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Seonghwa weaves through the lotus stems stretching towards the surface, reaching for the sunlight.

The gentle movements of his tail help him navigate the space, even where the lotus leaves gather close together and block the light; his eyes adjust to the darker areas, twisting through the water as he catches sight of a small school of fish in the distance.

They notice him too and the chase begins.

Seonghwa flaps his tail harder, a few good beats before he’s crashing into the school. The chase is over before it even really began, and the rest of the small fish swim away in a hurry while Seonghwa simply treads the water, happy with the fish caught in his hand, struggling between webbed fingers. He lifts it to his mouth, sharp teeth ripping through the fragile scales as he savours his meal. His tail sways in the water, slowly bringing him closer to the surface, and Seonghwa lets himself float there while he eats.

The sun feels warm on his skin, scorching in comparison to the temperature of the water, but he soaks it in for a moment nonetheless. The lotus leaves float around him, his faithful companions; it’s too early for the flowers to bloom just yet, but soon enough the buds will reach the surface too, pink petals unfurling on the water. His tail will blend in easier amongst them then but for now it stands out clearly, soft coral scales catching and glimmering in the sunlight.

Ear fins twitching, Seonghwa hears a clattering noise in the distance. He twists in the water, diving under for a moment, swallowing the rest of his meal, before he peeks out over the surface once more. Eyes blinking the water away, he tries to focus on where the sound came from and sees movement in the distance. He decides to investigate further, so he dives again and swims in that direction.

When Seonghwa surfaces a bit further away, still keeping his distance, he realises the noise was made by a human.

He doesn’t see many humans out here.

The lotus lake is vast, but the only humans that seem to come here are the ones who harvest the fully bloomed lotus flowers. The older women who do it always greet him warmly, bowing their heads, and Seonghwa tries to welcome them to the lake with equal respect, swimming around the boats and watching on with intrigue as they cut through the flower stems and gently lift them into their boat. He’s learned quickly that it unnerves humans when he replicates their smiles—sharp fangs on display—so instead he tends to give them small smiles and slow blinks that show he’s not a threat. He often just spends time in their company, listening to them talk, mouthing along to the words and trying to make sense of the sounds.

He’s picked up a good amount of the words over the years.

This human, seemingly, isn’t here to harvest flowers. It’s too early for that, anyway.

The clattering Seonghwa heard before was the man setting up a little chair and a fishing rod. He’s clumsy as he tries to thread the line through the reel, starting over a few times, murmuring and scowling to himself each time he does it wrong. Seonghwa watches on, unnoticed.

The man seems relatively young. He’s wearing a pair of shorts and a black sleeveless shirt, but what really intrigues Seonghwa is his hair. The colours are split down the middle, black on one side and white on the other, long enough at the front that some of the strands occasionally fall into his eyes. A multitude of jewellery in his ears glint in the sunlight, drawing attention, more enticing than the bait he’s putting on the end of his line. He grimaces as he touches the worms, and that alongside his general clumsiness tells Seonghwa that this isn’t a seasoned fisherman.

There aren’t many fisherman that come to the lake. The fish here have plentiful food, what with the lotus seeds scattered in the loamy soil, and the ones that are drawn to the bait are usually snatched by other opportunistic hunters: other merfolk. Seonghwa is the biggest in the lake, with the others being smaller species, wary and apprehensive of others, especially a mer of Seonghwa’s size. Still, this man, with his lack of experience, doesn’t seem to be aware of all of this.

The young man sets the fishing rod down, balanced strategically, then sits back in his chair. He reaches for something from his bag, and pulls out a black contraption that he then puts on over his head, covering his ears. He goes on his phone—that’s what Seonghwa learned is what the little rectangular device is—and shortly after, starts nodding his head rhythmically. The man sits back in his seat then, shoulders slouching, and looks around the lake. He looks relaxed all of a sudden, lips pressed into a natural pout, fingers tapping gently against his chair’s arm rests.

As his eyes roam the surface of the water, they seem to stop where Seonghwa is.

Quickly, Seonghwa dives under again, out of sight.

He shouldn’t be so quick to trust a human.

Seonghwa is treading water, sunning himself, when he hears the clattering again.

It seems the young fisherman is back.

This time, Seonghwa watches him for a longer time, hidden in the reeds.

He puts the device over his ears and begins nodding along to an unheard rhythm, then sits back and waits for the fish to bite. He crosses one leg over the other, leans further into his little chair and his eyes flutter shut. It’s relaxing sitting by the lake, Seonghwa knows that. The sound of the water sloshing is soothing, pleasing to the ear; the flowers that have bloomed around the edges of the water bring a sweet scent with them, and the trees rustle in the wind, creating a tranquil atmosphere that Seonghwa loves so much. It becomes even better once the lotus flowers bloom, painting the lake pink.

Seonghwa dives back under and moves closer. He can see some fish heading for the bait at the end of the fishing rod and can’t help the instinct that kicks in.

The fish lunges forward, mouth wrapping around the bait, tugging the reel. Seonghwa lunges right after it, one hand wrapping around the fish and the other catching the reel; he only has a few seconds, and webbed fingers work quickly to dislodge the hook. He manages just in time, right before the line is reeled in, quick and erratic.

Seonghwa swims deeper, pleased with himself, a snack in hand with zero effort on his part.

He twists in the water, chirping quietly with happiness, and understands immediately why more of the merfolk in the lake used to do the same to fishermen that came before. Seonghwa surfaces—just enough for golden eyes to peek above the water—and watches as the young fisherman reels his line in, confusion clear on his face when he realises there’s no fish on the other end. He grimaces as he puts more bait on, then casts the rod back into the water.

Seonghwa smiles and dives back under, moving closer. He’s going to stick close to the fishing line from now on.

Somewhere around the fourth time the fisherman visits, Seonghwa sees a semblance of frustration beginning to seep into his actions.

He tries to sit back and relax, waiting for the fish to bite, but the moment there’s a pull on the line and he reels it in, it seems like he already knows there will be nothing on the other end. Seonghwa can’t help but laugh to himself, finding the ordeal funny, but what’s even more satisfying are the easy meals he continues getting.

There is a part of Seonghwa, however, that feels guilty.

There are plenty of fish in the lake, and it’s not like catching them requires a lot of work.

So on the man’s fifth visit, once he’s set up, the device over his ears and his eyes fluttering closed under the heat of the sun, Seonghwa swims closer. He hesitates for a long moment, holding the fish he caught earlier in his hands, nervously swimming circles under the fishing platform, keeping the beating of his tail to a minimum to not disturb the water.

Seonghwa keeps telling himself it’s the right thing to do, so the guilt doesn’t keep plaguing him.

Finally, he surfaces—just for a few short seconds—for just long enough to leave the fish he caught on the edge of the fishing platform. Seonghwa then dives back under and waits until he’s back in the reeds to surface and look at what happens.

