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The little cottage sat alone on the rocky cliff, far enough from the village that no one ever came to check on the quiet boy who lived there. Okkotsu Yuuta was seventeen, pale from too many cloudy days, and spoke so softly that people often forgot he was in the room. He liked it that way. The sea was loud enough for both of them.
That morning, the net came up heavier than usual. Yuuta thought it was a seal at first, then the net thrashed, and something pink and gold flashed beneath the waves. When he hauled it onto the boat, his breath stopped.
A merman. He caught a merman. A very beautiful one.
Not the scary kind from old stories, all teeth and storm. This one had warm brown-goldish eyes wide with fear, sunset-pink hair floating like seaweed around his shoulders, and a powerful tail the color of coral at sunrise. He was tangled tight, gills flaring, lips trembling.
"Please," the merman rasped in a voice like a tide over pebbles. "I won't hurt you. Just cut me loose."
Yuuta's fingers tightened on the knife. He should've done it. One snip and the beautiful creature would vanish with a flick of that shimmering tail, back to the deep where he belonged.
"I'm sorry," Yuuta whispered instead, and then rowed for home.
The boy half-carried, half-dragged the net up the cliff path. The merman—Yuuji, he learned, when the creature finally gave his name—was heavier than he looked, all muscle under those scales. Yuuji didn't fight, only watched Yuuta with huge, confused eyes, like a deer that doesn't yet understand the hunter.
Yuuta had an old iron bathtub in the back room, the one his late grandmother used for dyeing wool. He filled it with seawater carried bucket by bucket from the shore, arms shaking. When he lowered Yuuji in, the merman sighed in relief, tail curling, long hair spreading across the surface as if painting it pink.
"You'll be safe here," Yuuta said, kneeling beside the tub. "No storms. No sharks. No fishermen worse than me."
Yuuji's smile was small and kind, the kind that made Yuuta's chest hurt. "You're not bad. Just... lonely, maybe?"
Yuuta didn't answer. He locked the door that night anyway.
Days turned into weeks.
Yuuta learned Yuuji loved raw tuna and hated being cold. He learned the merman sang when he thought Yuuta was asleep. Soft, wordless songs that sounded like moonlight on water. He learned that if he brushed Yuuji's hair (and he did, every evening, fingers careful among the damp pink strands), Yuuji would lean into his touch and hum contentedly.
Yuuji asked to go home only once.
They were sitting on the bathroom floor, Yuuji's tail hanging over the tub edge so Yuuta could rub salve into a scale that had started to dull.
"The sea's getting colder. My pod will think I'm dead," the merman's voice was gentle. "If you open the door, I can be back before sunrise. I'll visit, I promise. Every full moon, I'll come sing for you."
Yuuta's hand stilled. Something black and heavy bloomed behind his ribs.
"No," he said quietly.
Yuuji blinked. "Yuuta—"
"You'll get caught again. Or eaten. Or you'll forget the way." Yuuta's fingers dug into the scales, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to feel them under his skin. "You're safe here, Yuuji. With me."
Yuuji's smile faltered. "But... I miss the current. I miss my family, Yuuta."
Yuuta stood up so fast the salve jar clattered. "I'm your family now."
The words hung in the damp air like a curse.
After that, Yuuji stopped asking.
Yuuta built a bigger tank in the living room, glass from the abandoned lighthouse, sealed with tar and prayers. He carried seawater every day until his shoulders bled salt. He boarded the windows so the sun wouldn't tempt Yuuji with glimpses of blue. He cooked fish and rice and fed Yuuji by hand, wiping soy sauce from the merman's lips with his thumb, lingering too long.
At night, he slept on the floor beside the tank, fingers through the breathing holes, listening to Yuuji's soft breathing.
Sometimes Yuuji cried. Quiet, almost silent, the way the sea cries when no one's watching. Yuuta pretended not to hear. He'd stroke that long pink hair.
"I love you. You're mine. The sea doesn't love you like I do, my love. The sea would let you die," he whispered twistedly.
One stormy month, the village held its lantern festival. Firelight flickered all along the cliffs. Yuuta stood at the window, arms around Yuuji's shoulders from behind, holding him half out of the water so he could see.
"Pretty, isn't it?" Yuuta murmured into his ear.
"Mm," Yuuji's voice was small. "It looks like jellyfish."
Yuuta's arms tightened. "You don't need jellyfish. You have me."
Yuuji turned his face into Yuuta's neck, hiding golden eyes now dulled to amber. "I know."
The lanterns floated out to sea, little stars returning home.
Yuuta locked the door again, pressed his lips to the top of Yuuji's damp head, and smiled against the saltwater smell of him.
"Forever," he whispered. "Forever."
Yuuji's tail curled around Yuuta's ankle—the only embrace he could give anymore—and stayed there, trembling, as the storm howled and the cottage creaked like a ship that would never sail again.
The sea could roar all it wanted.
Yuuji wasn't going anywhere.