Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The waves are tumulus, clouds grey and filtering streams of desperate sunlight, reaching towards the ocean. It’s a beautiful sight, sitting under the terror of the storm beneath the surface of the water, safe from the clashing waves while a human ship tips precariously. 

Kaveh makes it a habit of his to keep small fishing boats upright when he can, but this one’s far too large—he can only watch the sailors tug the sailing ropes with all their might, lines of men battling with the sea itself.

Judging by the crests lining its hull and mast, it must be royalty. Though, it’s not only the green eagle emblem that gives away the fact—Kaveh can see a figure standing on the side of the ship. 

He’s seen the prince before, even if only through sunken stone statues. This boy looks younger, thinner, and far less expressive. His face is gaunt—missing the prideful, nearly smug look etched into every marble bust that finds its way to the sea.

He’s indifferent to the storm, white knuckles clenched against the railing but otherwise passive—ignoring the sailors yelling behind him. Kaveh can’t hear what they say, not with the roar of the waves crashing against the hull of the ship. Nevertheless, it’s undeniably him—the prince, that is—gripping the edge of the boat as it tosses and turns. He looks behind himself, so small compared to his sculptures, silver hair plastered to his forehead from the rain. 

A particularly large wave pushes Kaveh aside, tugging him under the surface. He tumbles around a bit in the frothy sea, disoriented but unharmed, before he’s able to resurface scanning the deck for the prince, but—he’s gone.

The sun shines spotlights through the water from under the surface, illuminating the otherwise dark and empty patches of the sea, glowing with small particles suspended in the water—stirred sand, plankton, seaweed, all illuminated in a wash of light. 

It’s through these beams that Kaveh sees him once more, surrounded in a flurry of bubbles rising from his body, as if he’d freshly jumped in from the surface. He’s frozen, eyes closed like he’s already been lulled to sleep by the waves, clothes and hair rippling around him. How long exactly he’s been under, Kaveh doesn’t know—but the boy shows no sign of life. The currents drag him deeper, and he lifts not one finger to stop it. 

Kaveh rushes forwards on instinct, then catches himself, hesitating.

He doesn’t help humans in this way. Through all the times he’s seen fishermen fall overboard, making himself known to others is not a risk he’s willing to take. Reason should dictate that he stay away, that he should swim off, and forget about the boy. 

And yet, there’s a pull in his gut, and in the next heartbeat, he decides he has not a second to waste. So he swims to the prince's side, plugs his nose, tilts his head, and places his mouth over his lips, forcing oxygen down his throat. 

And it works, though sooner than Kaveh had expected. The boy jerks in his hold, green eyes snapping open in shock. He expels a breath in a garbled scream, serene features twisting into terror, masking him in bubbles. 

“I’m trying to help!” He says, frustrated, in the human language, all while the prince is kicking away blindly—not a bubble of air left in his lungs from his shout. Kaveh’s words don’t work to calm the boy, muffled beyond comprehension, so Kaveh grabs him by the wrists with one hand and pulls him in by the neck with the other, forcing another breath into his lungs.

He can feel the air go in and how the boy takes it greedily, his fear losing the fight to desperation. Bubbles enshroud them in an exhale, the prince no longer struggling around Kaveh as he offers another breath, waiting to make sure he was truly calm before releasing his arms. 

This spooks him, grasping around in the water blindly until he catches Kaveh’s forearm, holding him like he was terrified—still, he’s brave enough to hold on when Kaveh starts swimming, bringing them closer to the surface with only a muted sound of surprise from the boy's lips. 

Kaveh gives him one last breath before he drags them to a nearby island shore, looking to make sure the beach is vacant while he pushes the human onto the sand, sputtering as he claws towards land.

“Haah! Hhh..” he coughs, choking up dribbles of water. His hair is plastered to his face as Kaveh watches, keeping himself hidden in the sea.

The prince's cheeks are ruddy, possibly from the chill of the water, and his clothes are soggy. The layers of fabric hang heavy on his trembling frame as he tries to get up once, then twice, not quite making it to his knees before he keels over, coughing some more.

How fragile! All this because of a few minutes underwater? He’s on land, safe and sound after all of Kaveh’s hard work, but—!

