Archive of Our Own

Connie loved how early the sun rose in the summer. Her room was already heating up from the light through her window, and the chill of evening would only be with them for a couple more weeks. Warm nights were sometimes harder to sleep through, but they were worth it as long as she had Stephen here.

She couldn't see as clearly without her glasses but she could feel the arm underneath her pillow. Stephen had clearly been too warm during the night; his whole body was spread out, legs widened in a v-shape, one arm under her pillow and the other flung above his head. He had pulled up his a-shirt above his stomach, or perhaps it had just scooched up over the course of the evening. A sunbeam, divided by the window, spread light over both the rising and falling of his belly and across the half-curled palm. When Stephen breathed out he made little grunts, tiny animal snores, completely unconscious. Connie had to hold in a giggle. He really was like a dog sometimes.

But that was cruel. A dog couldn't express its love of language, or communicate its hidden complexities, or transform into a human being. Connie sighed to herself. At the very least, he was safe.

Wasn't exposing the belly a sign of safety, or submission? There were no threats here of course—but someone who had lived through as much danger as Stephen would've slept more conservatively. No, that wasn't the right word. Protectively? Protected? Connie furrowed her brow as the early morning berated her for thinking too hard. She would've imagined him curled up regardless. He had spoken to her about nightmares and strange dreams. And yet here Stephen was, sharp little teeth pressed into his lip, fat and happy and unaware of any judgment being passed upon him.

He felt safe. Connie decided that this was all a measure of either safety or comfort and there was nothing that he could do in the moment to disagree with her. Her eyes strayed to the blur of his belly, the indistinct pinkness inflating with every breath, a little mountain. Before she could stop her hand, her arm raised from where it had been curled up by her chest.

As she laid her fingers across Stephen's stomach, his breathing slowed and Connie's sped up. She clenched her left hand tightly to her sternum. Mostly, Connie just worried about a sudden wake-up call, but she would hear the floorboards even over the blood pounding in her ears. There was nothing even wrong about the impulse. Still, she knew that her parents would give her some kind of lecture over nothing at all and she wouldn't even have been able to explain herself. All she knew was that Stephen was warm.

Of course he was warm; seals had natural insulation that humans didn't. It made her wonder about Perry, Pearl, and even Garnet to some degree, even though she had seen the gargantuan seal that Garnet became in the water. Perhaps some species of seal didn't require blubber—but that was ridiculous, they needed it to dive. Perhaps it was stored somewhere in the selkie skin and the transformation added that magical energy. Connie tightened her fingertips across Stephen's gut just slightly and frowned. Magic, it was still magic. She couldn't apply the same kinds of logic here that she'd apply to anything else in her life. Or maybe her life was guided by magic to which even the selkies weren't privy.

Nobody would ever know. Connie would probably never know. She'd be going into seventh grade without knowing a thing about the forces that governed the universe beyond human capability. Everyone else would be in the same boat. Thinking about that now just made her head hurt. Thinking about snuggling with Stephen was easier.

How would he do it? Connie smiled and imagined the nuzzling, the genuine little growls, the hugs and the big stretches. He really did have the perfect kind of life—Connie could guide him through the mysteries of the human world and he wouldn't even have student loans at the end of his journey. But it couldn't be forever, not in the same way. All the cuddles now would be tearful hugs later. Connie knew she had to keep it forever, for as long as she could, however long forever meant. Before she knew it her arm was snaking up Stephen's torso and she was pulling him into a deep side-hug.

Stephen the selkie was a wild creature. Connie listened as he snuffled, then grunted, then sighed deeply and swiveled his neck above her.

"...Connie?"

"Hey," she said hoarsely. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up."

"Mrrrrrrrrrg..."

The arm underneath her pillow shifted upwards, and Connie felt the boy's body shudder as Stephen arched his back with an otherworldly grunt. The stretch popped a couple joints in his body, but Connie couldn't tell where. Every morning must be like this. Maybe it was warmer sometimes to sleep as seals. When it got too hot, they could eschew alarms and go for a cool swim in the sea, then come back and let their skin cover them like a blanket.

Connie tried not to notice when Stephen pulled the shirt all the way off his torso to toss it elsewhere. This was practically just like their first meeting, except with none of the mystery, no ocean, and no pizza. Just like before, Stephen's sealskin was folded carefully away in Connie's backpack. It always felt like a living thing on its own, but differently functional, almost taunting in a way, like a false memory or a doppelganger draped between her fingers.

None of that could truly distract from Stephen's shirtlessness as he pulled his feet down the sheet they'd laid out. Inch by inch, he pushed Connie until her head took up half the pillow and his took the other half, their bodies pressed far more together than Connie could ever imagine her parents approving of.

Her body felt practically waifish in her nightdress when Stephen hugged her back. He hooked his ankles around hers, warm flesh to tepid bones. The boy chuckled devilishly under his breath.

"Y-you sleep well?" Connie whispered.

"Mhm. Dreamed about you for a part."

"What were we doing?"

"On a beach," Stephen yawned, "you had your own skin."

Connie's heart thumped in her chest; she was close enough to feel that Stephen's had quickened for a half-beat, too. But that could've just been him waking up.

"Was I a selkie?" Connie said.

"'m not knowing. Don't know. Like being with you here better."

What was dreaming like, for a selkie? Were there memories or interpretations to be had, songs to sing inspired from the realm of dreams? Did they think that dreams were another reality? Stephen didn't seem to put much weight on it. Selkie mysticism was something Connie knew she'd never understand. Why bother, when he was right? She enjoyed being with Stephen better in this world too.

That opinion came despite the fact that Stephen's hugs had put them in close proximity, with Connie's hand draped over the sun-scarred ridge of Stephen's side. She held him and wondered about his humanity as a partial distraction. If a seal suffered an injury, would their human skin be scarred upon transforming? Connie wasn't about to find out. After all, she was the de facto guardian of these creatures, including the one who was threatening to nuzzle into her neck.

