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The Tempest’s Howl lay in ruins, its once-proud frame scattered along the shoreline like the broken bones of a great beast. The crew had done their best to salvage what they could, but the truth was undeniable. Without a miracle, they weren’t going anywhere.
And yet, little by little, that miracle came.
At first, they assumed it was just debris from the wreck—a few planks of wood, some rope washed ashore, a half-rusted nail sticking out of the sand. Then there were tools. A hammer. A coil of rope, dry and neatly wound. Too precise to be chance.
It was Kirishima who first voiced the thought lingering in all their minds.
“...You don’t think someone’s leaving this stuff for us, do you?”
Katsuki scowled but didn’t answer. He wasn’t the type to believe in unseen forces or mysterious benefactors. But the evidence was impossible to ignore.
And then, one night, he saw him.
The moonlight turned the cove into silver and shadows. The ocean was calm, a rare thing in this part of the world, and the only sound was the gentle lap of waves against the shore. Katsuki had been restless, unable to sleep, so he’d wandered down to the water, the cool air doing little to settle the frustration thrumming beneath his skin.
That’s when he saw the movement. A ripple. A flash of green gliding just beneath the surface.
His breath caught in his throat. Izuku.
The merman was half-hidden behind a rock, his body mostly submerged. Only his emerald eyes and the faint glow of his scales betrayed his presence. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Izuku hesitated before slowly, almost guiltily, lifting something from the water.
A bundle of rope.
Katsuki stared.
Behind him, Kirishima—who had followed without Katsuki noticing—let out a small, amused chuckle. “You’ve been helping us, haven’t you?”
Izuku’s grip on the rope tightened. His green hair drifted around him like seaweed, and his tail flicked nervously beneath the water. “I… I just thought you might need it.”
Katsuki should have been pissed. Should have snapped at him, demanded to know what the hell he thought he was doing, why he was risking himself for them.
Instead, what came out was:
“You’re an idiot.”
Izuku blinked, startled.
Katsuki scowled and rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at the soft curve of Izuku’s lips or the way his shoulders tensed like he expected to be scolded.
“A dumbass fish who doesn’t know when to stay out of trouble,” Katsuki muttered.
Izuku’s lips parted slightly—then, slowly, a small, shy smile tugged at the corners.
Kirishima, watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement, finally broke the silence with a warm laugh. “Well, I think it’s amazing that you’ve been helping us. Thanks, Izuku. Really.”
Izuku ducked his head, his cheeks turning a faint pink. He swam a little closer, his movements hesitant, tail flicking beneath the water.
Neither Kirishima nor Katsuki moved away.
For a moment, the three of them just stood there—two pirates on the shore, a merman in the shallows, and a fragile, unspoken connection thrumming between them like the pull of the tide.
Katsuki wasn’t sure what it was, this thing lingering in the air between them. A strange kind of tension, a heat that had nothing to do with anger or frustration. It made his pulse quicken, made him want to step closer, reach out—
Izuku, as if sensing something shifting in the space between them, suddenly ducked his head. “I should go.”
“No.” Katsuki’s voice was too sharp, too fast.
Izuku stilled.
Kirishima glanced at Katsuki, raising an eyebrow, but there was no teasing in his gaze. Just quiet understanding.
Katsuki scowled and looked away, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I mean… you don’t have to.”
Izuku blinked at him, wide-eyed. His fingers twitched, as if itching to reach out but unsure if he was allowed.
Kirishima, ever the warmth between them, smiled and took a step forward, crouching so he was eye-level with Izuku. “Yeah, man. We’d like it if you stayed.”
Izuku’s lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable. His heart pounded.
No one had ever said that to him before. No one had ever wanted him to stay.
Something deep in his chest twisted—longing, uncertainty, a warmth that curled through his ribs like a rising tide.
“…Okay,” he whispered.
Neither of them missed the way his fingers curled toward them, just a little.
Neither of them missed the way their own hearts jumped at the thought.
And neither of them, not yet, dared to question why.