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Nobody had ever told Yoo Joonghyuk that despite the stories that painted the idea of meeting a mer as the kind of sight that would immediately strike a vengeance inside the heart of any mortal for the brave sailors they had lost to sea, the truth was that they were painfully similar to humans.
They hadn’t warned of how easy they were to know, to love in real life, in those countless retellings of sea horrors. A cover of a monster only fooled the people who had been warned. Yoo Joonghyuk had been one of them. After all, who would expect an obvious demon out of a seemingly normal soul?
In fact, the first time that Joonghyuk had met Kim Dokja, he had believed the boy was the best swimmer he had ever met. A boy around his age, darting through the sea like he belonged in both worlds, and laughing as Joonghyuk twitches his fishing pole every few minutes.
He hadn’t realized anything truly different about the other. Not like the myths would depict, at least.
There was no hint of a cunning attack, no venom that spoke of a yearning to drag innocent sailors to a choking, merciless death. Just a cheeky glint in the boy’s eyes as he teased Yoo Joonghyuk about his apparently lacking fishing abilities.
In return, Joonghyuk had scoffed irritably and demanded for the other to show a better product if he was going to snark at him.
The challenge hadn’t concerned the boy in the sea, as he had ducked under the drifting current for a concerning amound of time before splashing back up to the shore with a large fish and a victorious smile.
The delighted taunting had only gotten worse.
“You should know that I’m a prince.” Yoo Joonghyuk warns, wringing the hem of his cape of seawater.
He taps his lip, floating backward and somehow drawing in a lazy circle despite Joonghyuk being unable to see any movement from his legs. He’s never seen anyone swim so fluently. “A prince that can’t even catch his own fish?”
The only thing that struck him as odd was the clear disrespect to a member of the royal family. Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t said anything strict about his manners. Nobody ever talked this truthfully to him when they only saw the future crown on his head.
“You should go,” Kim Dokja, who had given his name a few minutes earlier in trade of Joonghyuk’s own (which Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t needed to give for most of his life, considering every village in a good radius knew his name, face, and title) declared suddenly.
His gaze flickers up to the formation of heavy clouds beading the sky with white curves like seafoam. The look on his face is almost serene juxtaposed by the open, lively glee from earlier. “We’re on the verge of rain.”
“How do you know that?” Joonghyuk cranes his head up, inspecting the cheerful cast of clouds dancing above their heads.
Kim Dokja had given him a peculiar look in return, like he was giving a tease that Joonghyuk was too stupid to understand yet. “Can’t you smell it in the air? When the sky’s flying rivers are about to cry?”
What?
He supposes there’s always at least one crazy person in every kingdom. That is, until the rumble of thunder sounded from overhead.
Dokja had asked Joonghyuk to come visit again as the rain, just as prophetically warned before, had begun to trickle down.
(Yoo Joonghyuk had mentioned how peculiar it was for Dokja not to ask him to meet at his home instead. That he wasn’t trying to find refuge from the rain.
Kim Dokja had only given him a shrug that seemed to hold more than he was willing to say aloud and told him once again to leave.
He wanted to learn about those quiet mysteries tucked inside Kim Dokja’s head.)
Yoo Joonghyuk took him up on his request a week later, one of the only occurrences of bending to another’s will that the prince could remember.
The second time Joonghyuk had found himself acquainted with Dokja, he had wondered why he hadn’t attempted to leave the water at all during their time.
He teaches Joonghyuk how to better entice the assortment of sealife to his hook, snickering when Joonghyuk demanded to know how he had learned these tricks.
“It’s a birthright, Yoo Joonghyuk,” Dokja would reply slyly before diving underwater and appearing again just as Joonghyuk’s line caught.
It didn’t take much longer to understand his true nature.
“I’m the prince.” The water crashes against Joonghyuk’s boots, the cold seeping slowly through the soles the longer he stood in the shallow tide.
Kim Dokja drifts a little closer, settling into the sand as water flows just above his waist.
The mer had never made an attempt to mask his identity after the first meeting. The second encounter had been a mistake on Joonghyuk’s part.
Now, he could see clearly that the silvery-white glint lying just under the sea’s surface wasn’t simply the reflection of a shell like he had assumed once before.
“Congratulations?” Dokja tilts his head, rolling his eyes. “You seem to be fond of telling me that, or are you reminding yourself?”
“Kim Dokja, I have a responsibility to my people. Letting you live is treason to the sailors your kind have killed.”
“So I’m to pay for the sins of my species?” Dokja dips his head underwater, dissapearing for a moment before resurfacing closer to him. “Will you kill me, then?”
Joonghyuk looks away. No. He couldn’t bring himself to draw his blade from the hilt lying against his hip, not when staring down the painfully human-like defiance in the other’s eyes.
