Work Text:
Summer tends to be a happy time of year for most people. Bright sunshine for long hours, beautiful weather, no classes to attend – everything anyone could ever ask for.
The weather is obviously gorgeous, but Baptiste could take it or leave it. He’s as comfortable in a hurricane as a cloudless sunny day. Still, he appreciates the season for the long break he gets from university. Medical school takes most of his time during the rest of the year, and it’s nice to relax, even if it’s only for a few months.
Even if he has to deal with a whiny roommate on top of it.
“Why do you have to leave now?” Olivia moans as Baptiste shoulders his ragged, well-used backpack. She kicks off her cluttered desk to wheel her chair closer. “I can’t leave my desk for a few days, I’ve got a really big job to do.”
“It’s only for a day, Liv.” Baptiste gives her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You’ll be alright.”
“Uggggghhh, fine. I’ll threaten Hana’s Mecha Guardian V placement so she’ll bring me bulgogi or something.”
“Or she’ll send that big engineering major over to break down the door.” Baptiste shrugs. “I won’t fix it if she does.”
Olivia waves her hand flippantly as she scoots back towards her desk. “Relax, hermoso, I can handle it. Have fun with that secret girlfriend or whatever.”
Baptiste chuckles as he pushes through the door. If only you knew, he thinks with a fond shake of his head.
He walks out of their shared apartment, down the stairs, and out into the parking lot, waving cheerily at the handful of fellow students and residents as he goes. On the opposite side of the parking lot is his assigned parking space where his car stays more often than not. Baptiste takes care of the old thing, but since the apartment is so close to campus, he doesn’t tend to drive very frequently. In fact, summer is the only time he uses it more than one or two days a week.
Baptiste pops the door open and tosses his backpack into the front passenger floorboard as he settles into the driver’s seat. Baptiste jabs the key into the ignition and turns it. The engine reluctantly starts with a series of sputtering kicks, slowly evening out into a steady rumble, and then Baptiste is carefully pulling away, onto the road, and towards his destination.
Sweltering, oppressive heat amidst the omnipotent concrete of the city eases up the farther away he gets, slowly becoming more tolerable as the miles pass. Storefronts and malls and intersections transition slowly to homes and parks, then to thick brush on the side of uneven asphalt roads, dotted with rusted signs and wooden mile markers, along with the occasional gas station or locally-owned grocery store.
With the windows down, the summer heat is only a pleasant ambience. Far from the city, the wind whipping past carries the scent of cut grass and distant blooming flowers with it.
All in all, a gorgeous morning drive. And it wasn’t even the point of leaving the apartment today.
Baptiste drums his fingers along the steering wheel, carefully tracking the miles as he drives, growing ever closer to his destination. Although it’s not a journey he takes frequently, it’s very familiar, committed to memory years ago.
As the minutes tick by, the distant aroma of salty sea spray steadily intensifies, until every gust of wind is saturated with it. The warm greens of summer give way to warm white sand and dark rocky outcroppings, waves of crystal blue ocean lapping away at the shore.
The road turns, following the coastline, and Baptiste follows it, slowly coming to a small, rickety beach town, old and worn but with welcoming store signs and cheap souvenirs advertised in a dozen windows. Rather than spend his dwindling disposable income on any of them, he passes them by, eventually pulling his old car into a small cracked and split asphalt parking lot. A long-rusted sign declares the area available for parking until nightfall, and as many times as he’s made this trip, it’s yet to be proven wrong.
Baptiste grabs his backpack and shoves the creaking door open. The constant, warm, salty breeze coming in from the water washes over as he stands up, and Baptiste leans back against the hot metal of his overworked vehicle, relishing in the refreshing sensation.
Finally, he slots the key into the door and locks it, giving it a gentle pull to be sure it’s secure before heading off.
The heat of the sand scorches his skin as his feet sink into it, but Baptiste rather likes the feeling – a brief flash of intense heat that quickly fades into comfortable warmth, over and over with every step. Much further along, other beachgoers have towels and umbrellas and such set up, unbothered by the addition of another.
Baptiste shifts his backpack on his shoulder and turns to begin walking along the shoreline. He drifts closer and further from the water, skimming the surface for any shell bits or baubles that Olivia might like. She’ll inevitably complain about the smell of them, no matter how much he washes what he gives to her, but Baptiste sees every broken bottle and shattered shell he’s ever given to her sitting primly on her desk alongside her three monitors and scattered cans of energy drinks, so he looks all the same.