The boy lies down, a hand pressed against his forehead and stomach before he slowly goes limp.

But Kaveh can hear his breath from here, so he knows he’d simply fainted. 

It’s no matter, he should wake up soon enough. Kaveh’s work here is done, so he really should head back before the prince comes around. He should leave, reason dictates that he should definitely leave—

And yet…

———

The sun is burning his skin when he’s finally able to blink his eyes open. His clothes are stiff with salt, but nearly dry—a testament to how long he’d slept.

Alhaitham rolls on his stomach, trying to face away from the light when he hears someone speaking.

The language is smooth, unlike anything he’s ever heard before, even despite his travels to every major kingdom. Vowels stretch long like taffy, flowing like water so that he couldn’t tell where one word stopped and the other began.

He turns again, determined to find the speaker, but upon his shuffling, the talking stops with a gasp. 

“Pashod, Nilou—mi binamet,” (*he’s woken up, Nilou—I’ll see you later*)

There’s a splash in the shore next to him, and when Alhaitham squints his eyes to see past the sun, two red irises are peering back at him from right above the surface of the water, blinking curiously.

*

There’s a serenity to it, when he floats in the cold waters. He’s away from the shouts of the seamen, fighting too hard to keep their boat upright. 

It was easy to let go of the railing and fall into the water, just a moment's impact where the splash knocks the air from his lungs, then sweet silence.

He thinks he’d like to stay here, cradled by a current forcing him under, pressure building around his skin like a hug—until his ears pop and a tightness begins pulling at his lungs.

He can’t breathe now, but when could he ever? Dressed in lace and frills that scratched his skin and boots that squished his feet. Made to meet princesses and princes who smelled too strongly of perfume and cologne, forced to mask every discomfort.

He’s free here, and so here he’ll stay, if he can help it. It’s all he can do to hope they don’t find his body. 

As his chest tightens with lack of oxygen, he realizes that this hurts. His diaphragm seizes, but instinct prevents him from sucking water into his lungs. It's too late to swim back to the surface, far too late. Before he can accept his fate, allowing himself to drown, something cold snakes around his neck, tilting his head back. Alhaitham’s eyes snap open as he screams, hiding whatever is touching him in the precious remnants of his oxygen.

He doesn’t like pain, he doesn’t want to die being eaten by some creature—! No matter how futile, he kicks furiously and swims away, wasting the last of the air he has on a hopeless pursuit of survival. 

It’s only when the bubbles rise that he sees, albeit not too clearly, two very human eyes staring at him, red as blood.

He gasps stupidly—swallowing salty water that burns his throat—while the person says something incomprehensible, reaching out for his wrists again to pull him in.

Then there’s breath in his lungs, cold and crisp and easing the spin of his mind. It’s refreshing like nothing else has ever been, and he takes it desperately, handing himself over, entrusting everything to this person.

Another breath has him clutching at their shoulders and praying they won’t let him go. For all the times he’s ever wanted to simply be left alone, now is the only exception.

Don’t leave me, he pleads in his mind.

Please, don’t leave me.

*

The eyes stare at him now, just barely over the calm surface of the shore. 

Indeed, now able to see clearly, Alhaitham can tell she’s human. Long golden hair splays out in the water around her face, and bits of ruddy coral hold the bangs from her eyes, apprehensive but strong-willed.

“You saved me,” Alhaitham confirms raspily, not daring to move an inch. 

She emerges from the water by a few inches, letting Alhaitham see her ears, slightly blushed at the edges in a red iridescent sheen. There’s jewelry adorned here as well, cascading down her neck and falling into the divots of her shoulders. Water rolls off her eyelashes as she blinks at him, and that’s when Alhaitham notices the red swiped around her eyes.

But then she raises her torso from the water completely, and Alhaitham understands he was mistaken—

Not only is this person male, but he is not human either.

He can’t see everything from his spot on the sand, but the scales beginning from his hips don’t extend into legs, but into an ornate tail, scaled and glimmering in the sun. His ears are pointed, and the red blush along their curves matches the scaled flesh of his waist. 

He’s rather beautiful for a man.

“You’re alright?” 