"I think it'd be cool," she breathed. "Then I could come with you and we could have a sleepover at...your, um, home."

"But school?"

The concern with which Stephen sleepy voice lilted actually surprised Connie. He pushed himself into a semi-upright position, rested on his elbow. He let go of Connie's body and rubbed lazily at his eyes as he blinked away the dreams of Connie's apparent transformation. Connie stared up at him for a moment before she rolled onto hed back and watched the inert ceiling fan.

"School's good. But it's not the same. I guess there's a lot I'd miss if I was a selkie but even more that I could have," Connie mused.

"You would miss...your room. Your pizza," Stephen chuffed. "Books. Glasses. Movies. Animals. Bicycles. Clothes."

He paused. When Connie turned her head, Stephen wasn't looking at her.

"Your mum 'n da."

Quiet light seemed to fill the room the more Connie's eyes adjusted. Her hands folded over her stomach uncomfortably as she watched Stephen drift off at the end of the sentence, lost in thoughts she could never comprehend. Her eyes followed his arms down to where Stephen was unconsciously tensing his knuckles. She just noticed that he chewed his nails.

"If I wasn't a human, I wouldn't have met you. If I was a selkie, we wouldn't have met each other. You've never met any selkies outside your clan, right?"

Stephen pressed his lips together and shook his head. So much for comfort. Connie knew that the revelation had shaken Stephen to his core, and all that he had repressed had come out in her mother's exam room far more violently than anyone had expected. She forced her body not to twitch as she recalled the memory of the knife. It was a memory, more than a song, more than just a recollection. As much as they knew truth to be, Pearl had sung them the truth of Stephen's parents' murder at the hands of human beings just like Connie. It rattled Connie just to consider. Who would see someone so unique, so beautiful, and destroy them with all the cruelty locked in the human heart? There was no rationale that Connie could bring to mind, and she had indeed thought about it, on stressful nights lost in her own head and crying for her friend until exhaustion took her to sleep. Here he was, right beside her, after the first night she had had in so many nights where she knew Stephen would still be safe in the morning.

"I'm happy you're here," she said quietly.

Of course she couldn't hide the wonder in her voice. Stephen's eyes found her in an instant; his head was cocked in animal intensity, but his lips and eyebrows pushed into his expression that certain curious nature only found in adolescent boys. Connie knew it well—that oddly human-centric light behind the face, somewhere between hope and apprehension. He smiled.

"Y're also the first one of my age," Stephen said. "First pup."

"I'm not a pup! I'm, like, gonna be thirteen soon! And then I'll be able to join some of the advanced academic programs and... I dunno, maybe get my own computer!"

The little laptops that the school provided were fine enough for basic internet, and Connie had found a workaround to browse through privately for oceanographic-related questions and computer specs. But getting something built for her, which was a major need, required a huge birthday presentation to her parents with cost-benefit analysis on top of it all. It would be worth it. It would absolutely be worth it. Even through the eyebrows raising down at her from Stephen's nonplussed face, she knew it could be worth it. Connie also knew she'd trade all the computers in the world to have Stephen over again.

"Computers... Oh, you don't know what the internet is, do you," she mumbled.

"Don't like nets."

He was so sincere—how could Connie ask such a question? Didn't she know that nets were bad for ocean creatures like him? She took a deep breath to keep herself from a strangled groan.

"Yeah, forget it, lost cause."

"Pups get to be playing all day. Don't gotta fight or guard or hunt." He nodded sagely.

"Well, maybe I want to be a pup who gets to be responsible and grows up to be an allmother and a great queen of the selkies. You're never gonna be a king if you're making sand castles and neglecting your diplomatic studies, mister."

Stephen gave her an odd look. His silver eyes flicked upwards. As he unhooked his ankles from Connie's own, he reached under her left armpit. The awkward hook urged her backwards, pushing her towards the center of the room. A couple taps made her scoot while desperately hiding her blush. She mustered as much psychic energy as she could towards keeping herself from saying something weird. Like what? She didn't even want to imagine.

"There."

The pillow had rolled underneath with her, and she rested her head back down. It had only been a few inches, but the angle mattered. Apparently. Connie pinched her brow and tried on a smirk.

"What is it?"

Stephen merely lifted his fingers as he stared back down and raised his body. His fingers tapped on the motes of half-heavenly dust that floated up from where they lay. As he tapped, Connie could see where the light was playing across his knuckles, where he hit invisible notes in midair, decisively stringing the sun between pointer and middle, middle and ring. The delineation of the sun's angle clarified itself.

Then, Stephen lowered his thumb to Connie's forehead. She closed her eyes on reflex. The selkie dragged his thumb lightly across her brow, tracing away the stray hairs, pressing so softly into her skin as if he was indenting the sunlight. Connie knew, of course, because there could be no other reason, and because she could feel where the warmth just passed before her vision; Stephen was tracing the band between light and shadow where it passed like a crown across her face.

"Queen of the sun," he whispered.

Connie swore her body shook with reverence. But of course, she knew—the tingling from his fingertips were light enough to trigger her nervous system, and the sensation that followed was only natural. She didn't want to think about that. Connie opened her eyes to a boy that looked at her with such genuine fascination and sadness that she could forget that he wasn't human, not really. He was a child from another world, some mystical alien who had captured her imagination between his teeth. He was beautiful and warm and for the first time in her life, Connie was in a place where she could appreciate it. Stephen tilted his head at Connie and cocked a grin.

Those eyes. Connie knew that she and Mr. Universe were the only humans who had looked deep enough into Stephen's eyes to see their true fluidity. Bands of black dispersed the glowing silver around Stephen's irises, widened and softened and stretched and broke into rings. Perhaps the process was more prominent when he was relaxed. Perhaps it was the opposite, where the rings shifted more when Stephen was agitated. In the shadow of the backlight, Stephen's face turned mutedly warm, and the boy's smile slipped in concern, lips parted just enough to show his teeth's serration without any words to follow.

