The humans living nearby sometimes came to the waters to snatch one of his kind to kill them off and feed off his flesh, or to make tools out of their bones. Luckily, the custom was discontinued in the newer generations. But how to let go of those scenes etched like wounds into his mind?

Upon leaving the village, Kazuha made a formal oath to never shape-shift again. No legs, only a tail. No interactions, only solitude. His lifespan greatly outmatches that of any human. He needs nothing but himself to survive— himself, and the violetgrass gifted to him by Ren, the sole child who didn’t turn against him.

However, he needs to go back on his word. Selfish desires from the past can be put on hold for the sake of the man he loves. He’s certain that, if he could listen to his emotions right now, his past self would wholeheartedly concur with his choice.

Kazuha rests both palms on the shore, inhaling deeply to calm down his nerves. The fresh breeze burns his throat on its journey to his lungs, spreading fire waves through his insides. His gills quiver, his chest heaves— it will be alright. He pulls himself out of the water, slowly rolling onto the mud to depart officially from the safety of the pond.

The impact on the ground is shocking. Pain surges first, like a bubble in his throat. Kazuha chokes on his breath, with no air to fill his lungs nor water to filter oxygen from. And right when he feels on the brink of dying, his cheeks flushed cyan as he stays in apnea for impossibly long, it happens.

His tail breaks into a twin set of legs, and his respiratory system adjusts to life on solid land. It’s agony, way worse than he recalls: his bones ache as if crushed, his joints twitch and crack in a horrifying cacophony. It’s dizzying enough for Kazuha to pass out in the process, squirming on the mud until the pain dwindles and his heart rate stabilizes.

The next step is standing. Kazuha waddles on his feet, his knees giving in no less than three times before he’s capable of walking. He takes uncertain steps towards the path in the woods, trembling in fear and from the frost. The air whips him mercilessly out of the water, his fingers turning purple from the sudden shift in temperature. 

Kazuha staggers up to the road and prays to see someone. Anyone would do, really. Who wouldn’t take pity on a naked and soaked boy covered in dirt from head to toe? Alas, no hikers seem to be around today, no matter how deep he pushes into the forest. He can’t give up, though. Tomo needs him. Tomo needs him badly , more than he ever has.

“You seem… cool. I’d like to chat for a bit.” 

The flashbacks are cruel Tomo’s silly smile when he notices his head peeking out of the pond, happiness turning his features into a wonderful painting. The starlight glowing in his eyes when he laughs, dimples forming on his cheeks. The heat of his body when they swam together in the lake, their mouths a breath away from touching. Kazuha loves all of this. He loves Tomo, and the casual joy he has brought into his otherwise dull routine. And he can’t— he just can’t let go of his hand yet.

“There’s nothing for me to do here, and no one to talk to except for my gramps and the old men who live in the hut above ours.”

Will Tomo’s grandfather believe his words? To hell with that, he has no other choice. His soul brimming with resolve once more, Kazuha runs and runs on his shaky legs, his feet pushed onwards by nothing but a frenzy and delirious haste.

The cottage is easy to find. It’s the only building on the slope that doesn’t look waterlogged or abandoned, the green fields greeting Kazuha’s eye in the dark hues of dusk. His time is almost over. He throws himself onto the door, knocking with all the strength left in his body.

An old man appears on the doorstep, donning thick flannel clothes. “Yes? Oh, for the love of—” he immediately cusses out, tilting his neck to avoid peeping at Kazuha’s body. “Wear some clothes, young man. What are you, a freak? I’ll tell you my grandson is…”

“Your grandson is in danger.” Kazuha’s voice trembles more than he imagined. His lips quiver, the clashing of his teeth entangling his words. “I found him on a riverbank up high on the mountain. He hit his head against a rock, and he’s moments away from bleeding out. Please— Please, help him.”

The man frowns, likely confused to see such desperation in a naked man he has never met before. “If this is some kind of sick joke, I’ll call the police.” He grabs the handle and turns around to lock the door.