The further he walks along the coastline, the more rocky outcroppings begin to jut up from the surrounding shore, dark and sharp and dangerous, like massive shark teeth erupting from the silky sand. They begin to overtake the soft sand, forming wide swaths of near-vertical walls across the beach, some higher and some wider.
Forty minutes or so of walking at a brisk pace has the far-off sandy soil nearly disappear, overtaken by a massive cavern of dark rock resembling a predator’s yawning mouth, carved out by the waves over countless years. Sharp rocks ring the modest alcove, keeping it protected by wary passerby that don’t want to test their luck against the vicious edges.
Baptiste steps carefully over and around the many jutting rocky spikes, maneuvering through them with practiced ease. The dark rocks form a semicircle beneath the stony overhang, ringing a shallow, secluded pool of ocean water.
Just beneath the surface, following the lightly foaming edge of the water, all manner of trinkets and baubles line the pool. Broken bottles with sharp edges smoothed by the crashing waves, barnacle-crusted antiques lost to time, massive shells filled with bits of bone and pretty stones, and many others besides. They were all purposely set into the sand beneath the water to keep them in place through the waxing and waning tides, however rough they became.
His first time in this cool, secluded cavern, Baptiste recalls how sparse the decoration was – no more than a few pretty shells and a woven necklace of seaweed and bone wrapped around a sun-bleached wooden stake in the sand. Now it’s all much more intentional and much more purposeful.
As Baptiste carefully lowers his backpack to the ground, one of the new additions to the cavern catches his eye. Unlike the other bits and bobs, this one is noticeably modern. Bright, shiny chrome molded into a wedge shape, flaring out on either side at the wider end, without the tiniest speck of rust or creeping algae to be seen. A strip of metal rises up, but whatever shape it might’ve taken is impossible to tell because of how horrifically it’s been mangled. Twisted, torn, punctured metal, with rows of deep gouges put there by massive teeth.
Baptiste kneels beside the anchor and inspects it closely, searching for some identifying marker it might have. A number, a name, a logo, anything would be helpful…
He gingerly grabs the broken end, then hastily whips his hand back with a hiss. The harsh sting of salt seeping into the small wound on his palm radiates with a throbbing rhythm. Diluted drops of blood drip into the pool before quickly fading, carried away by the gentle waves.
Baptiste huffs and shakes his head. “Not a good move,” He mutters to himself. He returns to his backpack, nestled between a pair of rocks, and begins to dig through it with his uninjured hand. This trip is prone to bloodshed, so he always brings antibiotic, bandages, and, just in case, sutures and needles. The latter is still yet to be necessary, but there’s always a chance.
Antibiotic ointment is spread over the small cut, then a waterproof bandage over that. Hardly professional-quality work, but it’ll be perfectly fine until he gets home.
Baptiste carefully tucks his supplies back into the bottom of his backpack, safe once more until he needs them again, then slips the bag back between the rocks as well. Wedged between them like that, it’s difficult to tell it’s even there. Convenient!
Just as he starts to turn, frigid sea water erupts onto his back, and Baptiste is shocked stiff. He turns narrowed eyes to the oh-so-hilarious prankster in the water, snorting and guffawing as he tosses his dark hair over his shoulder. “Come on, Baptiste, you oughta know better than to ignore the water after bleedin’ in it.” Mauga grins wide, revealing rows of bright, serrated teeth. “Might get some bad company.”
Baptiste huffs and shakes his head, though he makes no effort to hide his smile. “I don’t know what company might be worse than you,” He replies.
Mauga shrugs. “True, I am pretty bad. ‘S why you like me so much.” He props his chin on his fist and waves his tail gently through the water, unrepentant as ever. Baptiste can only chuckle.
Mauga’s upper half is more or less human aside from two sets of gills on his neck and waist, though much larger than average, with dark whirling tattoos covering most of his heavily muscled torso, interrupted occasionally by jagged scars. Below the waist, however, is an equally massive tapering gray-green tail, two pairs of fins extending to either side and a long, sharp, crescent shaped tail fin.
If anyone asked how Baptiste came to not just know but also closely befriend (and maybe even fall in love with) a genuine living mermaid, he wouldn’t be able to give a coherent answer. Their meeting was a series of blazing garbage fire-like coincidences, and since then, Baptiste has found that he doesn’t want to leave him behind.