The young man opens his eyes, glances at the fish, glances away, then looks at the fish again, eyes wide. He stands quickly, looking around, before he moves towards the fish, observing it closely. He grabs it hesitantly, turning it over in his hands as he inspects it, then—with a suspicious look still in his eyes—puts it in the bucket he brought with him.

He keeps glancing back at the fish, then the lake, as if he’s expecting an answer.

Then, finally, a smile begins to stretch on his lips.

It’s a very pretty smile: wide, unrestrained, as if he doesn’t think anyone can see him. It grows bigger and bigger, until he’s grinning, and the brightness of his smile rivals the sun shining high in the sky. It makes Seonghwa feels warm, feeling like a swarm of butterflies somehow wound up in his stomach.

Seonghwa doesn’t pay the feeling too much attention, dismissing it as a bad fish he had earlier, but even as he swims away he tells himself that he’ll keep an eye out for the young fisherman.

The next time, even though he’s stopped stealing fish from the young fisherman, Seonghwa leaves another fish for him.

He waits until the man is relaxed in his chair, head bobbing to the unheard rhythm. As he lays the fish down on the little platform, Seonghwa watches the man peek one eye open.

Eyes wide, Seonghwa quickly dives back underwater, flustered.

“Hey, wait!”

His voice is distorted by the water, and Seonghwa doesn’t heed the call. He swims deeper and further away, until he can hide in some reeds, and then surfaces ever so slightly, allowing himself a clear view of the man. He’s stood up from his chair, looking around the lake, his eyes scanning the surface of the water, searching.

The man cups his hands around his mouth and yells, ensuring Seonghwa can hear him. “I wanted to say thank you!”

Thank you? Seonghwa doesn't understand why the man would be thanking him. All he’s done so far is steal the fish that are attracted by the bait on his fishing line; that’s not something worthy of a thanks as far as he is concerned.

He can’t help observing the man for a bit longer though. He’s wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt today, and there is a patch of black writing on his arm, as well as the same stain on the back of his leg, around his ankle. Even though Seonghwa keeps his distance, it looks like the man is aware of there being eyes on him. He keeps looking around, less likely to lean back and close his eyes, his gaze instead scanning the horizon.

And then… He talks.

“I haven’t met any merfolk before,” he says. It’s loud enough that Seonghwa can just about hear it. Out here, the sound simply travels over the water, finned ears twitching to better pick up on the smallest vibrations across the surface. There’s nobody else around, so it’s either that the young man is talking to himself—which is unlikely, given he’s talking about merfolk—or he’s speaking loud enough and hoping that Seonghwa is listening.

Luckily for him, he is.

“I’m from a big city,” the young man continues. “All tall buildings—skyscrapers—and everyone rushing around. It’s all grey and concrete and solid. There are no merfolk in places like that.”

Seonghwa tilts his head, trying to listen in closer. A big city… He wonders what that might even look like. How could everything be grey? There are certainly times in the year where the colours around the lake become more muted; when the trees lose their leaves and turn into brown husks of what they used to be, but beneath the water, the plants never stop growing. Beneath the surface, there is always colour, in one way or another. Seonghwa can’t imagine looking at something so dreary, so monotone, every single day.

This must be so different.

“I come here for a bit of peace away from the city,” the young man continues. “You don’t have to keep bringing me fish, you know?” He laughs, the sound bright and cheerful, a sound that makes Seonghwa almost respond with a delighted trill of his own. “I know I’m not very good at this whole thing, but you don’t have to go through the effort.”

He puts the things over his ears again after that, though seemingly only covers one ear. He doesn’t lean back and close his eyes either, as if hoping that he might catch a glimpse of Seonghwa.

When Seonghwa is about to retreat for the day, stomach growling for a snack—when the young man hadn’t said anything for a long time—he hears a few more words, quieter than before.

“Do you have a name?” the man asks, almost like an afterthought.

Names are a concept that humans are obsessed with. He knows because the old women that collect lotus flowers asked him the same question. All humans have one—all super long and complicated, sounds that Seonghwa’s tongue can barely get around—but that’s not the same for merfolk. They’re usually called by the place they were born, or a defining feature of theirs, something memorable and simple.

Seonghwa had tried to explain the concept to the women, once. He was born on a clear night, where the moon hung high in the sky. The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes was the stars that littered the sky; the stars that reflected in the surface of the lake like little pockets of silver, like starlight that Seonghwa could grasp in his hands, press to his chest and become one with. “Ah,” one of the women had said, a small, gentle smile stretching on her lips. She had grabbed a pen and paper from her satchel and showed him the word she wrote down. “Seonghwa,” she said, and he had tilted his head and trilled happily, the word sounding warm and familiar. “That’s your name. It means ‘to become a star’.”

He wonders what the young man’s name is, and whether he’ll ever get a chance to ask him.

The next time the young man visits, he doesn’t put on the device over his ears. He sets up with his fishing rod and chair, folds one leg over the other and just waits, glancing around the lake as he does. Seonghwa quickly notices that the man can’t sit still; he’s always either tapping his foot or drumming his fingers along his thigh, some part of him moving.

The situation, however, makes it really difficult for Seonghwa to give him the fish. So Seonghwa hangs back and waits—waiting for a moment where he might be able to leave the fish behind without being spotted. He still feels guilty for stealing more than a few fish from the fishing rod right at the beginning.

The young man doesn’t sit still for long.

At some point, he gets up from his chair and moves closer to the end of the little platform, hand dipping into the water. He chuckles lightly when he realises that the water is perhaps colder than he expected it to be. He reaches out and takes hold of one of the lotus flowers floating on the surface nearby, but the petals probably haven’t opened fully just yet. They’re just on the verge of blooming this time of year, still slightly too early, but he picks the flower nonetheless, struggling to do so without anything to cut the stem and once he’s holding it, he brings it up to his nose. He inhales deep then, a smile stretching on his lips, eyes momentarily closing.

It’s such a tranquil sight that Seonghwa can’t help but trust his judgment in the moment.

He swims closer, keeping the movements of his tail to a minimum. He puts the small fish he caught for the young man in his mouth, keeping his hands free—in case he needs to make a quick escape—and then nears the fishing platform once more. It seems the man notices the movements because he pauses, eyes following the slight shift in the water, the flower still held between his fingers.

Seonghwa surfaces slowly, giving the man a long moment to become aware of his presence—to take in the sight and decide what he wants to do. He grasps the edge of the platform, head and shoulders emerging from the water. His long, blond hair is wet, sticking to his face, but he doesn’t want to brush the strands away from his eyes right now, not when he’s so focused on the human.

The young fisherman turns to look at him slowly, eyes widening. He looks surprised to see Seonghwa show himself so clearly, frozen in place, unsure of how to proceed. There’s a certain glimmer in his eyes that Seonghwa finds addicting—the eyes that look at him mesmerised, like he’s something fantastical and wonderful, something miraculous to see—but seeing as the human isn’t making a move first, Seonghwa decides to.

He opens his mouth and drops the fish to the ground.