Alhaitham jumps, not expecting him to speak his language. There’s an accent there, thick with whatever he must have been speaking before. It lends a musical quality to the stranger's words, fluid and soft.

He nods in response. His skin is red and burned from the sun, but he supposes that couldn’t be helped. The tail flicks idly, not unlike the mischievous sway of his cat’s tail in the palace. 

“You’re…” his mind spins, contemplating what’s realistic right now, “are you real?”

He reaches for his head, prodding for any sore spots that might indicate that he’d hit it somewhere, when water flicks on him in a rain of salt, stinging his burnt skin.

“I’m sitting right here, aren’t I?” The merman’s lips curl into a smile, his tail sinking below the surface of the waves again after the splash. 

Alhaitham supposes that can be philosophically argued against, but he holds his tongue. 

“Water?” The creature tilts his head, reaching down to the belt wrapped around his waist. He detaches a shell from the sash, scooping up some saltwater.

Alhaitham watches him as he offers it up, wide-eyed and curious.

“Ah, thank you,” he shakes his head, making sure to be polite, “but I can’t drink seawater,”

The other boy frowns, hair jewelry clinking as he looks at the beach around him, “seawater?” He asks, “Is there any other kind?”

Alhaitham nearly laughs at that, if not for the tightness of his skin. The confusion is endearing on the man, delicate features spun into a frown.

“I drink freshwater,” he clarifies, “from mountains and lakes,” 

Would a merman even know what a mountain or lake was? Many of the lakes here feed into the ocean, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he’d heard of that at least.

“That’s… strange,” the man empties the shell cup, attaching it to his belt once again, “You people are strange…”

Alhaitham doesn’t miss the way the boy stares at his legs, rather rudely, if he does say so himself. He reaches down to fold the cuffs of his pants up to his knees, edging closer to the water. He’ll indulge this curiosity, if it’ll allow him to speak with the man for a little longer. He’s curious himself, after all.

His shoes are still waterlogged, so he kicks those off, watching the merman trace their small arc through the air with his eyes before snapping them back to his legs.

“What was that?” He asks.

“Shoes,” Alhaitham takes off the other, offering it to the other boy to inspect. He takes it excitedly, turning it all over.

“Why do you wear them?”

He takes the shoe back once the merman is done inspecting it, tossing it onto the sand with the other to dry. 

“I suppose, for the same reason we wear shirts and pants,” he answers, before realizing that that’s not a suitable explanation for someone who seemingly doesn’t wear clothing.

“To protect our feet when we walk,” he gestures to his socked feet, “it can hurt if you’re barefoot all day,”

The blonde scoffs, laughing incredulously, “You burn from the sun, you can’t use your feet without shoes, you can’t drink water—what can humans do?” He huffs.

Alhaitham doesn’t correct him on the water bit—it’s complicated to explain that drinking water is, in fact, essential, though salt water can kill him.

Instead, he smiles back, “Not much, I’m afraid,” 

The merman’s fascination now zeroes into the socks on his feet, shuffling closer onto shore to take a closer look. Alhaitham’s not about to complain because the action allows him to see the ridiculously long fins that extend from the sides of his hips, translucent and thin, like fabric.

Not even the most expensive tulles in the kingdom look as delicate.

“And those are for…?” He points, raising a taloned nail (even these are painted, adorned in little pieces of sea glass).

Alhaitham winces, “Socks, to protect your feet from shoes,”

The merman pauses, looking up as if to check if Alhaitham is kidding. Saying it out loud, he realizes just how ridiculous it sounds, so he doesn’t feel too awful when the other man starts laughing again—so hard the tip of his tail splashes in the shallow water of the shore.

“Shoes to protect your feet from land and socks to protect your feet from shoes!” sand kicks up into the water as he bends over, shaking in laughter, “No wonder you fainted like a rookie in a riptide,”

“A rookie…”

“New hunters in our pods,” he explains, before tacking on somewhat sheepishly, “I’m the fastest in my group…”

This man is a hunter? With all that jewelry, Alhaitham had assumed he was royalty of some sort—some man of baseless distinction, like himself. 