Kazuha slides his hand in the passage to keep it open. The stab of pain from the wooden door slamming closed on his knuckles has him yelping and tearing up, yet he doesn’t yield. “I’m not lying. I swear, I’m— I can’t explain to you who I am, but believe me. I beg of you… I don’t want Tomo to die.”

He breaks out in a desperate cry, for how uncharacteristic it might be. Nothing will make sense if Tomo disappears from this world. His efforts to come here, the tenderness of the affection he has grown towards him… It will be in vain. His hopes would wither like dry flowers in autumn.

The old man studies him in silence for a long time, confused by his nudity and the wetness of his hair and skin. Mud sticks to Kazuha’s legs and arms, smudged stains he wears like badges of honor. And, perhaps, something in his chaotic wails chases away the diffidence in his mind.

“I’ll fetch help from the city,” he says, burying himself within the walls of the cottage in search of his mobile phone. “If this turns out to be a prank, I’m suing you and your entire family.”

Relief assaults Kazuha, taking him by the throat. “Thank you…” he bows down profusely, his forehead brushing against the step at the entrance. “Thank you so much. Thank you.”

“Save your thanks for later.”

He can’t do anything but stare from the sidelines as Tomo’s unconscious body is loaded onto the vehicle. He has been laid on a stretcher, an oxygen mask attached to his mouth. Wearing the blanket the old man has lent him, Kazuha sobs his heart out until the engine roars and his beloved is stolen from him.

“Where are they taking him?” he asks once they’re alone.

The man clutches his coffee mug. It’s the fourth one in the past hour. He must be more nervous than he looks the part. “To the city,” he explains. “They’ll hospitalize him and alert his parents.”

As the ambulance draws farther and farther, until it’s no bigger than a dot over the horizon, something inside of Kazuha crumbles. They’ll never meet again. Scared by this accident, Tomo’s parents would prevent him from returning to the mountains for gods know how long. And, busy with his recovery, Tomo himself will be bedridden for a good chunk of the winter.

The violetgrass in his fist has already withered.

🞰 🞰 🞰

The scent of flowers is the first thing that tickles his nose. Kazuha knows by heart every shade of fragrance in the woods; he can name each plant without fail. Roses don’t grow there— it’s a foreign aroma, something carried by an outsider.

And his heart knows what it is. How long has it been? A week, maybe, or perhaps ten years. Will he be the same as he remembers? His heart bursting with questions and riddles, Kazuha hops out of the water to sit on the shore.

“Wow, predicted my arrival?” Tomo’s voice hasn’t changed in the slightest. Warm, a little husky, smelling so much of a grown man. “Never thought I’d have my personal siren committee waiting for my return, someday.”

The bubble of happiness swelling in Kazuha’s chest is simply indescribable. His vision blurs out immediately, a lone tear rolling down his cheek as he whimpers softly. “You’re here.”

“Thank you for… saving me.” He sat at his side, brown baggy pants plunging in the slit. Tomo’s scent was unchanged, the same fragrance carved in Kazuha’s mind: the lingering smell of softener imbuing the fibers of his clothes, entangled with the musky note of his cologne. “Grandpa told me everything when I came back. He said this weird naked boy rushed to his house and cried about me being injured… If you didn’t break down, he probably wouldn’t have believed you.”

A peal of a bitter laugh escapes Kazuha’s lips. “I’m relieved that my tears served a good purpose, at the very least.”

“Yeah.” Tomo rubs his thumb on the merman’s cheekbone. Dark circles frame his delicate feature, indelible proof of how little sleep he’s been getting as of late, endlessly waiting for his beloved to return. “Sorry for making your gorgeous eyes weep for me, love.”

Love . Albeit obvious in its nature, the nickname is so intimate and bold that Kazuha can’t prevent his face from flushing. “You cannot imagine how happy I am to see you’re alive and well.”

“With a few stitches on my head, but otherwise doing great!” Tomo laughs boisterously, as if he had just cracked the most hilarious joke in the world. It has the opposite effect on Kazuha— it makes his guilt swell. “So, huh. You can shapeshift?”