It makes a slick, wet sound as it hits the surface, and then Seonghwa is clueless as to what to do next.

He’s left his gift—his reparation—so he should leave.

He turns, about to do just that, when the young man moves forward slightly. It’s a sharp movement, one that makes Seonghwa flinch and almost swim away, but it’s paired with a hurried “wait!”.

The young man glances down at the fish, then up at Seonghwa. Seonghwa can see the way his eyes trail over his finned ears, down the blush pink scales scattered down his neck and chest, before they settle on his long pectoral fins. They’re the same colour as the scales littering Seonghwa’s upper body: coral pink blending with soft oranges, darker at the edges like the petals of a lotus flower. Seonghwa’s golden eyes follow the movement of Hongjoong’s hand, until he finally touches the fish that Seonghwa dropped and glances up at him again.

He gives him a small smile, and Seonghwa doesn’t understand the fluttering he feels in his stomach.

He should leave.

“Thank you,” the human says, his voice quiet and gentle. “I’m Hongjoong,” he says, which Seonghwa takes to be his name. “Do you have a name?”

His lips already form to answer, but then Seonghwa presses them together and doesn’t say anything. He looks up at Hongjoong, conflicted, unsure whether to trust the human with any more—this was already perhaps enough contact.

“I don’t have anything for you,” Hongjoong says almost immediately after, face falling as he glances down at the fish. He then looks at the lotus flower he’s holding in his other hand. He looks at it for a short moment before his gaze sweeps the lake, likely looking at all the other flowers beginning to bloom. “Here,” Hongjoong says, and holds the flower out for Seonghwa. “It’ll match your fins.”

Seonghwa doesn’t need a flower from the human, he really doesn’t. He glances down at the flower, almost bored—more than familiar with what the flowers look like in the lake he lives in—but when he finally takes in the flower, his eyes widen.

The flower, it’s—

Seonghwa was wrong.

It’s fully bloomed.

It’s perhaps the first lotus to bloom this year.

And Hongjoong has given it to him.

Seonghwa blinks up at Hongjoong, then down at the flower, then up at Hongjoong again. A small chirp leaves his mouth, one that makes Hongjoong chuckle, taking his silence as disbelief. “Take it,” Hongjoong encourages. “My present to you.” The smile on his face just grows and he waits patiently with the flower in his outstretched hand.

Seonghwa reaches out, webbed fingers gently taking the flower from the human.

Hongjoong has given him the first fully blossomed lotus of the season.

His tail flaps gently in the water, keeping him balanced as Seonghwa uses his other hand to also cradle the flower. He presses it to his chest, then lifts it to his face to smell the fresh, sweet scent. He can’t help the smile that splits his lips, and if Hongjoong is surprised by his slightly sharpened canines then he doesn’t let it show. Instead, Hongjoong grins in response, bright like the very sun in the sky and Seonghwa feels shy all of a sudden.

He throws himself back into the water, diving under, ignoring Hongjoong calling out for him.

Seonghwa twirls through the water, spinning slowly as he presses the flower closer to his chest: a cherished item.

Hongjoong, the human with the bright smile and oddly coloured hair, the human who was simply awful at fishing, gave him a gift.

A courting gift.

The next time that Hongjoong visits, Seonghwa makes a promise to himself to try and engage more.

Hongjoong gave him a courting gift, after all. He needs to learn more about the human, and vice versa.

Today, Hongjoong is wearing a pair of brown shorts and a black shirt that exposes the black writing on his arm. He’s also wearing a hat, but as soon as he’s set up in his chair, he takes it off and shakes his hair out, running his fingers through the strands.

Seonghwa swims up then, with another fish as a gift.

“Oh, hey!” Hongjoong says the moment he sees him, his tone cheerful. He glances down at the fish Seonghwa had dropped on the platform. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to—”

“Seonghwa,” he introduces himself, cutting Hongjoong off. His voice sounds scratchy, not used to his vocal chords being used above the water like this, and in the time that it takes Hongjoong to become shocked at Seonghwa saying something to him, he manages to clear his throat and try again. “I’m Seonghwa,” he says, slightly smoother, followed by a small smile.

“Wow,” Hongjoong murmurs. He gets off his chair and comes closer, sitting on the stone and pulling his feet to his chest, getting as close to Seonghwa as he can while the mer wades by the platform. “That’s a beautiful name,” he says, and Seonghwa feels his ears flick slightly, his neck and cheeks suddenly feeling warm. “I didn’t know whether you could talk,” Hongjoong admits, almost shyly, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

“I learned,” Seonghwa admits. He might tell Hongjoong about the women who come to collect lotus flowers another time, but for now, he wants to keep it simple. Hongjoong might have given him the lotus, but they still don’t know each other—don’t know anything about each other’s lifestyle.

“Well, thank you for the fish, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, and Seonghwa can’t help the small chirp that leaves him when his name falls from Hongjoong’s lips. He likes the way it sounds, the way the human’s lips shape around it, especially in Hongjoong’s soothing voice. “But you really don’t need to keep bringing me fish,” Hongjoong continues, “I can catch them myself, you know.”

You’re awful at catching fish, Seonghwa wants to say. What he decides on, however, is much more diplomatic. “I… I stole a few fish from you,” he admits quietly, “in the beginning,” he adds, then glances away, feeling his face burn. Maybe he’s been out of the water and under the unforgiving warmth of the sun for too long.

“I knew it!”

Seonghwa flinches at the sudden outburst, but Hongjoong looks nothing if not overjoyed.

“I knew I wasn’t imagining it!” He laughs, throwing his head back as he does, and the sound is infectious, because before Seonghwa knows it, there’s laughter bubbling in his own chest. He covers his face with his hand, trying to mask it, but as soon as Hongjoong hears the laugh, he straightens up and looks at him, his dark eyes filled with amazement.

He glances down the length of Seonghwa’s body again, seemingly trying to be discrete, but the awe that he sees on the human’s face is a clear enough give away. Hongjoong’s eyes linger on Seonghwa’s long, vibrant pectoral fins, the ends floating in the water. He can’t help the sudden need to preen under the human’s gaze, however, not when he can already see the astonishment there already. So Seonghwa leans his hands on the platform and lifts his tail slightly higher, so the end breaches the surface of the water; this is exactly what he would do for a potential mate too, displaying all his fins and tail, proudly showing off the colouring and how well maintained all the scales are.

“Well,” Hongjoong says finally. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty. I forgive you.”

Pretty.

Seonghwa trills with happiness at the compliment, and it makes Hongjoong smile once more.

“You like compliments?” he murmurs, more to himself than Seonghwa. Finally, he nods, once: resolute. “Good,” he says. “Then I’ll give you loads of compliments from now on.”

The next time Hongjoong comes, Seonghwa stays for longer.

He rests his arms against the platform, places his chin on them and watches the human.

“You talked about a big city,” Seonghwa says, recalling Hongjoong’s words in one of their first meetings. “What is that?”