Baptiste unbuttons his soaked shirt and tosses it across a wide, flat rock lying in the sunlight. “One of these days, my clothes will survive this visit.”
“They better not,” Mauga chimes, shamelessly ogling, “This view is too good to lose.”
Baptiste huffs as he steps into the shallow pool. “You’ll get the view either way, you know.”
“Yeah, but I get it sooner when I get you wet.”
“…You’re not allowed to say that if Olivia ever comes out here.”
Mauga snorts and flicks his tail. “If your little friend ever finds us out, I can take care of it.” Despite his playful tone, there’s a gleam in his bright eyes that Baptiste knows all too well.
“No, you can’t.” Baptiste shoves at the giant merman, barely moving him, but probably getting his point across. “She is off limits.”
“Aww, not even for a little swim? You know I’m a good lifeguard,” Mauga adds, flashing another bright toothy grin.
Baptiste merely cocks a brow. “Good lifeguards don’t leave bite marks.”
“Says who?!”
“Everyone that likes breathing.” Baptiste gives a friendly punch to Mauga’s shoulder. “And everyone that doesn’t want to deal with nosy sharks like you.”
“Guess that doesn’t include you.” Suddenly Baptiste’s ankles are yanked out from under him, sending him crashing into the water with a startled cry. Thankfully it’s still shallow enough for his head to stay above the water, but before he can even attempt to lift himself out, Mauga wraps his arms around Baptiste’s waist and rests his head on Baptiste’s stomach. “You like nosy sharks, don’t you, ‘Tiste?”
Baptiste shakes his head, but damn it all, he can’t keep a smile off his face. “One of them,” He mutters, and going by the ensuing splashing sounds echoing within the natural cavern, Mauga heard it as well.
Insufferable is the word Olivia likes to use for other couples in and around the apartments, right alongside obnoxious and disgusting. Baptiste has never gone into detail about Mauga whenever Olivia inevitably asks where he ends up during the summer months, only that he’s a close friend, but somehow she always uses those same words whenever Mauga comes up.
Maybe this is why. …Not that it’ll get him to stop, of course.
“What's up with this?" Baptiste perks his head up as Mauga carefully grabs the wrist of his injured hand. The bandage has come loose, and thin red beads are flowing down his hand.
Baptiste nods towards the destroyed metal object. "Got curious about the, uh...new addition."
"Just figured somethin' shiny would brighten it up a bit." Mauga presses his thumb into the cut, and Baptiste grits his teeth against the pain. More blood wells up and over his hand, thinned by the seawater washing over it. "Don't worry so much, buddy!"
Baptiste sighs. "I wouldn't worry so much if you would stop going after boats and making yourself a target."
"Ah, it's no big deal. Had Mako and his little eel bud Jamie with me. They didn't even know we were there 'til they went under." Suppose that's better than Mauga causing shipwrecks by himself, but it's hard to resist the urge to argue anyway. It wouldn't have much effect. All he can do is try to keep the lost lives out of his mind.
Mauga swipes his thumb across the wound, smearing the thin liquid and sending more of it into the water below. He pulls Baptiste's hand close and presses his injured palm against his cold lips, tonguing the ragged cut until the stinging pain slowly ebbs away, leaving only a mildly unpleasant ache. The cut is still there, but it's stopped hurting, at least. Small mercies.
One of many wonders courtesy of Mauga's inexplicable existence. Though he usually uses it in...less innocent circumstances.
Baptiste slowly begins to card his uninjured hand through Mauga's thick black hair, and the water around them ripples as a low hum fills the empty air of the cave. The vibrations of his beautiful boyfriend's song thrum through his ribcage with a deep and even cadence. He's fallen asleep listening to it before, and if he hadn't been so excited to make this trip, he probably would be on the verge of a nap.
As it is, he's still very excited to see Mauga again. School and work keep him so busy during the rest of the year that this is the only real opportunity to come visit, and they always do their best to make the most of it.
"So how's it been down below?" Baptiste asks, leaning back against Mauga's arms.
The massive merman shrugs nonchalantly. "Y'know, the usual excitement." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "New whalefall came down pretty close to shore. Been pickin' through it, but the local school's trying to make some kinda claim."
Baptiste snorts. "I bet they're not having much luck."
Mauga chuckles. "Not at all. They try to come down on me, I come down harder."
"Get anything good from all that rotten meat?"