And so, the cat is out of the bag. With no way out, Kazuha must confess the secret he has kept from him since their meeting.

“Yes.” He bites down his lower lip, trying to fight back the tears of remorse and focus on his storytelling. “I once lived in a village on top of the mountain, with thick snowy mantles all year long and a cheerful human population. I pretended to be one of them, with my fake legs and my carefully woven lies. Until, one night, a friend caught me bathing in the moonlight… and noticed my tail. Before I could process it, the entire population was tossing me out.”

“What the fuck,” Tomo comments, as delicate as a flower. “That’s awful. Who does this?!”

Kazuha shrugs. “I can’t blame them. Imagine finding out your child has been playing with a monster… Any sane parent would be concerned.”

“You’re not a monster.” Tomo seizes his arms and shakes him gently. “You’re the kindest, most beautiful creature I’ve ever cast my eyes on. And I can’t get enough of your personality. You’re just… perfect. Screw those guys for calling you a monster! They clearly don’t see your real self.”

This is too much to take. Kazuha breaks out in a silent cry, decades of pent-up self-loathe disappearing thanks to a handful of praises. The soothing effect Tomo has on his spirit is unimaginable: a word rolling on his tongue is enough for his doubts to quell. He wishes they met earlier, when he was waist-deep in despair. Perhaps he could have been an anchor to cling to, a safe haven to seek shelter at.

“After that episode…” Kazuha rubs his arm over his eyes to wipe away the embarrassing tears clouding his sight. “I swore I wouldn’t shapeshift again. It wasn’t worth the trouble, if I have to be frank.”

“I’m grateful you broke your oath for me,” Tomo adds in a whisper, his heart thumping loudly in his chest to the point the merman can hear its echo. “Had you not been so quick-witted, I would have died on that mountain.”

Kazuha nods gravely. “I—” he swallows. Why is it so hard to breathe? Danger has passed. He should be nothing but joyful. “I thought we’d never meet again. When the rescuers drove you away, I… I believed it was the end. That I wouldn’t receive news about your health and rot away at the bottom of the pond without ever knowing of your fate.”

“Of course I would come to you!” Tomo’s laughter clashes so awkwardly with Kazuha’s miserable sobs. “Who do ya take me for, huh? I keep my promises.”

Overwhelmed by the chore of speaking, Kazuha resorts to action. His fingers latch onto the hem of Tomo’s checkered shirt and tug violently at the fabric, pulling the man down until their lips collide in a fierce kiss. Now, this is how things should be.

Tomo rests his hand on the small of his back. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his experienced lip movements parting Kazuha’s mouth easily to let their tongues meet and intertwine. It’s simultaneously hot and cold, cozy and uncomfortable, right and wrong— it’s dizzying, a tangle of emotions impossible to unravel.

A human and a merman, it seems. Some writers out there might define this story as fairytale-worthy. Is it possible for them to achieve happiness once summer ends? Or will the frosty spires of the winter wind cause their bond to wither? There is no way to know except for trying.

“I love you,” Kazuha mutters when they part, breathing heavily against Tomo’s moist lips. “I love you terribly. I am so thankful you returned to me.”

Tomo rubs their noses together. “I will always come back, Kazuha. I’m not letting you go, now that I found you. Because I love you too.”

A fresh bouquet of roses lies behind Tomo’s back. A forgotten gift, a sacrificial victim of their haste to show love to each other. But well, it doesn’t matter— This is the beginning. There’s going to be plenty of time for flowers and presents.

There’s going to be time for pretty much everything, actually.

🞰 🞰 🞰

“By the way, you should come with me,” Tomo says out of the blue. “I can find a way to make you sneak into my room. I don’t wanna part ways in winter.”

Half-asleep on the sun-dried grass, Kazuha squints to glance in his direction. The blinding light of the sun hurts his sensitive retinas, though he’s not sure which one is the real sun: the star sparkling in the sky, or rather the smiling man beside him. “I will consider. Legs are uncomfortable… Plus, I’m so cold in my human form.”