Hongjoong—halfway through playing with the device in his fingers—glances up and nods. “It’s a couple hours drive from here,” he explains. “Oh wait,” he then adds, scowling, “like, in a car. We get into these vehicles and they take us around places quicker? But there are a lot of people who—”

“I know what a car is,” Seonghwa says with a short laugh. He’d seen a few driving past on the other side of the lake.

“Oh,” Hongjoong murmurs. There’s a hint of pink high on his cheeks, and Seonghwa wonders whether that’s from the sun. “Well, cities are just full of buildings. They’re huge. They’re—Wait—” Hongjoong fumbles for something in his pocket, and then gets off his chair, so he can scoot closer to Seonghwa. His hand retreats with a phone—Seonghwa learned what that was from the old women, though their phones looked a lot worse for wear than Hongjoong’s—and he immediately starts scrolling through things on the screen, fingers tapping, then turns it around to show Seonghwa. “Like this,” he says, showing him a series of pictures.

Seonghwa leans closer to look at the pictures. He really wasn’t kidding. The buildings look huge, climbing so high towards the skies they even block out the sun.

“And people live and work in these buildings, so there are loads of them,” Hongjoong continues explaining. “But it means that it gets really busy, and really loud, and the air is…” he trails off, thinking of the right word. “Just, dirty, I guess.”

“The air is dirty?” Seonghwa echoes.

Hongjoong nods. “So it’s nice to come here and smell the fresh air, and now that the lotus flowers have bloomed they smell so sweet.” Hongjoong puts his phone back in his pocket and glances out at the lake once more. “But to be honest, I mostly started coming here to get away from work, I suppose.”

“Work?” Seonghwa echoes.

“It pays money, and money pays—” he trails off when Seonghwa’s shoulders slouch and he tilts his head slightly, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Okay, so you know what money is,” Hongjoong says with a laugh. The women who’d come to collect lotus flowers talked about why they harvested them and how they’d be used and which ones would get them most money. “Well, I produce music, for work, and I sometimes maybe get too wrapped up in what I’m doing.” Hongjoong sighs. “My friends keep telling me I need to take more breaks.”

Seonghwa hums. “Produce music?” he repeats, the words foreign on his tongue.

Hongjoong nods. “Yeah, let me show you,” he says, then grabs the little device he puts over his ears sometimes. He touches a couple buttons on it, then grabs his phone again. “These are headphones,” he explains, when Seonghwa looks at the device suspiciously. “You can listen to music through them.” He motions for Seonghwa to lean forward, and though it takes him a moment—suspiciously scanning the device and everything around them—he finally leans forward. Hongjoong settles the headphones on his head, cursing under his breath when he realises it’s a tight fit around Seonghwa’s finned ears, then laughs to himself as he finally manages to settle them in place. “I made this song,” Hongjoong explains, his voice muffled through the headphones covering Seonghwa’s ears.

Seonghwa is about to ask what he means, but then sound starts coming from the headphones. It makes him flinch at first, sudden and loud, but when Hongjoong nods at him encouragingly, Seonghwa realises that’s what should be happening. He listens to the sound coming from them, thinking about what Hongjoong said. Seonghwa has heard music before: the women would hum and sing, some of the cars going past would be playing it loud, and even some other merfolk communicate through songs that mean different things. But nothing quite like this.

He closes his eyes and lets himself feel the beat of the music, the way it sends shivers down his spine as the sound grows and crescendos, then pauses dramatically and continues, slightly higher. It’s a catchy tune too, one that Seonghwa could probably memorise and hum to himself. Hongjoong nods his head along to the music even though he probably can’t hear it very well, but Seonghwa now understands the beat that Hongjoong would always move along to when he sat back in his chair.

The music finishes, and Seonghwa opens his eyes just as Hongjoong reaches forward to take the headphones off. He does so carefully, murmuring a quick “sorry” when his fingers brush against Seonghwa’s sensitive ears.

“It’s nice,” Seonghwa says immediately. “You made it?”

Hongjoong nods. “Yeah, I make a lot of songs,” he explains.

“Does it—” Seonghwa pauses, thinking of his words, “take a long time?”

Hongjoong shrugs. “Sometimes,” he admits. “I like to make sure it’s perfect so—” he cuts off and laughs, “so I guess I spend a lot of time in the studio.”

“You only come here once in a while,” Seonghwa points out.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong agrees. “It’s because I’m usually at work,” he adds with a laugh. It doesn’t sound like his laugh is real though, it doesn’t sound as bright and happy as Hongjoong’s laughter usually does.

“But, that’s not good?” Seonghwa mutters. “Your friends…”

“Yeah, my friends are right,” Hongjoong says with a sigh. “How about this?” Hongjoong says, then moves a bit closer to the edge of the platform. Seonghwa moves back slightly, waiting until Hongjoong settles at the edge and stretches his legs, dipping them in the water. He yelps quietly when his feet are submerged, trying to hide a shiver that travels up his spine, and Seonghwa finds himself laughing. “How about I come and see you more often?” Hongjoong suggests.

Seonghwa trills happily, unable to stop himself from pushing away from the platform and excitedly swimming a circle in the water. He can hear Hongjoong laugh as he does, and when he surfaces again, Hongjoong is smiling so wide that the corners of his eyes are crinkled.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” he murmurs fondly.

Hongjoong keeps his promise. He visits more often.

Sometimes, he can’t stay as long as other times, but he spends time with Seonghwa nonetheless.

Seonghwa asks him a lot about his lifestyle, and how he spends his days; Hongjoong shows him a lot of pictures on his phone and explains what different things are, weird and wonderful things that Seonghwa has never heard about.

In turn, Hongjoong asks Seonghwa about his life. Seonghwa tells him about how he learned to speak like the humans do over the years, though he doesn’t quite know all the words yet. He talks about living in the lake, and how it changes over the seasons. He talks about the different species of fish and aquatic animals that live here, and the few much smaller species of merfolk that Seonghwa doesn’t interact with. They’re much smaller than him, scurrying away when he comes closer, and he admits that sometimes he doesn’t like seeing them so close to his own den either.

“You’re a betta, right?” Hongjoong murmurs in response to that, his gaze falling to the long pectoral fins, the flowing ends that burst with a multitude of bright pinks and oranges. “Makes sense you can be territorial,” he adds with a shrug, and Seonghwa doesn’t quite understand what that has to do with anything, but he flaps his tail slightly, bringing Hongjoong’s attention it to once more and continues with his story.

Sometimes, Hongjoong brings small snacks with him as well. It’s a variety of crinkly packaging that he shows Seonghwa, and explains about the contents, before opening the food packages and offering them to Seonghwa. He likes the shrimp-flavoured crisps—that’s what Hongjoong calls them—but disagrees that they taste similar to the actual shrimp that live in the lake.