It had been several second without a sound from either one of them—and Connie only realized when a bird outside broke the silence with a frightened trill that faded as it fled from whatever had startled it. Stephen twitched in surprise and turned his head. His smile returned, as if he knew exactly what the bird had squawked.

"Stephen?"

"Mhm?"

"What's it feel like? To be a selkie, I mean—um, because you sometimes have to pretend to be human, and I know that it's different, but...what do you feel the difference is?"

"Oh, I... Hm."

Stephen blinked, then blinked again, harder this time, with his brow furrowed. It was a difficult question, of course, but Connie was as sincere as she could be in the asking. The selkie sighed deeply and scratched underneath his bare collarbone as he thought. Then, he shook his head.

"I am not...never... I am always selkie," Stephen murmured. "Always. Don't know what the not-feeling would be. When I was being with Mister Universe..."

He grimaced, but broke into a snort of appreciative laughter, sighing as he shifted to his knees. Stephen stretched his arms over his head, showing off the tension of his musculature. All the swimming prowess was under there, the animal strength that Connie had felt when she was being rescued. Yet again, a connection far from humanity.

Stephen dropped his hands to his lap with a grunt. "The fever. Bad fever. Mm. Didn't feel pretend-human. It... I was just being lost. Needed the water. Being selkie is being there. To—have freedom, in the sea. But without you. Less others, more sea."

It was a struggle, a poetic struggle, but as Connie sat up she had a feeling she knew what Stephen was saying. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, then pulled her knees up and hooked her hands around them.

"I think I get it. Sometimes I felt lonely, too. Sometimes I still do, but I know I have you as a friend now," Connie said. "And with all the stuff that humans have to do, school and jobs and responsibilities, I-I wish I could just jump into the water and feel all that flow away. But I don't belong there like you do."

"'s why the beach is there. Shallows. A place for being together."

"I'm gonna miss my teachers and a structured education, but I have to say—being with you on the beach makes me happy for summer."

"Could you..."

Both of Stephen's hands pressed into the carpet as he leaned over and studied Connie. She knew that curious face by now, the telling half-smile as Stephen bit his lip.

"You could come. Sleeping over. With us."

There was, of course, some love for the outdoors that stirred Connie's heart as soon as she heard the prospect. Wilderness survival had crossed her mind many times as she imagined magical motes threading the air around the selkies and their words. She had wanted so badly to see Stephen's home and to be with his clan, his colony, but her hands tightened.

"I want to, Stephen, so badly. But I don't know if my parents would let me without knowing...something about your family, too. They'd want to drop me off. They don't... They just don't understand."

How many times had that thought crossed her mind? It seemed so apt in the moments of adolescent cliche but had never quite reached the point where it felt honest. Connie could only imagine her parents reacting to the sight of a half-seal boy standing in the surf before he carted Connie off to some remote island or cove. No allowances could be made, no secrets left to keep. Connie herself barely understood the selkies, and she had seen secrets to which humans beings had never been allowed witness. Any past witnesses hadn't survived; in the back of Connie's head, she had always imagined that that was the end of all this, but Stephen certainly wouldn't allow that, and she herself didn't want to think of that as a real possibility—not having come this far.

Stephen nodded in disappointment, looking anywhere but her. He had hoped for optimism, but reality had its own little faces, didn't it. Connie nodded along with him, then sighed and let her body collapse back onto the floor. She wasn't even tired at this point but sleep didn't seem too bad, all things considered.

"I need to get a boat," she groaned, stretching her own arms heavenward.

"I remember—you have to have licenses."

Stephen couldn't keep the pride out of his voice, however subtle. With everything that Connie had taught him, the bureaucracy of humanity and the age-related specifics were more than a little bizarre to deal with, and yet Stephen was nodding sagely at her like a magistrate. Connie grabbed a stuffed rabbit and smacked Stephen in the arm with it.

"Not now!" she chided as Stephen giggled. "In the future when we're older. Or maybe Mr. Universe can get a boat, I don't know."

"He has the van?"

It wasn't really a suggestion, more of just an observation carrying on from the night's conversation, but Connie stopped herself from opining on the differences between boats and vans. As switches in her brain clicked, she tapped her heels against the carpet and nodded.

"Actually—that's really not such a bad idea."

"Hm?"

"Well, my parents will know where we are, and so will your clan, but you don't have to pretend to be human when we're around Mr. Universe. Not anymore. We could go camping somewhere but without the whole, um, kidnapping thing."

"He was not meaning to."

The sudden hurt in Stephen's voice made Connie sit up. He sat upright and stared back with his spine stiff and poised, like a cobra. Stephen swallowed and broke the gaze.

"I know. I know there was—fever, and I was not supposed to be with him, but he didn't..." Stephen murmured. "He was kind. He tried to be helping me. Even when he was under my song. I—I sang. He is..."

Just a human being. Just someone that was absolutely hypnotized by a magical creature. Connie tightened her lips as she watched Stephen struggling to find the right excuse. Worst of all, she couldn't necessarily blame him. She wondered deep down if Stephen's song was less about tricking Greg Universe's mind and instead awakened a primal instinct for fatherhood. Whatever kind of father Greg Universe might have been, perhaps he would've been kind. He had treated Stephen's illness with as much care as any caregiver, but he had still taken Stephen away from his family, and human minds were only so capable of resisting a selkie's song. Connie grabbed one of Stephen's wrists before he could break from her.

"What he did was take you away from the water, because he had no idea what or who you were. Stephen, Mr. Universe treated you like a human being. And even then, he didn't take you to a hospital, or back to your family," said Connie.

"But he—"

"He hurt you! And you could've been hurt even worse!"

"I was not hurt! I'm here, yes?"

"You almost weren't. If Jasper hadn't been there, what would've happened to you?"

Truthfully, Connie couldn't imagine, but she knew that Stephen couldn't imagine it either. The boy grumbled, still unable to look her in the face. Connie heaved a little sigh. Greg Universe was a flawed man, almost a dangerous man, when it came to Stephen's well-being. The little touches and gift-giving and road trips were wonderful in concept but they had caused so much division between love and reality.