"Oh yeah, plenty. Here, lemme show you some of it." Mauga shifts to lay on his side and pulls a thick net from around his waist, laying it flat on the dry sand so that he can pick through the items lying within much easier. First, he grabs a sharpened triangular piece, roughly the size of an egg, and holds it up. "Been makin' some pretty good spear tips outta the fins. They're good for trading to the schools that come and go, but I don't use 'em much otherwise." He replaces the spear tip and then plucks a string of peculiarly shaped bones tied together with some seaweed. After a moment, Baptiste realizes that they're vertebrae cut in half. "Can tie this to a holdfast and hook plenty of bait onto it, pulls fish in like crazy."
"Chasing fish too boring for you now?"
"Chasin' fish got boring for me a long time ago. Wasn't even half this size when I found out I didn't get much out of a meal unless it fought back."
The idea of Mauga being any smaller than he is - ever - is strangely amusing. He has a presence and a personality that match his size perfectly, and the thought that he had to grow into it is incredibly funny.
Baptiste shifts, pushing himself further up towards the dry bank to peer at the collection more closely. Almost all of it is made of the same bleached white bone, shaved and broken and shaped into a multitude of shapes and sizes. The few items that aren't seem to be more metal scraps reminiscent of the broken anchor not but a few feet away.
He gently pushes a few of the bones aside and snags a shiny chrome strip that's been twisted into a spiral. Strange, given the practicality of his fish friend. "And this?"
Mauga waves his hand absently. "Ah, figured I should try to appeal to some of those lovesick school-fish, see if I can get somethin' big out of 'em."
Ah yes, because this isn't lovesick at all, Baptiste thinks fondly, gaze flicking to the many trinkets and baubles lining the pool. All of which - very coincidentally, mind you - connect back to something Baptiste has mentioned to Mauga at some point in the years they've been seeing each other. Sea glass that he commented on during one of their first meetings? Miraculously collected into a broken bottle sitting innocently at the edge of the water. A giant triton that he spotted while diving with Mauga? Its owner violently evicted and now resting among others of its kind.
There isn't much evidence of what merfolk do to appeal to others since they're still considered very unreal creatures by the majority of scientists. However, based on what Mauga's told him about those "lovesick school-fish", this carefully maintained cove specifically for the two of them to meet privately, far from any intruder, whether they be human or mer, is the merfolk equivalent of being down horrendously bad, as Hana would put it.
Speaking of-! "Merde, I nearly forgot!" Baptiste suddenly scrambles out of the water and runs to his backpack.
"Forgot that you were supposed to spend today with me?" Mauga pouts.
Baptiste chokes down a laugh, digging blindly through the contents of his bag for a moment before his fingers finally make contact with cold glass. "Come on, you would never let me forget that." He carefully pulls the tiny bottle out of the carefully packed bag, inspecting it one final time before he turns back, holding it out for Mauga to see. "I talked with a few friends and decided this was a pretty good gift. There's only so much I can talk about these sorts of things, so... Thought I'd just bring one to you."
What he holds is a miniature liquor bottle made of smooth, clear glass, found thanks to Olivia's extended online searching. The round bottom is lined with rich, dark, near-black soil, edged with a bright green fuzz. In the center of the bottle, a short stem is dug into the dirt, a trio of leaves leading up to a staggeringly bright scarlet rosebud.
"I know it's not much," Baptiste says uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck, "But I know you've said flowers sound interesting, so, you know. If you want one..."
Mauga takes the bottle, almost too quickly. "You know this'll get wrecked as soon as it goes anywhere, right, buddy? All the water that'll get in..." He trails off, staring intently at the little trinket in his hands with pupils blown wide.
"You don't have to worry about that. It's sealed, a few different ways, actually. ...I mean, if you don't want it-"
"No! No, I'm keepin' this." Mauga digs through his little net for a moment and procures a thin, twisted thread of seaweed, wrapping it carefully around the thin neck of the bottle and tying the rest into a wide loop. Rather than slipping it back into the bag, he ties the bottle onto a larger weave wrapping around his bicep, alongside giant teeth and sharpened bones.
Baptiste shouts as he's tugged to his knees, silenced quickly by Mauga's lips on his. He laughs into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Mauga's thick neck and reveling in the feeling.
"Now you're really stuck with me, 'Tiste," Mauga snarks when they part.
Baptiste shrugs, smiling wide. "I can think of worse parasites."