So far, the depiction of sea folk that he’d read about in the castle library has been incredibly wrong. This man isn’t slimy, he isn’t covered in scales and there are no gaping gills on his neck.

If not for his ears, he’d look entirely human from the waist up.

“You don’t look like a hunter,” he says dumbly.

Most food in Sumeru has been gathered by farmers these days, though the hunting profession hasn’t entirely died out. The few hunters Alhaitham’s had the displeasure of meeting were all—

“Human aesthetics are awful,” the merman sighs, “You wear all these bland clothes—” He’s close enough to grab ahold of Alhaithams pant leg, made of the finest embroidered silk, costing more than a soldiers yearly salary, “And they’re not even functional,”

Alhaitham can’t help but agree.

“And don’t even let me start with your art—your statue is very ugly by the way, you’re much better looking in person,” 

Calling his statues and clothing ugly—if anyone were to overhear this conversation, they would have this man’s head. Alhaitham finds he quite likes this treatment. It’s refreshing. 

However now, there seems to be a small issue.

“You’ve seen my statues?” Alhaitham asks, suddenly nervous, “So you know who I am?”

The blond nods, “The prince? Of course, I’d be blind to miss it, Alhaitham.”

The sound of his name from this stranger's mouth startles him for a moment.

“Or should I be calling you Your Highness?” The merman ponders, “We don’t have royalty, so I don't really understand your titles,”

Alhaitham’s heart falls. He’s only ever run away from the kingdom once, living with a small family in the forest outskirts for only two days until the King issued a reward statement for his return. As much as the family of carpenters pitied his loneliness in the castle, such a reward for his return was difficult to pass.

“Alhaitham is just fine,” he mumbles, picking at the fraying edges of the embroidery in his coat, before shucking it off in favour of sitting in his undershirt. He’d begun feeling too cramped.

The mermaid hums, “It’s a nice name. You can call me Kaveh,”

And suddenly Alhaitham has had enough of the niceties, swallowing a bitter huff. 

“Well then, Kaveh. I suggest you wait a few days to bring me back to the mainland. They’ll give you a small fortune of mora that way,” He says, trying to keep his voice even. 

Neither running away nor escape through death has worked—perhaps it’s time to give up on that dream.

“What use would I have for mora?” The merman questions, “Besides, am I supposed to walk you up to the castle gates?” he scoffs, “They’d turn me into a fish stew before I could hand you over!”

Right. He’d forgotten that one crucial, glaring detail. Hope flutters in his chest, breathing hard and erratic. 

“You won’t bring me back, then?” He asks, letting the excitement seep into his tone, “Do you promise?”

Kaveh frowns, “Of course. I’d have to swim against the current to get you back to the mainland. Frankly, it’s not worth the…”

He trails off, staring into space for a moment. 

“It’s not worth the…?” Alhaitham prompts, before he’s quickly shushed.

Kaveh turns his head, peering towards the beach's edge where some foliage is sprouting from roughened rocks. He looks intensely focused, not unlike the hounds in the castle, deathly still and waiting for the crack of a branch to begin their pursuit. 

Instead of that, they hear a voice.

“Is someone out there? Have you gotten lost?”

They freeze, turning to face the woman hobbling their way. It’s too late for the merman to dive beneath the waves, and too late for Alhaitham to hide his face. 

“Hello?” it calls again, then the tree branches rustle, parting to reveal an older woman, grey from the wiry hairs on her head to the simple cloth dress she wore. 

She’s carrying a basket in her arms, stuffed with herbs and all sorts of flowers. Slung on a fishing line across her shoulder sits a few small pilchards, hanging from their tails.

Her sight trails loosely onto the sand, walking towards them. It’s only until she’s close enough for Alhaitham to see her pearly eyes—brown, but softened from a milky cornea. 

She’s blind.

“I—” Alhaitham starts, miming to Kaveh to be quiet, “Yes, hello ma’am. I was fishing with my crew. I fell overboard in the storm.”

The woman frowns, raising a trembling hand to her chest, “Oh dear, are you injured?”

“Not at all,” he reassures her, “Just a little burnt,”

In the corner of his eye, Kaveh begins to move back into the water, the sound of his movements masked by the waves on the shore.