"Look," Connie said, "it's gonna be a tough sell, but it's still our best bet. Mr. Universe can host a little campout-cookout thing, and we can have a sleepover just with us. Honestly I wish there was a private beach we could go to—just so we could swim together."

"We found a river. Little bit for swimming."

"I guess there are some places that are more private. But whether or not mom's gonna let me—"

She pursed her lips. Dr. Maheswaran was not the most pleased with her old friend Mr. Universe at the moment. It wasn't that she didn't trust Greg in the same way, but Connie could feel tension where there hadn't been tension before. The weight of the adults' relationship issues strained their sleepover plans more than Connie would like to admit. The girl let out a grumble of her own and changed her grip from an iron vice to a gentle rub.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't... We shouldn't worry about that stuff. My dad likes you, and my mom does too. We can just talk to them. They've got nothing to worry about between us."

"No worrying allowed."

Stephen gave his tiredest smile and pulled Connie's hand up to his face. Before she could protest, he kissed her knuckles softly and slowly, as if in reverence of her bones. She didn't wrench herself away at the first or the last, but once Stephen looked up again she pushed her fist against his cheek in a mock punch.

"And if they see that , then they're never gonna let you in this house again!" Connie whispered as if her parents were right outside the door.

But Stephen just smirked and leaned back. He pushed himself until his face was in the sunlight, scooting across the floor like a cat. He raised both arms above his head for one more massive stretch that curled his toes and screwed up his eyes so tightly that Connie thought they'd disappear into his skull. All she could do was shake her head. Stephen was a wild animal down to the core, and nothing would deter him from acting out as such. In the same vein it wasn't too far off from the expected behaviors of the twelve-year-old boys she observed at school, so maybe their differences weren't quite as irreconcilable.

"No worrying allowed," she repeated. "Stephen, what am I gonna do with you? You gotta grow up a little."

"Not being human," he yawned back, "so don't got to be acting."

"Uh-uh. Speech time. Mom and dad are probably getting up soon and you have to try and get some grammar in."

It took a moment for Stephen to relent, but he eventually pulled himself into a groaning heap and grab a pillow. He propped himself against the wall beneath Connie's window, and she joined him with both their faces hidden from the sun. Stephen scooted his feet until their ankles were touching in the light, golden toes in the sunbeam. Connie folded her hands into her lap and tried to forgo a history of words just for her friend's sake.

"Let's practice. I'll be my dad, okay?" she said.

Stephen cleared his throat. Connie got her low register ready.

"Good morning, Mr. Maheswaran!"

"Good morning, Stephen. How did you two sleep?"

"We...slept good—"

Connie bit her tongue; corrections like good and well wouldn't do him any good, and she had to do her best not to turn into her mother with the niche explanations.

"—but we are feeling th... We're hungry. We are."

"Kinda lost it there, but that's okay." Connie cleared her throat for her dad voice again. "I bet you're hungry. I've made dad-pancakes! Big meal for a big day."

"Thank you, sir."

Well, it was a bit of a conversation killer, but that was par for the course. Connie pushed down a silly smile; hearing Stephen's sincerity in his practice was one of the best parts of her day.

"What are you two going to be doing today? I want to hear every detail!"

Stephen nodded for a second as he gathered all his words. Connie saw the way he rubbed his thumbs together, pressing and pulling his own digits in quiet anxiety. She held her own hands to prevent herself from grabbing his.

"We want to...go to the beach," Stephen said slowly, "to see Mister Universe. So we can talk about a sleepover there, and with... And we want to maybe..."

Stephen grunted, rubbing a heel into Connie's carpet.

"What are we doing?" he asked. "To ask? Swim? See Rosa?"

"No, wait—he's picking you up. Right? So maybe I can convince my mom to let me go with you guys. We can talk about a sleepover on the way, but we can also go swimming, and then when I come back mom'll know that everything's okay."

The selkie boy just nodded. Connie took a deep breath and let him sit in their peace for just a moment. Thinking about why words worked was tiring enough as-is. In the early morning when they were still waking up, Connie couldn't imagine what it was like to have to form all the rules together in one's head. It came so naturally to her, like how natural the water was for Stephen, because they had both been born in their elements and thrived as much as possible.

Thriving was one way to think about it, anyway. Connie looked down at their bare feet together and thought about the ocean. What did she really mean when she wanted Stephen to 'grow up?' He couldn't ever leave the water, not to be human. It seemed inevitable that after a while all the humans that would grow close to him would succumb to one form of madness or another. Being a selkie meant always being on the run, hiding from the complexities of human life while those same complexities entranced and beckoned one's mind. Connie could live by the sea one day. She didn't want to think about this all ending. Deep water was as infinite as the land, but it was cold, vast, horribly lonely. There were hunters who would kill what little family Stephen had left, and they were still out there.

Stephen had his protectors, of course, and Greg Universe was one of them. Connie wanted to be one, but she didn't have any power compared to the other selkies. Pearl's strength in the water could have killed her once. Garnet was a massively powerful animal, Connie knew, and Perry's asides had made her feel uneasy about the secrets and violence inherent in the selkies' lives. Rosa didn't want humans harmed, but at least one person had died in Stephen's rescue, and Jasper—Jasper had killed before. She thought about Jasper's voice, his teeth, his horrible noises.

"I want to be taking you to us," Stephen said quietly.

"I wanna go there. Even if it's dangerous."

"No danger. Want you to be free."

Connie crossed her ankles. "Do you think I'm not free?"

"Different. Like..."

Stephen inhaled gently, but only held it in for a second before releasing a deep and almost shameful sigh. At this point Connie knew that whatever song he had been planning to sing had a risk to it. Singing to Mr. Universe had caused him to lose his limitations, and singing to Connie about freedom might make her want to run away or drown or do something equally dangerous.