At some point, fishing becomes a secondary activity; Hongjoong barely even looks at the fishing pole anymore. Sometimes he doesn’t even set it up at all. Most of the time, he pulls his shorts even higher up and sits at the edge of the platform, his legs dangling in the water while Seonghwa leans up and rests his forearms on the surface, his chin propped up in his hands to look at Hongjoong as he talks. His voice is very soothing and gentle, lulling him into a relaxed state.

He notices when Hongjoong falters sometimes, his hand inching closer to Seonghwa, then catches himself last minute and doesn’t try to touch him again. He wishes Hongjoong would touch him, though; touch and affection are such huge parts of courting, after all. Seonghwa sometimes watches the big family of otters that live on the other side of the lake, and the way they show affection is very different to the way some of the fish in the lake do. They press against each other, grooming each other, playful little licks and nips, and even when they float in the water, they hold hands to stay close. They chase each other through the water too, vocalising mischievously as they swim. It makes Seonghwa wonder what that might feel like to do with Hongjoong—how good it would be to swim alongside Hongjoong.

Finally, when Hongjoong’s hand strays towards Seonghwa’s own webbed fingers once more—then pulls away at the last moment—Seonghwa sighs. “You can touch me, you know,” he mutters, tail impatiently flicking in the water. With that, he reaches forward and intertwines their hands together.

Hongjoong’s eyes widen and he freezes where he sits. He doesn’t dare to move his hand. It’s warm in Seonghwa’s, slightly smaller, but his fingers are more dexterous, fitting into the small gaps between Seonghwa’s easily. It highlights their differences, and makes Seonghwa falter for just a second. What if Hongjoong finds his hands weird?

Then Hongjoong grasps his hand more firmly and pulls their joined hands into his lap. He smiles down at Seonghwa, then focuses on his hand again. “You’re so pretty,” Hongjoong says. He runs the pointer of his other hand over the top of Seonghwa’s, following a few scattered pink scales. His finger pad glides so gently across Seonghwa’s skin that he can barely feel it, but the gentleness that Hongjoong is showing him is pulling on his heartstrings—such considerate, attentive actions filled with so much natural curiosity. Even so, Hongjoong’s eyes are filled with that amazement that always seems to come alive in them when he looks at Seonghwa.

It’s not the same kind of amazement that Seonghwa sees from the other fishermen that come here sometimes. When they catch a particularly big fish, they marvel at it up close, grinning and cheering; but the way they look at it is like a specimen, clinically assessing its size before proudly posing for a picture with it, like a trophy. No, Hongjoong doesn’t look at him in that way.

Hongjoong looks at him like something worth being treasured: precious, beloved, adored. He holds Seonghwa’s hand in his gently, like he might fall apart if Hongjoong touches him too firmly. It’s a thought that makes Seonghwa smile, unable to stop the wave of fondness that overcomes him.

In reality, Hongjoong is the fragile one. A swipe of Seonghwa’s claws, a snap of his sharpened canines, and it’s likely the human wouldn’t walk away from something like that. The old women have told Seonghwa about some of the mer that live in the ocean, with shark tails and teeth sharper than even the predators themselves. Seonghwa wouldn’t be able to win a fight with a mer like that, but a human with no weapons to defend himself with would hardly be a challenge.

Seonghwa lets Hongjoong hold his hand, his finger still outlining the different details of it. His finger glides up to Seonghwa’s wrist, then pauses while Hongjoong looks up, as if asking for permission. Seonghwa nudges his arm towards Hongjoong’s touch. The skin of Seonghwa’s arms is very similar to Hongjoong’s—human-like—but his skin is more tanned from spending days floating on the surface of the lake, sunning himself. Hongjoong’s touch leaves behind little sparks, a tingle that Seonghwa has never felt before. He wonders whether something is wrong, whether he should be feeling that, but Hongjoong is smiling the whole time, looking bashful. Each touch feels like the fireworks that Seonghwa sometimes sees explode across the sky, during some human holidays—that’s the closest he can liken it to.

He wishes Hongjoong could touch more of him.

Suddenly, Seonghwa pulls away. Hongjoong looks after him, eyes wide, scared he’d done something. Seonghwa, however, pushes himself up onto the platform, manoeuvring himself to sit beside Hongjoong; his tail dangles mostly in the water, large and heavy, and he presses his hands flat to the surface of the platform so he can lean back and sit easier beside Hongjoong. The human seems bewildered by the move, but his eyes immediately move towards Seonghwa’s fins and tail.

Almost hesitantly, Hongjoong reaches out to touch the wide pectoral fins that start at Seonghwa’s hips. They fan out around him, bigger now that they’re spread, and Hongjoong glances between Seonghwa and the fins a few more times before his fingers press to them. Seonghwa almost jolts at the touch, with the fins being so sensitive.

Hongjoong carefully follows the cartilage that makes up the fin, before his fingers sink into the softer, flexible skin in between each ray. “Wow,” he whispers, as he touches that part over and over, smoothing his fingers alongside the skin. Seonghwa tries to muffle his laugh as the touch tickles, but when some of it escapes his lips, Hongjoong glances up and smiles at him. “You’re amazing,” Hongjoong whispers, continuing to gently touch the pectoral fin—reverently, like a treasure in his hands.

Seonghwa quickly gets addicted to the feeling. He wants Hongjoong to treasure him even more.

Seonghwa lifts his tail out of the water and unceremoniously drops it across Hongjoong’s lap.

“Seonghwa!” Hongjoong exclaims when he’s drenched in water, but then he’s laughing, his eyes zeroed in on Seonghwa’s tail. His caudal fin is a lot bigger, the largest of his fins. His tail is heavy, he’s aware of that, but Hongjoong doesn’t complain when he realises that what Seonghwa wants is the attention and the touch. He spreads his caudal fin out, like he’s seen other fish do as part of mating rituals, but the way Hongjoong’s eyes widen at the various shades of pink and orange makes something proud burrow deep in his chest and refuse to let go.

The scales of his tail catch the sunlight, casting small, pink dots across the platform and Hongjoong’s clothes—a contrast against his predominantly black clothes. Hongjoong seems entranced by them, touching the reflection on the material of his shirt first, as if that’s somehow indirectly touching Seonghwa’s tail. He then carefully reaches out and presses his fingers to the scales of Seonghwa’s tail, feeling how each interlines and overlays the next. He moves down the length of Seonghwa’s tail, precise and diligent, touching every scale he can as he goes. He pauses momentarily, noticing a scale missing, and when he glances up Seonghwa shrugs. “Must have caught it on something,” he mutters, eager for Hongjoong to continue touching him.

Hongjoong hums. “It’ll grow back?” he asks.

“Mhm,” Seonghwa hums.

Finally, Hongjoong gets to the edge of his caudal fin. Here, he stares in amazement for a moment, before glancing up at Seonghwa again. Seonghwa is about to hurry him along—assure him that it’s fine to touch—when Hongjoong levels him with a grin warm enough to rival the heat of the sun. “You’re honestly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he whispers.

Seonghwa feels heat flush through his face.