It would have been easier if you looked more like a monster.
He takes a step back. “The sin of your creation. All mer are considered evil.” Joonghyuk wishes he could have delivered the statement with more venom.
But Kim Dokja seemed far from the kind of mer the villages would whisper about to young children. He wasn’t the picture of the evil that fishermen kept in the back of their mind as a warning when they drifted out to sea.
“By what exactly? Your kind, who have poached our lands and filled our homes with disease?” Dokja’s voice dipped, an undertone far more tense than it had been in any of their debates.
“For every one of you killed, there’s probably a dozen of us that are poached for the sin of living,” Dokja adds scathingly. “So what makes you believe us to be the only villain in our history, then?”
Joonghyuk frowns. “Stories, passed down through generations, all recounting on the suffering you’ve brought.”
“Is that so? I can’t recount on bringing suffering myself, unfortunately,” Dokja sighs, toned down to a bristling annoyance. It’s more familiar, closer to the sharp sarcasm that he often shot at Joonghyuk.
“I don’t think I’ve been alive long enough to inconvenience generations of humans.”
He leans against the rocks that peeked just above the lapping water. “Why don’t you bring a couple of your stories down here tomorrow so I can see for myself?”
It should have felt wrong to suggest this, to prolong an acquaintance with an enemy of his kind.
I’m doing them all a favor, he tells himself. It’s only right. Every mer should know the sorrow they bring to us, so why shouldn’t I educate at least one?
He shares stories of brave fishermen the next day until the sun lays low in the horizon’s darkening belly, tales that had been written and told by their grieving families Each one that he recounted to the mer was a reminder of what the sea had taken from them.
And yet, even as he managed to catch sight of a pearly scaled tail, Yoo Joonghyuk kept meeting the boy in the afternoon as the waves filtered high enough to comfortably kiss the shore.
After a while, they had changed from the written warnings of the dreaded merpeople to fairytales and humorous scriptures that Joonghyuk reads to Yoo Mia when she lies restlessly in her crib.
Even though he had served his purpose in showing Kim Dokja the stories he had needed to, Joonghyuk still arrives with a new drama or fable in hand like he owed the mer more.
It was a merfolk curse, he supposed, placed cunningly in the unassuming twinkling chime of Kim Dokja’s laugh as he splashed Joonghyuk with reckless abandon.
“You’re quite fond of these,” Joonghyuk claps the book shut, watching as Dokja’s eyes watch the pages lie straight within the casing, as if he was still hungry for the words inside.
“I am,” Dokja agrees mildly, tearing his gaze away from the finished story to look up at Yoo Joonghyuk.
His tail splashes drops of water onto Joonghyuk’s bangs. The spray of seawater is subdued due to the book tucked in his satchel. Dokja seemed much more careful to drench Joonghyuk when he had a novel with him.
He wondered if he could weaponize this fact so he could come back home a little drier.
“Why? Don’t you have your own stories as well?” He could imagine the kinds of adventures and fables that the merpeople, with countless information to the mysteries of the sea depths, would keep.
Dokja flicks his tail once again, the thinner membrane of the ends catching the sunlight. It was strange to admire the sight, which had once served as a symbol of how forbidden their interactions were.
“It’s a little hard to write down stories when everything is wet all the time, Joonghyuk,” he deadpans.
Dokja wilts, rubbing his forearm and sinking until only his eyes remained above water.
“I‘ve managed to save a few pages from your world by trying to preserve them in a dry alcove. A little cave of secrets,” he shares casually. There’s a fondness so palpable that the words themselves sound precious, like that genuine care had bled through into his voice.
“It’s not always successful, but I can tell you every saved line of poetry I have from memory by now. Well, the ones that were still legible by the time I found them, you know.”
No wonder Kim Dokja traced the clearly printed words of a book like it was genuine gospel instead of simple stories. Joonghyuk wondered if he had ever seen a clean, fully comprehensible page of writing before this.
He has the urge to bring Dokja to a library and watch the absolute fascination light up his entire face before he started running off in every direction to pick up the countless novels on display.
Joonghyuk feels an odd satisfaction at the thought, especially when he mulls over the idea of the mer forgetting about the ocean in favor of their human stories, like he’s a step farther away from losing him.
It’s a consuming wish. He would have thrown a coin into the sea if he didn’t think that it would eat up his simple hopes with ridicule. Yoo Joonghyuk would have to grow up some day, as king of the sailors they lose to these waters.
“I’ll bring more next time, a few for you to keep by the rocks,” Joonghyuk decides suddenly. “Just— make sure they don’t get wet when the tide comes in.”
“And I’ll tell you of some of our tales in return,” Dokja adds, an utterly pleased warmth settled in his face that made something in Joonghyuk’s chest feel funny. “I mean, they’re a bit more difficult to recall since we don’t have a way to archive them as easily as you do, but I’m a rather good at remembering stories.”