That was the most difficult thing that Connie had to reconcile: magic was dangerous. She wasn't exactly swinging a sword at a dragon, or fending attacks by royal armies, but her mind was as easy to influence as any human's. Danger and desire were one and the same. Was wanting to be Stephen's friend dangerous in itself? What was she already ignoring, if there was an impossible-to-see danger behind their relationship? All that she could do was appreciate what she had while she had it, but even Stephen knew that they couldn't just ignore the possibilities. He was powerful. All the selkies were. The more Connie wanted to be with him, the easier that Stephen could accidentally sway her.

Connie just took Stephen's wrist and pulled it over, until they were holding hands with their palms pressed together between their thighs. Stephen's emanating warmth was pleasant even in the burgeoning summer heat.

"I think I know what you mean," she murmured. "Like I gotta get a job, go to school, follow all the rules, know how to talk to people—and there are a zillion people to talk to and things to do. But you can just go out and sing and learn all on your own."

Stephen nodded. Connie squeezed his hand.

"It's different. But our brains and our bodies and everything's always gonna be different. Doesn't mean it's a bad thing. We just have to keep it in mind."

"To show. All the sea."

"Yeah. I'll get out there one day. I'll commandeer a rowboat if I have to. Pirate Connie and my crew of one."

"Captain Connie?" Stephen offered.

"Heh. Captain Connie, of the good ship Friendship ." She let her shoulders slump. "Ugh. I need a better name."

"Looking at the boats, we can find a better one."

Inspiration was the spice of life, after all. Connie smiled despite the certainty that her parents wouldn't allow her to just go off on a day trip without a plan. Besides, if she knew the selkies she knew that they wouldn't want to be without Stephen for too much longer. Another day, another summer.

"Let's settle for pancakes first. My dad was talking about the farmer's market—we didn't really explain that. So, there's lots of fresh fruit and veggies down there, and folks who grow them at home bring them in, and they're a lot better than the kind you can get at the store."

"Why? Where is the food coming from?"

"That's...another one of those big complicated human questions. But it's like fresh fish. Guess that's the only fish you know, though."

Stephen growled and wiggled in approval. Wasn't that just wonderful, another part of his life that Connie had grown to envy—how a lack of human needs meant that scarcity was what you made of it. The ocean was free of economics. Connie wondered if she could ever be persuaded to eat raw fish just like him. More than sushi, anyway.

"Well, it's time for refined sugar and bleached flour," she sighed. "We can take a long morning walk down one day and you can try out all the blueberries that the east coast has to offer."

"Sometimes, you are saying strange things."

Connie turned towards Stephen's tired smirk. The boy just shook his head and rubbed both hands over his stomach in amusement.

"All the human things," he continued, "you know so much. When I go back to the sea, sometimes I...leave it all behind. Have to find it again. Breathing."

"I'm—sorry, I guess, I don't want to make you feel like—"

"Not bad. Just strange. You're strange."

Connie giggled despite herself. Yes, she was strange, in the same way that any animal would've told her that she was strange if she could talk to them—no, if they could talk to her, the other way around. It was like she lived in a world of her own magic, a single body with multiple facets. Stephen obviously lived in a more magical world, but how much more obvious was it really? The girl rolled away from the wall and pushed her foot into Stephen's bicep until he pretended to teeter to the floor in snorts of his own. Two strangers, in her own strange world. What could be purer?

"And you're hungry, and if I get downstairs first I'm gonna tell my dad that you're not hungry and that Mr. Universe is taking you out for breakfast instead—"

"Noooo! I need the sugars!"

Stephen scrabbled up to his feet right before Connie could and stumbled to the door. Before she could stop him, he was already fumbling for the doorknob. Connie flung herself around looking for his shirt. The terrified thoughts of an after-sleepover conversation ran through her head and overshadowed all the magic that had just taken them.

As soon as the hinges creaked, Connie had scrabbled over to snatch Stephen's undershirt, but the sound of her mother's cough made her whip back around instantly. Her dizzy eyes tried to focus on the woman raising an eyebrow at her from the doorway and not Stephen's surprised outline.

"Good morning to you two, too."

"G'morning!"

"H-hi, mom."

To Connie's shock, the good doctor moved her coffee mug to one hand, then reached out with the other and ran it through Stephen's hair. Connie had to keep her jaw from falling onto the floor as Stephen very nearly purred at the touch. Dr. Maheswaran patted him once more giving the boy a once-over.

"Did it get too hot in here last night?" she asked.

"Little bit, mhm."

"I'll talk to Mr. Maheswaran about air conditioning. It'll be important with the summers getting warmer and warmer." She fixed her gaze on Connie. "Now, give Stephen his shirt so we can all go downstairs. Your father's attempting pancakes."

"Well, he's...kinda good at them! He's a good cook!"

"If only you knew how many fire alarms he set off in college."

Stephen sauntered back and smirked at Connie as he pulled his shirt right from her hands. Clean shirts could wait when there was a full plate. However he kept getting away with it, Connie would never know; Stephen could charm his way into a library card or even a school field trip if he really tried for it, legal paperwork be darned.

"Mom? After breakfast, can I go with Stephen and Mr. Universe down to the beach? We wanted to talk a little about sleeping over, but...there. Maybe with Stephen's, um, family."

As Stephen pulled his shirt down over his messy hair, Connie shared a look with her mother that clearly told her: it's too early for this . Dr. Maheswaran closed her eyes and sighed deeply into her coffee before straightening up to her full height. Seeing her stand next to Rosa threw Connie's perceptions off a bit, but her mother was still a fairly tall woman.

"I assume that once Stephen gets dropped off," she said icily, "that after all's said and done, Mr. Universe will be taking you back here promptly?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Please make sure of it."

Please make sure that Stephen doesn't get kidnapped and accidentally killed again.

Her mother didn't even know the half of it, but she knew more than Connie's dad, and Greg Universe knew just about everything on top of it. Stephen tiptoed from foot to foot between the Maheswarans, glancing back and forth in anticipation of pancakes. Connie clutched her nightdress for just a moment, unable to meet her mother's eyes as she nodded.