“You keep saying things like that,” Seonghwa mutters, suddenly feeling shy.

“And I mean them,” Hongjoong says easily. He then finally reaches down and runs his fingers through the flowing caudal fin. The touch is featherlight, moving the sensitive membrane around, spreading it out so he can see even more of the colours. Seonghwa puffs his chest out proudly and lifts his chin, happy that the human is honest in everything he says—those comments only fuel his pride in his appearance even further. He knows his colours are vibrant and pretty, they’re there to mirror the lotus flowers on the lake, after all. “You’re just amazing, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong pauses in his ministrations and looks up. “I feel very lucky to have met you.”

After that, touch becomes the new norm.

Each time Hongjoong visits, Seonghwa reaches out and tangles their hands together, playing with the human’s fingers as they talk.

Sometimes, Seonghwa rests his head on Hongjoong’s thigh, while the rest of his body remains in the water. One time, he’d even managed to squeeze himself in between Hongjoong’s legs, resting his arms and cheek on the human’s thighs as he listened to Hongjoong tell him about his day. He’d blushed furiously then, stuttering over his words, but a few minutes later, he’d reached out and carded his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair, brushing wet strands from his face.

More and more, Seonghwa starts coming out of the lake and resting on the platform alongside Hongjoong. They sit side by side, or Seonghwa rests his head on Hongjoong’s lap and they both look at the sky; Hongjoong plays some of the music he likes, and even once he’s long gone, Seonghwa finds himself humming the melody to himself.

There is something about Hongjoong that Seonghwa doesn’t quite know how to describe.

He’s clumsy, but endearingly so, his whole fishing station looking like a mess by the end of each session, supplies scattered all over. He always cleans it before he leaves, but while he is here, it looks like a tornado has been past.

Hongjoong smiles a lot, unrestrained, throwing his head back and laughing even louder, the sound carrying in the breeze. It’s a wonderful sound, one full of joy, infectious enough to get Seonghwa to crack a smile each time he hears it.

Hongjoong is never preoccupied with actually catching fish. Each time his line bobs, he tries to reel it in but when it comes up empty he simply shrugs and—with that signature easygoing smile—tells Seonghwa that he’ll get it “next time.”

Seonghwa remembers one of the old women who come to collect the lotus flowers telling him about the ocean once.

“It’s a big body of water that spreads over most of the world,” she had explained and Seonghwa watched on in fascination, eyes wide at the prospect. “There are so many fish and plants—and merfolk like you—that we struggle to keep count.” Seonghwa had tilted his head, encouraging her to continue. “You look out on the horizon and see nothing but water. It’s beautiful, the steady beating of the waves, but it’s also dangerous because its so vast, because it’s so free.”

When Seonghwa looks at Hongjoong, he thinks of the ocean.

He doesn’t know what the ocean looks like, but he knows that Hongjoong too is beautiful and free. Seonghwa doesn’t know the ocean, but he knows the feeling of awe and wonder it might inspire if he ever saw it in person, because it’s what he feels when he’s around Hongjoong.

Hongjoong is sprawled out on the platform, warm stone beneath his hands. He’s leaning back on them, his face tilted towards the sun, his eyes closed. Seonghwa’s head rests in his lap, his hair drying in the sun; every once in a while, Hongjoong reaches out and runs his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair, gently working through the knots in the blond locks. It’s lulling Seonghwa to sleep a little bit, but he’s still holding Hongjoong’s phone between his fingers so he tries to keep his eyes open and focused on the small screen. Hongjoong’s fingers slide over Seonghwa’s finned ears, playing with the ends, laughing to himself when they twitch or Seonghwa paws at him to stop.

He’s swiping through the pictures on Hongjoong’s phone and every once in a while, he angles the screen towards the human and asks about who the people in the pictures are. Hongjoong’s voice is quiet and raspy when he answers, also lulled into a state of bliss, with the sun rays on his face and surrounded by the fully bloomed, sweet-smelling lotus flowers.

Hongjoong likes talking about his friends. There are some he’s known since they were young, some that he works with, and some that he met later in life. His voice becomes fond when he talks about them, and even when he’s retelling a tale of one of them doing something that annoyed Hongjoong or got him in trouble—it’s usually Wooyoung at the centre of those stories—though he tries to act annoyed, the underlying affection is there nonetheless.

Seonghwa swipes to the next picture and pauses.

In this picture, Hongjoong is with another man. Seonghwa hasn’t seen him in any other pictures. Neither of them are looking at the camera, but they’re smiling. The thing is, though, their smiles are obstructed, because their mouths are pressed together. Their eyes are closed, faces slotted together, and they look happy.

“Who’s this?” Seonghwa asks.

Hongjoong lazily glances down at the phone and his eyes shoot open, suddenly panicked. He reaches out and takes the phone from Seonghwa, body tensing beneath his head so much that Seonghwa moves and sits up, tilting his head as he tries to understand the panic in Hongjoong’s movements. “That’s, um,” he starts, hesitant, seemingly unsure how to continue, “someone I dated, I guess.”

“Dated?” Seonghwa echoes. He considers the word while Hongjoong’s cheeks get more and more red. “Is that like, courting?”

“Um, yeah, that’s it,” Hongjoong responds, but his eyes are looking anywhere but Seonghwa.

“What were you doing in the picture?” Seonghwa asks, trying to get more information. If that’s what Hongjoong did with that person, then perhaps they should be doing the same. He leans closer to Hongjoong, his hands pressed to the warm surface of the platform; half of his tail still dangles in the water, too long to fully fit on the surface.

Hongjoong still refuses to look at him. He pulls his knees to his chest now that Seonghwa isn’t lying on his lap anymore, crosses his arms over them and rests his chin there. “Kissing,” he mutters. “It’s, um, something humans do to show affection.”

Oh! Like otters do when they nuzzle each other!

“Should we do that too?” Seonghwa asks immediately.

At that, Hongjoong turns to look at him, eyes wide. The deep red blush is still there on his cheeks, but now he looks more terrified than embarrassed, and Seonghwa doesn’t understand what made him have that reaction. “What?” he squeaks, voice higher.

Seonghwa’s frowns, eyebrows scrunching together as he tries to make sense of Hongjoong’s reaction. “If we’re courting… Then we should do the same?”

“If we’re—” Hongjoong splutters, trying to echo the words back and unable to even finish the sentence. He stands, sudden and quick, and takes a step away from Seonghwa. “Wait, I think there’s some confusion, we’re not—” he cuts off.

Does he see the sudden hurt that must show on Seonghwa’s face?

Did he get it wrong? Did Seonghwa somehow misinterpret Hongjoong’s actions? Or has Hongjoong realised that Seonghwa isn’t the ideal mate?

Or maybe… Maybe Hongjoong didn’t know.

There are so many things they don’t know about each other. Seonghwa was an idiot to think that Hongjoong would know about courting rituals of merfolk; hell, even Seonghwa barely knows about them.