Alhaitham nearly wants to yell at him to wait, to grab him by the wrist and keep him here—but instead, he just shoots him a confused look, biting his inner cheek to hold back from calling out.

The last thing he sees is a small wave and a smile, before the merman disappears below the sea. 

It feels terribly anticlimactic—though he doesn’t know what exactly he hoped would happen.

“Oh, well, I have just the thing for that,” 

His attention is brought back to the older woman, who huffs, rummaging in her basket. She pulls out a jar, feeling along the grooves of the lid, “Put some of this on,” she instructs, holding it out so Alhaitham can take it.

He hesitates, lookin at the container suspiciously.

“Come on now, it’s just some aloe, don’t be a priss,” she tuts.

In all fairness, Alhaitham had never been sunburnt before. He wasn’t typically allowed outside for long enough.

He ends up rubbing it onto his cheeks anyway, relishing in the cool feeling.

“Thank you, I’m grateful for the help,” he says earnestly, offering her back the jar before realizing that she can’t exactly reach for it. He places it back in the basket instead.

“I’ve had my fair share of soldiers and fisherman wash through this island,” she chuckles, “I’ve got a stable behind my cabin if you’d like, fit for a whole crew to stay,”

“Oh no, I couldn’t—”

She interrupts him, “Nonsense, I need help around the island and you sound young and plenty capable,”

“I—” he argues, before he realizes this is his chance. The island is isolated enough to hide him for days—he could escape before then. 

“I… can’t thank you enough,” he sighs, lightening at the old woman's warm smile, letting her guide him back to the hut.

He shoots one last hopeful look towards the sea, scanning the waves along the shore, but Kaveh is long gone. 

His chest aches once again.

Chapter Text

The sunburn had long ago turned into a bronze tan. These days Alhaitham wears more linens than silk, comfortable and cool against the harsh summer sun. It’s lightweight and flexible, so when he leaves to collect wood from the back forests he’s not overly hot or constricted. It’s practical. 

His muscles have also been burning—well worn from the work he’s put into the past few weeks. Each day he returns to the stable (a little dusty, but warm during the nights and a shady spot during the day), exhausted and content. Recently, he’s noticed his hair growing too—just brushing past his ears in an unruly shag. He doesn’t recognize himself in the polished copper mirror across his room. 

The only downside of life on the island is the lack of reading material. The first night in his room, he’d found a small book filled with religious text from the last sailor who’d washed up here, but nothing else. He spent that night reading by candlelight and has since then memorized it front to back. 

He mentioned the book to Khala Fatima while they ate dinner—later that night, a small box of novels and notebooks was left on the stable’s doorstep. Most of the books were light fiction, easily digestible and read in a few hours—not to his personal preference, but he’ll take what he can get. The notebooks were, as he came to realize, Khala’s journals from many years ago. He has yet to read those, it feels too much like an invasion of privacy despite receiving her permission. 

Khala’s been good to him too, putting him to work for the first time in his life. The woman is tougher than he’s ever been, hands calloused and worn from years of fulfilling labour. She insists Alhaitham will learn quickly—that his hands will adapt to pulling in endless lines of fishing rope and splitting wooden logs—but so far his palms still rub raw. When the skin splits, she fetches him aloe and congratulates him on a hard day's work. 

“Gentle around the ribs!” the old woman reminds him as she peels potatoes by the sink. 

Alhaitham learned how to fillet a fish this week, but he’s still too heavy-handed. The white bones blend into the pale flesh of the tilapia, and he often leaves bone spurs in the meat that they’ll have to pick out later.

Alhaitham sighs, frustrated, setting down the knife with a dull thunk. 

“Listen,” Khala Fatima hobbles over to him, holding her hand out for the handle of the blade. She sweeps it over the ribs of the fish, separating the rest of the filet smoothly. 

“Now, do you hear the difference?” she swipes it across again, this time with a dull crackling sound, pressing the blade through with more force than before. This time, when she separates the filet, the sharp outline of the bones pokes out of the flesh of the fish.

Alhaitham nods, humming a yes before running his finger over the jagged meat. Khala places the knife back onto the cutting board, waiting for Alhaitham to try again on the next fish.