If Stephen could sense the chill that came over the room, he didn't show it—and it didn't matter when the summer was coming around to warm them. Connie couldn't think about the mistakes that had happened when they needed to fight for a future where everyone was somewhat okay again. Mr. Universe could be a father figure while being watched by all sides. Stephen could have the best of both the human world and the selkie world while his secret was protected by both. Connie could have a best friend, and her parents could be proud of her growing up. The girl took a deep breath and looked up with a tired smile. Dr. Maheswaran could make of it whatever she wanted. For the time being, Connie just wanted Stephen to eat his first homemade pancake.

The sun would turn from pleasant warmth to sadistic heat sooner rather than later. It didn't take much, granted, but Greg Universe wanted to sneer through his windshield at the sky all the same.

For some reason, he felt himself resisting. It wasn't as arbitrary as it might've been some months ago; these days, nature infused him with a certain paranoia, like the bruise that Jasper had given him was permanent. Greg could hear whispers in the swaying grass on the hill. Seagulls screamed at each other with epithets that jabbed at his attention, even if there were no words to decipher. The ocean was the worst of all. Waves broke his stride and made him stumble as he organized the soaps and scrub brushes. Turning on the hose full-blast only made the salt water rush even more aggressively to his ears. At night his dreams were filled with predatory currents, and the once-cool breeze brought hints of songs from the sanctuary where the selkies spoke in that horrible, illusory language.

Greg needed to focus once more. He tapped the back of the safety razor against his knuckles and steadied his breathing. Unscrewing the mirror from the bathroom inside had been its own nightmare, but he had attempted to shave inside and the claustrophobia ambushed him so suddenly that he almost fell into the sink like he had in the hotel room. The van doors didn't so much as creak even as the winds picked up. Soap suds flitted from the makeshift washtub he had set up.

Greg took one deep breath in, one breath out, and looked up at his reflection. For once, the song didn't hit straight away. Was it even the song at this point? Greg stared into his eyes and fixed his glare.

His joints started to ache first—elbows, knees, jaw, and shoulders—steadily but all together like a chord. He opened his mouth to stop his teeth from grinding together. Even on stage he'd never worn contacts, and the horrible feeling of unrecognition whined in his brain as he stared back at the icy blue eyes that widened with his own. But it was him. This was all him. The pain was worse the first time he had forced it, when he had fought with himself. Now there was only discomfort, but it was rising discomfort, taking his breath, his balance, his hearing, and Greg's vision began to crackle with daggers of light as he heard a thousand voices—no, a thousand refractions of the same voice—

" Rrf —!"

That was all he could take. Greg had to force his neck down suddenly, and then it was just his panting and the ocean once more. He hadn't realized how hard he was gripping the razor until he let it drop and saw where the industrial plastic had indented his palm.

"Cripes," he muttered.

Maybe he should just do it by feel. Honestly, he hadn't thought of that until now, but it wasn't unreasonable to be fixated on getting better. That's all this was: just getting better, recovering from magical sickness, getting un-hypnotized by an adolescent seal shapeshifter. Greg grimaced and wiped the sweat from his cheeks and forehead. When he had imagined magic in the world as a kid, he hadn't thought it would ever come to this. Who would've?

Stephen would be expecting him soon, as would Connie—unless he had missed the pickup window, or unless he had somehow woken up early after another restless night and the morning had been stretched long past its crowning. Greg closed his eyes and rubbed at his soaped-up cheeks to ease some tension.

He remembered the first morning with Stephen curled up with him in the van. It was like the space in front of Greg's chest was made to be filled by the boy, like the only purpose in his life was to protect Stephen from the unknown horrors. Greg forced down a half-choked grunt of uncertain despair. Neither one of them had known peace until they were far away from the ocean, and at the same time Greg had been so ignorant that the departure had almost killed his child. Stephen was not his child. He was a feral creature of myth and legend, and he had pushed his face up to the warmth of Greg's embrace as the wrens and flycatchers had begun to sing, little freckled cheeks filled with the color of health. What had he been dreaming about? How soundly had his exhausted body sent him to slumber?

If Priyanka were here—if there was a single other person who knew what he had been through who could be a voice of reason—then he wouldn't be thinking about Stephen at all. Greg began to gently pull the razor down his face. At least when he was alone, he could focus on the danger at hand.

Years of experience guided him around his goatee. Maybe it wouldn't be even, and maybe there would be a few nicks, but nothing needed to be perfect. Not like Stephen would care. Greg would pick him up, they'd come back to the beach, and he'd slip away in the arms of whatever monster of the day happened to hate Greg the least.

Amelia, she was the first one, distrustful and abrasive, but she knew what was happening. Pearl seemed to have no qualms with Greg being shredded, and she was steely to boot. Garnet was a mysterious one, but Connie seemed to like her. The scrawny one—Percy? No, Perry. He had taken the most effort to disguise his discomfort but he wasn't the best at it. Greg gulped before starting to shave his neck as he thought about the hulking Jasper. None of the selkies were human, but Jasper was the most monstrous of them all.

And then there was Rosa. Greg finished a line and blinked momentarily at the van's ceiling. She was indomitable from her head to her feet, solid as stone, and even in her fury there was a warmth that Greg couldn't forget—not like a hug or a kind word, but like oozing magma or embers.

It was power. When she had sung to him, there was another power that dislodged muscle memory Greg hadn't felt in years. He closed his eyes and lifted the razor.

Before he could recall it, he heard a slight scratch on the asphalt. The man froze. At any other point in his life, he would've called out that the wash wasn't open yet, or if it was one of the kids with a mechanical question. Greg knew better now. Whoever was sneaking up on him wanted for him to hear. He kept his eyes closed and lowered the razor down to the towel.

"I'm going to get him soon," Greg said, loud enough to be known. "I'm just taking care of something."

"You missed a spot."