“It’s a deal then,” Joonghyuk stands up, swiping the speckles of sand off of his garments with minimal flourish.
Dokja smiles back at him. “I suppose it is.”
He brought a bag, airtight with multiple pages of sonnets that Joonghyuk had copied the night prior. It’s only right to give him more to read, with his name proclaiming the title of reader, after all. It’s the first time that Joonghyuk wades into the water further than enough to make the hem of his pants soggy.
He could have easily died in Kim Dokja’s domain, dragged under with a merciless speed (though he was more concerned about the thought of the mer taking the pages and never returning). Instead, Dokja reaches out and takes the offering with eyes wide with wonder.
Their hands brush before Joonghyuk retreats back to hand and he’s caught by how utterly normal the contact felt, how it didn’t feel wrong.
If he were any other person, Kim Dokja would have likely been killed for daring to remain so close to human territory, his scales stained with blood and his eyes rendered lifeless in a brutal death that would have been praised by the people on land.
If Kim Dokja had been any other mer, Yoo Joonghyuk would have likely been buried a thousand feet under the water with his corpse left to drift, his people left to wonder what had become of their crown prince. Just another causalty of the hungry tide and the creatures awaiting in its darkness.
But they weren’t, and the water doesn’t feel as much of an enemy anymore. At least, not when Kim Dokja was there with him.
He’s comfortable enough to march into the sea and dunk Dokja’s head underwater to stop his endless prattling for once.
The image of Kim Dokja, uncharacteristically bewildered and sputtering with shock, with hair flat against his face and dripping like a wet cat, is filed into his memory.
For once, a human leaves the ocean’s grasp with the last laugh.
Yoo Joonghyuk watches Dokja glide effortlessly in the water, tugged back and forth by the waves rushing away, then back into the sea. “Could you ever… leave the sea?”
It hits him, not for the first time throughout the months that he’s come down to the beach, how seperate Kim Dokja seems from his world, his reality.
It doesn’t feel right that these features drove such a wicked division between them when Joonghyuk swears that their souls may be entwined.
It’s easier to see Dokja when he’s perched on the rocks instead. Joonghyuk realizes he may be one of very few that could witness a mer’s features and survive. Facing the front, from the waist and up, he looks like any other boy his age.
When a little closer, there was something a bit more ethereal, perhaps, with the way his eyes seemed too dark to be considered human and his skin was smooth like sea glass, porcelain and beautiful, but very close to a normal boy regardless.
But when he turned, it became clear from the ridges that curved out from his spine, forming a fin that dipped into a long tail. When he laughed, the sound clear and catching in the air like wind chimes, Joonghyuk could see the sharp cuts of his teeth.
His scales shine like moonlight, especially in the afternoon’s fading light. As the two of them had grown older, Joonghyuk noticed the flecks that reminded him of stars emerge across Dokja’s skin, prevalent against his cheek and imbedded underneath his eyes like teardrops of white.
A mourner’s color, Joonghyuk’s mind hisses, while a more hesitant part of himself whispers of priceless pearl beads instead.
How fitting, as Dokja seemed to become more precious to him as time went by.
Even with more obvious reminders of Dokja’s species emerging across his upper half, Joonghyuk had almost forgotten what it feels like to hate, so overwhelmed with thought of Kim Dokja that the underlying apprehension towards mers was buried as a second thought.
He finds that it’s easier to accept that Kim Dokja wasn’t human, and never had been. The person Joonghyuk had grown to know, visit, and learn from, had always been mer.
There was no exception that excluded him from his species, but Yoo Joonghyuk learns to see him as a person before anything so prejudiced like before.
Was it really that important when those silvery scales and fins belonged to Dokja first and foremost?
Dokja pauses, fingers spread across a page with the upmost focus. He doesn’t look up when offering an answer, “Not without a cost.”
“Cost?” He repeats.
“Some mer have their ways, but everything has a price, you know?” Dokja slides a the weathered bookwark between the pages. “Mer with a higher level of magic usually make deals for this kind of stuff. It’s rare, because very few mer would be stupid enough to make those kinds of trades, but it has to be done for things like that.”
Dokja’s expression turns a little thoughtful. “I mean, if I attempted now without any bought blessings made, I’d probably make it an hour.”
Joonghyuk’s heart skips a beat at how offhandedly he speaks of death.
“…I see.”
“The voice is the most comon trade for mer, especially sirens. After all, what use is a mer without their voice?” Dokja continues light-heartedly, his words as smooth as spun silk. The kind of sound that would lead humans to their demise without a second thought.
“Would you make that kind of trade?” Joonghyuk mutters.
“Of course not, I’ve got too much to say!” He exclaims with a small laugh. “You’d miss my voice anyways.”