“Mm, much better,” she nods in approval, before returning to her potatoes.

Alhaitham has learned a lot over the past weeks. 

****

Today he spends the afternoon at sea, rocking gently in Khala’s small fishing boat. He has a line set up for salmon or trout, but nothing seems to be biting. Khala likes to joke that his presence scares the wildlife since she always comes back with an impressive line of fine fish. 

Alhaitham’s not all that worried about the fact though, he came out to sea from sheer boredom more than anything else, which is why he’s comfortably reclined with one of his few precious books, feet propped up by the bow. Every so often he’ll check the line and find the bait missing, but no fish to come with the loss. 

He’s been coming out here on days where there’s not much to do. The small mast provides enough shade so that he doesn’t turn into a crisp, and the sea breeze is pleasant as he reads and dozes. It’s all the relaxation of a day at the beach without the irritating sand sneaking into his shoes. 

And yet, for some reason, there’s always a pit in his stomach. The more he goes out to sea, the more time he spends scanning the waves, dizzying himself in the process. It’s a little ridiculous, Kaveh never suggested he’d return, and the ocean is so vast—Alhaitham couldn’t possibly expect to see him again. 

He sighs now, rubbing at his eyes to ease them of their strain. He checks the line again, hooks a cut of shrimp on the end and throws it over the side, watching the bait slowly sink. He resumes his spot lying down with a huff, pillowing his head in his arms. 

The rhythmic knocking of the mast nearly lulls him to sleep, warm and comfortable in the sun, but he’s jerked awake by a sudden lurch of the boat. His eyes snap to the fishing line, bent and strained from something big. 

The small boat rocks again and Alhaitham jumps to his feet, throwing his book onto the gunwale haphazardly to take control of the rod. There are tuna fish in these waters—not much else could explain the force of these pulls—but they don’t go after such small bait. It’s just his luck, catching a large fish with a boat far too small to handle it!

He should cut the line, as much as it pains him to leave the hook in whatever he’s caught—if he doesn’t, the boat will tip fast, and he’s not sure if he can swim all the way back to shore. He feels the boat lurch forward, nearly tipping thirty degrees and sending him tumbling into the sea, but he grabs hold of the mast for dear life with one hand and pulls his knife from his pocket with the other. 

He begins to saw at the thin twine rope, but his hand is too unsteady and the boat is tossing back and forth violently—the blade knocks itself loose from his hand, and in a moment of panicked idiocy, slices his palm shallowly with a sharp sting.

He spits out a curse, more annoyed than grievously injured, while the knife tumbles into the sea.  Now Alhaitham truly braces himself to swim back to shore, contemplating jumping ship before he’s knocked off and truly injured. Just his luck! What kind of huge fish would go for that measly worm on a hook?!

His last resort is untying the line from where it’s attached to the boat, but the knot has been set for years, crusted in salt and sharp enough for the fibers to splinter in his hands. That just about settles it. 

Alhaitham looks around for his book as best he can, realizing with a heavy heart that it must have fallen off into the water some time ago. Well, it can’t be helped—he grits his teeth, ready for the long swim to shore. It’s a good thing the waters are calm today. 

It takes him a deep breath to gather the determination, stomach sinking at the idea of being alone at sea once more. If only he were here, if only—

The boat rocks one last time, a precarious dip, far enough for seawater to slosh inside and soak his shoes, enough that he loses his footing and slips on the wooden planks with a dull thud. For a moment, Alhaitham is worried he’ll capsize. If he’s struck by the boat as it goes over he’ll surely die. He pulls himself up with the last of his determination, ignoring the gash on his hand in favour of grabbing hold of the mast before he realizes… the rocking has stopped. 

The line goes slack, and the creaking sounds of the hull settle into silence as the boat begins to stabilize, no longer struggling to keep itself afloat. For a moment the only sound is that of his heaving breath, his adrenaline weaning off as he stares into the sea.

Carefully, he pulls the line up. When he reaches the end, the rope is cleanly severed, and the hook is nowhere to be found. 

“You dropped this,” 

In his haste to turn around, Alhaitham trips over the thwart, scrambling to get up and look over the side of the ship to find the source of the voice.