She was careful, wasn't she; Greg could tell that Rosa was modulating herself, speaking with just enough musicality to make him think she was human, but not so much that he would ever confuse her again. He made sure to turn away from the mirror before he opened his eyes. Rosa was almost smiling. Her sealskin was morphed into some kind of shawl, impossible layers of fur draped around her neck, on top of old beachwear. She carefully unstrung the skin and let it coil like a bird's nest on the floor of the van. Part of it was magical of course, but Greg couldn't help but feel slightly horrified at the sight.

"Still can't meet your own face?"

"What do you want."

Rosa tsked. "Not all of us are driven by want like you, Greg Universe."

"Isn't that what you think humans are all about? Just cast a spell and melt our brains or something?"

"What exactly is it that you think we want?"

We, the selkies. We, the creatures. Greg frowned. He knew what Stephen wanted, but what Stephen wanted was almost possible.

"I guess if you wanted to take over the world, you would've done it already," he muttered. "I mean, why don't you? If you can change how humans think or hypnotize them, you could just make them all want to leave you alone."

Rosa's smile fell. Greg expected another mysterious threat, but there was no coldness as Rosa raised her foot and stepped into the van. On reflex he began to push aside the towel and tubs to make room. The van creaked gently with their combined weight. Rosa leaned over on her knees and slid the razor from between Greg's fingers.

"Let me."

For the millionth time this week, Greg had to repeat the mantra: if they wanted him dead, they would've done it already. It chilled him when he was alone and trying to sleep, but to no surprise the feeling multiplied when one of the selkies was right in front of him. Greg hesitated before turning and crossing his legs.

Before he closed his eyes, he stared at the woman who was not a woman as she mirrored him. The fact that she was taller than him felt more prominent when she was this close. Her hair was almost as long as his, but wilder and more tangled, curious in its twists and curls. Rosa had the beauty of a wild world without the innocence of Stephen's intrepid animalism. There was something predatory in her eyes, just like Jasper. All of the selkies seemed to have alien eyes, and even in the shadows of the van Greg could see the magenta flickering whenever Rosa blinked. As he thought about the flagrant blue of his own eyes, Greg wondered if that's where some of the madness came from: maybe the song turned his brain part-selkie but there was no way for the body to match. Theory would get him nowhere. He shut his eyes.

In the darkness, Rosa chuckled and cupped his throat and chin in one powerful hand. Greg wanted to shiver, but he resisted. A moment later he felt the gentle scrape of plastic and metal down his cheek.

"You've seen the truth already," Rosa murmured. "There's no reasoning with the human mind. There are always desires beneath the surface. Song expands them, encourages them, turning what is already there into this...magic, as you and the girl say."

"You sang to me."

"I've seen my fair share of weaknesses."

"Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to protect Stephen more than I wanted what you have to offer."

There was a slight tinkling as Rosa washed the razor off. The hand on Greg's neck turned him right, then left—a survey.

"I wouldn't call it an offer," Rosa said.

Greg didn't press the issue in part because he had several questions. Firstly, he wondered where Rosa had learned about shaving and if she'd ever shaved someone else; secondly, Greg was suddenly asking himself why this was happening in the first place. The agreement had come on so suddenly, and there had been no deliberation in his mind. Why? One chilling prospect was that her song had worked on the beach, and he was falling into some salacious intent. In reality, having someone else shave him was easier then trying to figure out what he might or might not look like in the end. Greg had never expected that looking at his own reflection was something he'd taken for granted.

Whatever Rosa had offered wasn't to be taken for granted either—but it was an offer, no matter what she said. It had been both a contract and a challenge. Embracing the blend of temptation and alleviation would mean that Stephen would be left behind. It would mean that Greg was as weak as the selkies had first implied and that he was completely unfit for the role of fatherhood. Did it really mean all that? Why couldn't he have both? But those were questions that nobody could answer, and he wasn't particularly interested in asking them aloud. Rosa pulled the razor down, one strip at a time, and Greg merely allowed it. In another world this may have been an act of submission. Both he and Rosa knew better.

"Is he a son to you, too?" Greg murmured.

"In some ways, they're all my children."

"Yeah. Connie mentioned that, 'allmother.' But you know what I mean."

"Stephen is my pup. Humans think there's so many ways that they can raise their young. So much worry for how to make it better . But they all follow different tides. Keep them alive, and they'll teach themselves how to live."

"I wish it was that easy."

"Why can't it be?"

Greg furrowed his brow and suppressed a grimace. "Tell that to my folks. Tracks and schedules and everything... I was lucky to get out alive. Not that I should've listened, but I—I don't really know what happened. My old manager went off the deep end and I just never left Beach City. Something sticks us where we belong. I could've been off exploring the world like I wanted to. I dunno what I want these days. But...Stephen helped with that. I'm supposed to want this—being there for him. Being a good dad."

Rosa tilted his head back with one finger. It was enough to keep Greg silent as the razor's edge ran along his throat. Either she was practiced in this, or her observations had been enough for some kind of expertise, wherever she'd seen men go at it. Greg couldn't imagine the selkies shaving themselves—not with that fur, anyway.

"Humans are always drowning in possibility. And when it's taken away, they panic because they're not at the top of the food chain," Rosa murmured. "Cornered by what's fair, what's reasonable."

"Mm."

"You're not at the top. You know that. You're wondering if one of us would kill you."

Greg took Rosa's wrist on the up-stroke and gently pulled the razor away. When he opened his eyes to stare at her, there was still that arrogant amusement. Maybe it was justified.

"One of you almost did kill me," he said.

"That wasn't even close."

"The big one? Jasper? I don't care how safe Stephen feels, but I certainly don't feel safe around him. I don't want Connie around him either."

"Maybe that's Stephen's destiny. A strong hunter."

" Maybe he's destined to have a dad in his life so that he doesn't grow into a rabid meatbag."

The wrist tensed. Greg felt himself starting to launch into a diatribe about role models when he saw the dangerous glow in Rosa's eyes. They shifted, just like Stephen's, pink glimmers where there had been none before. It was enough for Rosa to snake her fingers around the sides of Greg's neck and press her thumb into his larynx.