Well then, Yoo Joonghyuk would just have to hope that these kinds of days would last forever.
“I wouldn’t miss your dim-witted taunts,” he intones drily, crossing his arms.
“That’s still not a no,” Dokja counters, clapping his hands together delightedly and falling backward into the waves with a splash.
The last time Joonghyuk heard Kim Dokja’s voice was before his coronation.
Somehow, he knew that something was about to change.
“I suppose you know that it’s time, for the both of us.” Kim Dokja flashes him an unlucky smile.
Joonghyuk pales. “I could make time, even with a crown. This doesn’t have to end.”
It feels hopeless to even mention the finality in the air, like he was dragging on the inevitable and making it infinitely harder for himself with selfish questions.
And yet, Joonghyuk can’t help but ask, “If I continue to meet here by the water, will I ever see you again?”
Kim Dokja’s tail flicks speckles of sea water onto his cape. “I’ll make sure of it, if you’re willing to wait, your highness.”
“I— may be able to find a… solution. This will only work if you’re still willing to see me again, though.”Something like panic flurries hot and quick up his spine when he realizes that there’s someting close to defeat curled in the decline of Dokja’s shoulders.
Like he thought Yoo Joonghyuk would lose before the time even started.
“Then I’ll stay here until the seas run dry,” Joonghyuk says fiercely, fingers digging into fists in the sand.
Just try to come back, Kim Dokja, and I’ll prove it myself.
“Even with your kingdom?” Kim Dokja looks away with a scoff. His glare has an underlying reflection of the desperation that Joonghyuk feels himself.
He stands. “What good is a kingdom when you might be my world? I can forfeit a couple hours of my day for a promise.”
“We— I have reason to doubt that you won’t grow bored of waiting but… we can try.”
He pauses as if ashamed. “But… please don’t leave any books by the shore anymore. I’m afraid that they’ll get ruined.”
Yoo Joonghyuk gives a final nod. Dokja smiles at him one last time like he was bidding farewell to a ghost and slides a single glassy scale in into Joonghyuk’s palm.
“Please don’t forget me and if you do, make it fast.” There’s a bitter taste to his request.
There’s something in the way Dokja leaves that makes Joonghyuk understand that this was probably the last time he’d ever catch sight of that pearly tail again.
He knows that these fleeting moments throughout the years had truly, finally come to an end. The hesitant way Dokja had offered a chance to see him again very well could have been a lie to placate Joonghyuk.
But still, despite the responsibilities of the crown that pile heavily upon his shoulders, Yoo Joonghyuk continues to visit at that very spot religiously because of that simple promise.
Mer were liars, often willing sailors to their deaths with eloquent silver tongues, yet Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t help but hope.
What else was there to do?
I think you’ve caught me just like one of those unlucky sailors, Kim Dokja.
Joonghyuk’s boots are soiled just like they had become from their earliest meetings. The only change is the silence that rings out like the ocean’s curse and the stiff golden crown that wraps its way around his head.
My heart’s already been dragged to the bottom of the sea.
Weeks roll by like the unforgiving tide, unrelenting. Time doesn’t bat an eye to Joonghyuk’s heartbreak.
“I miss you,” he whispers to the sea each evening until the words seem to blend together.
It’s harder to manage. Lee Jihye asks where he goes so often. Lee Hyunsung tries to accompany him as he winds down the path towards the beach. He refuses to speak of it or allow company. Lee Seolwha had noticed that he was trekking in wet boot prints when he comes back late in the evening.
Jung Heewon, having caught onto his escapades and likely the reason for them years before, only gives him a pitying look as she allows him to pass.
It takes weeks until he finds someone by the shore, cross-legged, barefoot, and quiet in the sand. Joonghyuk could sense something otherworldly about the man despite how he appeared like any other mortal.
It was so familiar as well, in a way he hadn’t dared to assume for quite some time.
Joonghyuk’s eyes widen like twin moons and he lurches uncharacteristically to his feet with a fumble. His left foot gets caught in the sand he swears with a stumble, hastily forgoing the boot lodged in the sand, never faltering in his stride.
Joonghyuk’s arms, the very same arms that carried the grace of a thousand swordsmen and the responsibility of a ruler, windmilled about to wrap around the man as he collided with Kim Dokja in a frenzy to balance himself.
He doesn’t think that he’d ever let go.
You did it, you really did it. Joonghyuk feels lightheaded, thoughts rushing like an incessant river. I’m sorry, but I’m so happy that this is what you chose.
When he turns his head to meet Joonghyuk’s speechless face, mouth curling into a silent smile as an apology for taking so long, Yoo Joonghyuk knows he doesn’t need to hear his voice to know who it was.
Kim Dokja’s eyes were still the same.