His chest begins to tighten, constricting with the sheer embarrassment of the misunderstanding. He ruined it. He made a friend—a human he had begun to trust, to be affectionate with, someone to touch him gently and carefully, lovingly—and he’d ruined it.

Without another word, Seonghwa turns and quickly slips back into the water.

“Wait, Seonghwa!” he hears Hongjoong call out behind him, but Seonghwa can’t take another moment of having Hongjoong look at him like that: disappointed, confused, maybe even horrified.

Hongjoong is like the ocean. How could Seonghwa ever think someone like that would be satisfied with a mer who grew up in a mere lake?

The next time Hongjoong comes back, Seonghwa doesn’t show himself.

He stays beneath the water, not even looking at the human, simply hearing him calling out Seonghwa’s name.

He picks at a few scales high on his tail, agitated with himself—how could he have been so stupid? He hisses when a scale falls off, accidentally ripped away, and he watches it float down to the bottom of the lake, shimmering until it becomes too dark for it to reflect the light.

The time after, when Hongjoong calls his name, Seonghwa’s tail twitches to move—to swim to him, to feel Hongjoong’s hand in his own, to listen to him talk about his day. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move, even when Hongjoong sets up his fishing rod and waits, and waits, and waits. Seonghwa only watches the fish swim toward the fishing line. It bobs as they fall for the bait, but Hongjoong makes no move to reel the line in.

The third time that Hongjoong shows up and calls his name, Seonghwa is starting to get used to ignoring his voice. It hurts, and hurts, and hurts—a pain like no other originating in his chest, then spreading down the rest of his body—but Seonghwa can live with the pain. What he can’t live with is meeting Hongjoong’s eyes and acknowledging the rejection that is imminent.

There’s a sudden loud splash.

Seonghwa spins in the water, feeling the water shifting somewhere in the distance.

There’s more splashing, closer this time, so he goes to investigate.

He surfaces, peeking out over the top of the water, eyes widening in surprise.

Hongjoong is in the water.

Seonghwa is immediately drawn to move closer. Hongjoong has never jumped into the lake before, why would he do it now? Did he fall in? What if he gets tangled in the lotus stems or any of the other plants that rise from the lake floor? Seonghwa dives back under and moves closer, trying to figure out the situation.

Hongjoong hasn’t fallen in. He jumped in.

“Seonghwa!”

He’s swimming in the lake—albeit less than confidently—while he looks around, calling Seonghwa’s name. He wants to roll his eyes, he really does, because Hongjoong had told him he had a penchant for dramatics, but Seonghwa hasn’t seen it. Not until now. What a stubborn, stubborn human. Did he not understand that Seonghwa didn’t want to see him?

He moves a bit closer. Perhaps he swims too close to the surface, the sunshine catching the scales of his tail, because Hongjoong’s head whips around in his direction, surprise clear on his face. “Seonghwa!” he calls out, and this time it’s in Seonghwa’s direction. He starts swimming his way, wading carefully through the water.

Seonghwa could swim away. It would only take a few flaps of his tail and he would be out of sight, with no way for Hongjoong to catch up. Human bodies aren’t made for swimming efficiently, after all.

But he can’t get himself to move. There’s a curiosity that wins over, that wants to know what Hongjoong has to say. Even if it is a rejection, he wants to see Hongjoong’s face up close one more time—the promise of an ocean, the beauty of freedom, seen one last time before it’s snatched away from him.

So, Seonghwa surfaces and makes it easier for Hongjoong to see him.

“Seonghwa!” he calls out as soon as Seonghwa emerges from the water.

Seonghwa runs his fingers through his hair, moving the wet strands out of his face. He doesn’t swim closer to Hongjoong; he waits for the human to come closer to him instead. He does so, very uncoordinated movements especially as he’s in a hurry now, seeing Seonghwa. When he does reach the mer, he almost crashes into him. Seonghwa puts his hands out, grabbing Hongjoong’s shoulders for a moment while the human figures out how to simply tread water. It’s a lot harder for him, without any fins, to stay still in one place.

“Seonghwa, I’m sorry,” he says immediately, out of breath from his swim. His hair is stuck flat to his face, the black and white strands atop his head mixing and combining. Seonghwa feels the urge to reach out and right them into their correct places, but manages to stop himself, pushing his hand through the water and moving it absentmindedly instead. “I didn’t know that the lotus flower that I gave you was—” Hongjoong pauses and coughs, clearly having got some water in his mouth in his frantic swim towards Seonghwa. “Forgive me, please, I—” he cuts off with a shake of his head. “I don’t know how to make it better, I’m sorry, but if you give me a chance then—”

“It’s okay,” Seonghwa cuts him off.

Hongjoong is only wearing a pair of shorts, his shirt abandoned on the little platform, alongside all his stuff. The fishing rod doesn’t look like it’s set up. Seonghwa can see his shoulders poking out over the top of the water. Seonghwa’s eyes follow up his neck, to the mole he’s so familiar with, but he’s finding it difficult to look Hongjoong in the eyes.

It wasn’t his fault, Seonghwa knows that. But it still stings.

He needs to tell him as such, though. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says, quieter.

Hongjoong floats a bit closer. “I didn’t know, yeah, but it was stupid that I didn’t notice that you—” he cuts off with a shake of his head. He tries to reach out and touch Seonghwa’s face, but it’s difficult when he has to keep himself balanced in the water.

Seonghwa, however, can’t stop the sudden need to feel Hongjoong’s touch—not when it’s this close. He doesn’t know where they stand, but humans show affection through touch anyway, and maybe Hongjoong wouldn’t mind it. Friends can show each other affection too.

He swims closer and wraps his arms around Hongjoong’s waist. With a firm grip, he pulls Hongjoong closer, so his weight rests entirely on Seonghwa; Seonghwa’s tail is strong enough to keep the two of them treading the water. Upon realising it, Hongjoong immediately reaches out, his hands now free to do whatever he wants.

He tucks a strand of Seonghwa’s hair behind his ear, and sets his other hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder. His eyes follow the line of scattered pink scales that go down from Seonghwa’s shoulder and to his chest, before the trail disappears beneath the water’s surface. “But you knew the entire time,” Hongjoong whispers, and now that his voice has lowered, there’s something intimate about the moment.

It’s just them, treading the water, the gentle sloshing of it all around them. The lotus flowers surround them, resting on the surface alongside their large leaves; a sweet fragrance rises in the air.

“You knew the entire time and you were okay with it,” Hongjoong whispers. “Is that what you want, Seonghwa?”

“I…” Seonghwa trails off, unsure how to phrase it. “I was surprised, but—” Seonghwa glances away, unable to take the intensity of Hongjoong’s dark eyes on his face. When he looks at them like this, too closely, in the sunlight they look lighter, a warm brown that stirs a fondness like nothing else in Seonghwa’s chest. “But I thought you knew what it meant, and I just wanted your attention. The way you look at me is—” he’s lost for words to describe it, unsure of what the right words are.