“Kaveh,” He gasps, skin tingling with excitement, relief—  

It was a very real possibility that he’d never see Kaveh again. Still, his heart’s been heavy during the past weeks with some emotion he can’t name, a feeling he pushed down to avoid what he thought would be an inevitable disappointment. 

From the side of the hull, the blonde holds out his arm—Alhaitham’s sopping wet novel pinched between two fingers.

“I hadn’t realized it was you, I would’ve helped sooner.” he says sheepishly, “Some talent you’ve got, snatching a big fish like that,”

When Alhaitham is too shocked to take the book, Kaveh simply throws it in the boat, pulling himself up to hang off the hull, arms crossed under his cheek. His long hair is braided back now, secured in a tight weave and trailing down the knobs of his spine. Small ornaments glint between the strands, catching the sun as he tips alongside the boat.

“I wasn’t…” Alhaitham trails off, “... I was hoping for salmon,” he says dumbly, holding on to the wrist of his injured hand as it begins to throb in a dull beat. 

Kaveh gifts him a wry smile, beads of water glinting on his eyelashes where he hasn’t bothered to brush them off. 

“I can see that,” he huffs, “You’re lucky I was out hunting today—I hope you don't mind by the way, I sent your catch back to my pod—”

Ah, maybe his hair is braided because he’s hunting? Alhaitham supposes it would only get in the way otherwise, his own bangs have been bothering him as of late. 

“I didn’t think you’d care, especially since this is the second time I’ve had to rescue you,” 

Alhaitham laughs incredulously, brushing his hair from his face with a sigh, “I don’t mind,” he confirms, taking a seat in the boat, “I suppose this is a bad look for me,”

The weight of Kaveh hanging off the side adds a tilt, sliding Alhaitham closer to the edge. The moment still feels surreal—as Kaveh’s hair dries in the sun, bits of blonde pick up the light, casting him in a glow. The scales around his ears shimmer, iridescent, going red, then orange, then yellow as he tilts his head. 

“You have new clothes,” Kaveh remarks, picking curiously at the seams of Alhaitham’s pants. When he notices a splatter of red against the beige fabric, a frown etches into his thick brows. His gaze tracks Alhaitham’s hand, still bleeding sluggishly. It looks worse than it is, with the seawater easing the spread of the blood down his sleeves. 

“For god's sake—hold on.” Kaveh sighs exasperatedly before the weight on his side of the boat vanishes, the boy diving back into the sea without another word. 

Alhaitham’s heart jumps—standing quickly to peer over the side.

“Wait!” he calls out, hopeless, scanning the frothy waves for a flash of red or the shine of one of Kaveh’s gems. He finds nothing, anxiety creeping over him in a quick flash. Alhaitham hates that habit of his.

He’ll be back, Alhaitham tells himself, beating his brain into submission. For a minute, all he hears is his own breath and the knocks of gentle waves against the hull of the ship. His eyes don’t leave the water, dizzying patterns of froth hurting his eyes, and waits, and hopes. 

It’s only until he’s waited long enough for his doubts to resurface again that he hears a splash to his right.

“Here,” 

Kaveh’s back, this time with a spongy plant in hand. The roots are sandy, like he just plucked it off the ocean floor. He takes his spot on the gunwale again, reaching for Alhaitham’s hand.

“You’ve gotta stop—Ow—!” The sponge stings, soaked in saltwater and a suspicious goop oozing from its pores. Alhaitham tugs his wrist back, but Kaveh clicks his tongue at him with an irritated look. 

His eyes are lined with red again, Alhaitham notices now that he’s close enough. The makeup is smudged, with small streaks across the merman’s temples.

“Despite… All this…” Kaveh gestures with his free hand, “You look better from the last time I saw you,” he mumbles as he applies pressure to Alhaitham’s cut. The sting is fading now, numbed to something manageable. 

“I take it you’re still staying with the woman?” he asks, inspecting the wound before tossing the sponge back into the sea, satisfied with his first aid job.

Alhaitham nods, working the fingers on his hand. Whatever Kaveh did really worked—he can hardly feel a thing anymore and the goop has dried down enough to serve as a bandage.