“That’s why we wear clothes, Kazuha…” Tomo scratches the back of his head. The grass stalk perched on his lower lip tickles the tip of Kazuha’s nose, so he tilts his neck to bury his face in the curve of Tomo’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t walk around naked like you did last time. It was an emergency, so it’s fine… But damn, you scared the living lights out of my old man.”

“Oh.”

the end 

The first thing he sees upon opening his heavy eyelids is an ocean of whiteness. The ceiling is pristine and aseptic. The penetrating smell of disinfectant makes his current whereabouts far too obvious.

How did he end up in the hospital? The last memory he has is picking up violetgrass on top of a cliff, miles away from the city and its facilities. His foot slipped, panic assaulted him, and… Oh, right. He slammed his head on a rock. How did he miraculously escape his fate? Nobody was walking that high up, roaming a deserted village in search of a man bleeding to death on the riverbanks.

“You’re awake!”

Tomo turns around. His mother is sitting on the stool near his bed, her hair ruffled up and tangled, her makeup smudged. She must have been watching over his sickbed until her energies were drained. “Hi, mom.”

“I’m so— You stupid brat!” She hugs him tightly, tears flowing down her cheeks. It seems she has cried a lot… How long was he gone? “How could you do something so idiotic?!”

But Tomo has no time to waste here. Yes, he’s bedridden, and yes, his temples throb painfully with each breath he takes; however, he has a promise to keep. Is Kazuha still waiting for him to deliver the violetgrass? He must be worried sick.

“When did I get here?” he asks, terrified of the answer.

His mother pulls away from him, regaining some of her composure. She wipes her face with her loyal embroidered handkerchief, her red eyes swollen. “Two days ago. Your grandfather called an ambulance when he found you, and they immediately alerted us.”

No, it doesn’t make sense. How could his grandpa know where he had strayed off to? He was asleep when Tomo had left the house, and wouldn’t dream of climbing the peaks with his poor health. There must be something else, a secret savior she’s oblivious to.

And it just so happens that Tomo is in love with that savior. “I need to return to the mountains,” he announces. “I have someone to meet.”

“The mountains?” his mom repeats. “What’s happening to you? You hated that place until a month ago. You cry and whine whenever it’s time for you to leave… You must have fallen prey to the river monster.”

Tomo blinks. “The… river monster?”

“When I was a child, I lived in the abandoned village you saw on your way up,” she explains, rubbing the ruined mascara off her face. “One day, one of my playmates turned out to be a monster. We chased him off, so he probably cast a curse on the mountain or something of the sort…”

This whole story sounds like bullshit, if he can be honest. He has a hunch of what actually happened there, though: is it possible for his mother to have met Kazuha in her childhood? Considering his lifespan and his strange conception of time, it wouldn’t be an absurd theory.

“I didn’t fall prey to any spell, mom.”

“He bewitched you.” She grabs him by his arms and shakes him, as if trying to instill some common sense into him. “He tricked you into loving the cliffs, and made you fall down a slope just to pick up a flower, he—”

Alright, that’s enough. Tomo reels coldly, offended by her accusations. “He’s not evil. I was getting him that violetgrass because I love him, no matter what you might think about the past.”

He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. If Kazuha was sincerely evil in the past, that’s… well, in the past. Tomo only trusts his own judgment, and his view of the merman can’t possibly be any better.

“You… love him?” The news lands on his mother like a boulder. Her shoulders droop down, an inexplicable fear twisting her face. What’s worse in her mind, that her son is gay, or that he’s gay for a creature of the abyss? “But you…”

“I love him.” Resolve sparkles in Tomo’s irises as he repeats his truth. The realization is quite recent, yet intense nonetheless. “And if the mountains are dangerous, then I’ll move back to the city and steal him. I’ll keep him with me.”

His mother brings her fingers together, nails creaking as they slide one against the other. She ponders the next sentence for a long time, lost in her memories and misconceptions. The accident from her childhood must have left a bruise for her to be so uncharacteristically quiet and shaken. “Please, don’t do anything reckless.”

“I won’t!” Tomo chirps. “I’m fighting for my own happy ending, you know.”