She didn't have to speak a word, and neither did Greg. All the power was in her hands. When the selkies were out at sea, they made do away from prying human eyes; Connie had told him enough but Greg could assume even more. When the selkies were here on land, they had to pick and choose what situations they could get into and how hidden they were. Someone like Jasper was brutal enough to leave a trail of blood in his wake and vanish without a trace. The others stayed away from those situations, but most of them had attempted a life on land—with varied success. When she had a weapon and a man who wouldn't dare harm her, Rosa knew she was in no danger. Why would they ever give up the strength of the sea? But Stephen had. Maybe some of the others had as well, learning from their mistakes, banishing themselves from the life of curiosity so that they wouldn't end up like Stephen had. Without breaking eye contact, Rosa snapped herself from Greg's grip, then gently pressed the razor into Greg's cheek and stroked it down, agonizingly slow. Greg stared right back as he felt her go over the soap lines, one silent beat at a time, until there was nothing left. She opened her mouth as if to offer a pithy comeback about Jasper's virility, but she hesitated. Greg could see the barest sharpness on the edge of her teeth. Her grip loosened.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered.

"Doing what?"

"You're toying with me. You don't want to kill me, but you know I'm not..." Greg inhaled slowly. "I'm not going to try anything. You don't have to threaten me."

"Who said I was threatening you, Greg Universe?"

"I don't know—feels kind of weird to come up and just help me for no reason. Is this some sort of test? What do I have to do for you?"

He hadn't intended for his words to come off so angrily, but as he watched Rosa withdraw, he could see the strange clouds come over her face. Most oddly, she seemed more confused than bemused. Greg picked up the towel and wiped his face of any leftover suds. He'd have to move the mirror out of the van but he could just leave it by the side of the wash to put back up later. This whole experiment had been a mistake. He checked the towel: only a few spots of blood.

"You can't just come up here and pretend that I'm not hurting," he muttered.

"You're right."

"What?"

Rosa turned away and sat with her back to the van. She glanced at the mirror, and Greg caught her face in the reflection. The edges of his brain thrummed, but he avoided the temptation of his peripheral vision. Looking at Rosa actually helped calm the pain of his eyes, or maybe he was just imagining that.

"You humans," she said softly, "are so easily obsessed. When Connie first heard Stephen's song, when he came back to us and told us about her, I thought she would try to trap him away for her own loneliness. But she wasn't tempted. Perhaps Stephen distracted her. Or he was too distracted to sway her. Or perhaps they're just children being children, and they don't have to grapple with that reasoning."

"Not me, though."

"Not you. And all you wanted was to be the kind of father that Stephen asked of you, in a way that you'd never had before. What is it like? For the body and soul to be so taken over that you forget you wanted anything else? We'll never experience that sensation, not like the song-struck. We will never want as much as we are wanted."

Greg let his aching legs stretch out a little. He wrung the dry towel in his hands as he tried to puzzle out what Rosa was saying. Maybe that was all she was saying: that they'd always just be different. There was the other implication that Connie and Stephen would always be too different no matter how they were raised. Greg let a small, tired smile come to his face. Even though it was cheeky, he imagined that the two had a little crush on one another. It would drive Doug and Priyanka up the wall, but at this point they had gleaned that their daughter wasn't the type to shoot for the conventional. Steven was as unconventional a friend as anyone could be. Greg only hoped he'd still be a friend further down the line, wherever that took them. Both of them needed it.

"Sounds like me when I had all my hair," he chuckled. "Wannabe girlfriends and boyfriends from move-in day until I dropped out. It was never the right time, though. I...guess I can sympathize a little. Can't imagine that it's easy to find a nice selkie guy out there."

"Oh?"

"I mean—sorry, I know we're being all deep in our feelings, but that Jasper doesn't seem like the most romantic type. I guess Garnet could be the next go-to if you really wanted, but, you know. Not that many fish in the sea."

"It's in the eyes."

"Huh?"

Rosa shifted her weight, and Greg was relieved to find that she shared his sad half-smile. Even if he couldn't figure out her motivations, they had to find some common ground. Otherwise, the whole game of shuttling Stephen between selkies would turn into a growling fistfight every time. The selkie woman sighed and pushed her hair behind her ear.

"A human and a selkie can make a selkie. Rarely, but they can," Rosa said. "Even if they are not born a pup, the child will be called to the sea—the sooner the better. It's all in the eyes, Greg Universe. Doesn't matter who, doesn't matter where."

The first image that came into Greg's mind was of a poor human giving birth to a wild-eyed child after a one-night stand, and then the horrors of watching that child morph into a seal when they had their first family beach trip. Envisioning that encounter was so baffling to Greg that it stunned him into silence. He had to avoid the trap of overthinking these things. Whatever the selkies did, that was none of his business, and trying to figure out what he was supposed to do in response was a waste of energy. As he sat in his thoughts, Rosa snorted and reached for her skin.

"But I wouldn't know how rare exactly. I haven't tried yet."

Greg stared as Rosa slipped out of the back of the van and stood on the cool asphalt. She morphed her skin around her neck once more and freed her hair, shaking it out before giving Greg one more pink-tinged glance.

"I'll be by the rocks waiting for you. Don't be too long?"

It wasn't a question. Greg opened his mouth as the weight of the last two minutes came crashing down around him, a silent breaking mirror. Rosa was walking off as silently as she had just come in, and in her trail she left a thousand unspoken words that weren't actually words, not language. The remnants of her song came back more clearly into Greg's head as he sat in the van in front of his own useless reflection. Logic and timing told him that he needed to take that mirror and bring it back, that the Maheswarans were waiting for him and there was no time to waste. Stephen would want to tell him all about his sleepover. Maybe Connie could ride along.

Greg sat in front of his shaving equipment and did absolutely nothing, as if that would help avoid his thoughts. He picked up the razor and wiped it on the towel. She had been so tender. The man ran his fingertips across his bare neck, then swallowed.