“I help around, there’s a lot to do there,” He explains, “Plus, she doesn’t know about my… situation.” 

“That you’re a runaway?” Kaveh smiles, eyes trailing over the contents of the boat, “I suppose that worked out pretty well for you,”

Alhaitham agrees with a sigh and a nod, picking up the book Kaveh seems to be staring at. The pages are mushy and delicate, but the printed ink is relatively intact. If he lays it out in the sun, it should dry up in a day or two. 

“What letters are those?” Kaveh asks him, looking at the cover of the book titled with curling blocky letters, “It’s different from other the books I have from your people,”

“It’s Hindi, they don’t speak it in this country,” Alhaitham answers habitually before he realizes—

“You have more books?” 

Kaveh smiles slowly, like he’s realized he’s caught Alhaitham’s weak spot.

“I collect them,” He boasts, “Most are in pretty good shape too,”

“How…” Alhaitham asks, suddenly elated, “What books do you have? Where do you keep them?” 

“A huge crate was dumped once,” Kaveh explains, “They were packed so tight the print stayed right in place even when they were soaked—it must’ve been a hundred, maybe more—”

Kaveh smiles big before he splashes his tail excitedly, sending a small rain of water over them both, “I bury them at a cove not far from your island, the waters are way too choppy for most boats and there are hardly any good fish, so it’s practically deserted,” he says quickly, then tacks on bitterly, “You’d be surprised by how much stuff fishermen throw into the sea,”

“Is that how you learned Arabic?” Alhaitham questions, except that wouldn’t make much sense.

And indeed Kaveh shakes his head, now appearing embarrassed. His lids lower, inspecting the wood grain of the boat, picking at it with his nails.

“I can’t read it,” He admits, “we’ve picked up your language over time—the fishermen are easy to eavesdrop on—but reading is different. It’s not like we have a translator.”

And suddenly Alhaitham has the best idea he’s ever had in his entire life, “I can teach you,” he blurts, “I can read five languages, whatever books you’ve got, I can teach you to read them.”

Two birds with one stone. Seeing Kaveh again—regularly, if Alhaitham’s going to teach him an entirely new language—and a collection of new books to read. 

And it seems Kaveh likes this deal, except as soon as his eyes sparkle with excitement, he shuts down the emotion on his face, hardening it and closing himself off. 

“I shouldn’t have met you a second time,” he shakes his head, “even the first was a gamble,”

He moves like he’s about to hop off the side of the boat again, so Alhaitham grabs him by the wrist. Kaveh is surely strong enough to rip himself away if he wants to, but he doesn’t, holding the helm hesitantly with his free hand. 

“Please,” Alhaitham begs, “Who would I tell?” 

“My friends chewed me out already. If they knew—”

“They don’t have to know,” This is Alhaitham’s chance. Kaveh would have disappeared again if he didn’t want to stay, so Alhaitham knows. 

Kaveh is just as curious as he is.

“Just once a week,” Alhaitham bargains, squinting when the sun reflected off Kaveh’s jewelry blinds him. It glimmers as the boat rocks steadily, flashes of light bouncing around and commanding Alhaitham’s attention. His hand is still holding the boy's wrist lightly, hardly any pressure to keep him here, but Kaveh stays. 

He’s silent for a second, chewing on his bottom lip with a conflicted expression. Then he eases his hand from Alhaithams grip.

“This time next week,” he agrees, avoiding eye contact, “I’ll meet you by the beach on your island,”

Kaveh sinks back down into the sea as Alhaitham smiles victoriously, peering over the edge of the boat to watch the merman leave.

“And don’t try to get to the cove yourself!” Kaveh warns, finally looking back at him as he leaves, “I don't want to have to save your sorry ass every few weeks!”

Alhaitham laughs, nodding his head in agreement before Kaveh disappears once again, this time with a small wave goodbye. As the red of his tail fades beneath the foamy sea, Alhaitham feels that familiar tightness in his chest, only this time, the promise of next week makes it easier to handle. With a sigh and one last look towards the water, Alhaitham reaches for the halyards, raising the mast to catch a breeze that will bring him home.