You look at me like I’m something to be treasured.

In the vast ocean that is Hongjoong, in the endless sea where anything is possible, Hongjoong chose Seonghwa.

Or, at least, that’s what Seonghwa thought.

“You have my attention, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong breathes. His free hand comes up and cups the side of Seonghwa’s face. It’s wet, but his palm is still warm, the touch so comforting that Seonghwa can’t help but lean into it, his eyes fluttering closed. “I haven’t been able to look away from you since the day I first saw you.”

“I do?” Seonghwa whispers in response.

Hongjoong nods quickly. “And maybe I didn’t know what the lotus meant but…” He chuckles lightly, seemingly embarrassed. “But I really like you. So if that’s what you want it to mean, then we can try.”

“Try?” Seonghwa echoes.

He was preparing for rejection.

Not this.

Hongjoong nods but doesn’t say anything else for a long moment. His gaze sweeps across Seonghwa’s face. He tucks another strand of Seonghwa’s blond hair behind his finned ear, then continues scanning his face. He swipes his thumb across Seonghwa’s eyebrow, smiling small, then just under his eye, clearing away any water still clinging to his skin. He cups the side of Seonghwa’s face, his thumb hovering near the corner of his lips, and that’s the first bit of real hesitation he sees from Hongjoong today.

“People who date,” Hongjoong starts, keeping his voice low, “kiss.”

Seonghwa finds himself nodding slowly. That’s what Hongjoong was doing in that picture.

Seonghwa has never kissed anyone before.

He’s never been kissed before.

“Yes,” Seonghwa breathes, feeling the warmth from Hongjoong’s palm seeping into his own skin, “please.”

Hongjoong smiles, warm and radiant, vast and endless, free like the ocean. He leans forward, more confident now, and presses his lips to Seonghwa’s.

There’s a moment where they’re still: where their lips just touch, where Hongjoong cradles his face in his hands, where everything around them stops. Then Hongjoong moves his lips slightly, presses deeper, and Seonghwa has no choice but to responds—to follow his moves and learn from them.

Hongjoong’s lips are warmer than any of his previous touches ever were, setting every inch of Seonghwa on fire. He feels like hes touching literal fire incarnate, more alive than he’s ever been, the heat spreading and growing, from just a mere spark to a raging inferno within seconds.

Hongjoong pulls away, but not very far. He hovers close enough that their lips are still almost touching, stuttered breaths shared in the slim space between them. “Seonghwa,” he whispers. It’s perhaps the prettiest anyone has ever said his name: out of breath, reverent and hopeful, like a wish upon a shooting star.

To become a star: the meaning of his name.

The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes was the stars that littered the sky, the stars that reflected in the calm surface of the lake. He feels so elated suddenly, like a weight lifted off his shoulders. Like that very clear night, but now he could reach out and grab the pretty little pockets of silver that reflected in the lake; he could cradle the stars in his hands, press them to his chest and feel just as warm as he does now. He wouldn’t though, of course. If he could cradle the stars in his hands, he’d most likely give them to Hongjoong. Perhaps Hongjoong would reward him with another one of those beautiful smiles.

“Can I kiss you again?” Hongjoong whispers. Seonghwa has never nodded so fast in his life.

Hongjoong leans forward and kisses him again, one hand on the side of Seonghwa’s face and another running his fingers through the mer’s hair. He swipes his tongue over Seonghwa’s bottom lip suddenly, and Seonghwa is so surprised by the feeling that he can’t help the way his lips part. When they do, Hongjoong presses his tongue inside, slow and careful at first; as it glides alongside Seonghwa’s longer tongue, he can’t help the happy trill that leaves his throat, that makes his chest reverberate with the sound. Hongjoong smiles into the kiss then, fingers carding through Seonghwa’s hair slightly harder. His tongue explores Seonghwa’s mouth, attentive and thorough, and Seonghwa wraps his arms tighter around Hongjoong’s waist in response. He tries to follow Hongjoong’s technique, but it’s not easy.

Hongjoong is so confident in the way he kisses Seonghwa. His tongue carefully outlines Seonghwa’s sharpened canines, then presses their tongues together before he pulls back and sucks on Seonghwa’s bottom lip.

Seonghwa can’t believe kissing could feel this good. Perhaps part of the reason is Hongjoong, and how his fingers play with the edge of Seonghwa’s ear, aware of how sensitive the skin there is.

Hongjoong kisses him over and over again, until they’re both breathless—until they press their foreheads together and just smile, basking in the ambiance the lake creates around them.

Even then, Hongjoong leans in and presses a kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. Then just under his eye. Then another to his nose. One more on his forehead. He laughs when Seonghwa pulls him down for another kiss to his lips, lingering where neither of them want to pull away. Hongjoong places a kiss on his jaw, then one just under, on his neck. It sends shivers down Seonghwa’s spine, a feeling like never before, so he chirps excitedly and Hongjoong laughs. Seonghwa flaps his tail happily, accidentally jolting them in the water, and Hongjoong grabs his shoulders quickly, but then leans forward and kisses Seonghwa again, stealing any laughter that spills from his mouth.

Hongjoong presses another quick kiss to Seonghwa’s lips and visibly shivers. He tries to laugh it off, but Seonghwa knows they’ve been treading water far longer than they should.

Seonghwa grabs Hongjoong’s hand and swims them back to the fishing platform, much quicker than Hongjoong had swam out. He lets Hongjoong wrap a towel around himself, shivering slightly. Seonghwa wishes he could wrap his arms around Hongjoong and warm him up, but it’s likely his wet body would only make it worse. They share a pack of those shrimp-flavoured chips while Hongjoong warms up and Seonghwa laughs about how the fishing rod isn’t even set up.

“I’ll come back often,” Hongjoong promises. Seonghwa nods but in reality, he doesn’t know how this is going to work either. They’re from such different worlds, after all.

For now, however, as soon as he’s warmed up and rested, Hongjoong jumps back into the lake and asks Seonghwa to show him around.

Seonghwa shows him the little den he’s dug for himself, where he keeps little trinkets and prized possessions—many of which he got from Hongjoong, like the now dried lotus flower. He grabs Hongjoong’s hands and swims them through the lake, underwater and faster than Hongjoong has ever swam; he tries to hold his breath but ends up laughing, bubbles rising to the surface, then spluttering water once they emerge. He can’t help running his hands over Hongjoong’s shoulders and chest, feeling the warm skin beneath, chasing that warmth with everything he has.

At the end, even as the sun begins to dip in the horizon, they float on top of the water, side by side.

Hongjoong reaches out and clasps Seonghwa’s hand in his own. They stare at the clear sky, holding hands, floating while they talk, or even just soak up the last rays of the sun.

And when Hongjoong leaves, Seonghwa doesn’t feel any dread, or like something went wrong.

No.

He feels hopeful.

Like today has come to an end, but tomorrow is an endless vast of possibilities—like the ocean.