Archive of Our Own

In retrospect, Andrew should’ve known better, should’ve known that having a merman for a mate wouldn’t magically rid him of his seasickness. 

Yet here he is now, hunched over the stern of some beat-up cruiser Nicky had insisted on renting for the afternoon, staring stubbornly at the horizon while his stomach roils with every crash against the choppy waves.

The things Andrew endures for his family.

“Isn’t this so nice?” Nicky sighs, carefree as he kills the ignition with a flourish. He and Erik have picked up boating as a hobby in Germany during the warmer months, and it’s obvious he’s been dying to flaunt his newly acquired skills. 

Unfortunately for him, Aaron and Andrew are unimpressed. 

The boat rocks as it idles, a subtle rhythmic motion. Usually, Andrew would be fine—he can spend plenty of time in the ocean with Neil holding him steady. But being on a boat is a wildly different story.

“Sure,” Aaron mumbles, curled up on the bench with a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels in his lap. He’s texting on his phone, probably complaining to Katelyn about what a terrible time he’s having. Normally, Andrew would be hogging the bag, but if he moves, he might just keel over.

It’s absolute bullshit that he’s been saddled with the motion sickness gene while his twin gets to enjoy their little boating adventure scot-free. And Aaron’s not the one with a merman boyfriend. Mate. Husband? Whatever. 

Fucking unfair.  

“I wish you’d have invited this Neil that you’re seeing,” Nicky continues, undeterred by Andrew’s silence, voice lilting suggestively. “He must be someone special if he caught your attention. Or really sexy.” 

Nicky waggles his eyebrows while Aaron mumbles “gross” around a mouthful of pretzel. Andrew doesn’t respond, choosing instead to stare daggers at the waterline, like he might be able to glare the waves into submission.

He had told Neil about his family visiting—Nicky flying in from Germany, Aaron from Boston—and had offered, as casually as possible, to introduce them now that he and Neil are the fish equivalent of married. Neil had seemed slightly unsure, fingers twitching against his tail, and Andrew wasn’t one to push. Neil still distrusted most humans on principle, and getting hit with both Nicky and Aaron at once can be, well, a lot. 

There’s also the slight complication of his family not knowing that Neil isn’t fully human. That might’ve been a tiny detail Andrew never mentioned over the phone. But that’s Future Andrew’s problem. Present Andrew is just trying not to hurl.

“Aren’t you curious, Aaron?” Nicky muses, adjusting his sunglasses. “Now is the perfect time for introductions! It’s not often the three of us are together, and—oh my god.” 

“What?” Aaron asks, alarmed.

Nicky shoots up to his feet, shaking a frantic finger at the water. “I think something is circling our boat! Is it a dolphin? I think it’s a dolphin! Shit, where’s my phone? I need to take a video.”

Aaron squawks as Nicky clambers over him to get a better view. “Get off me!”

The shadow comes closer, closer, closer, its shape extremely familiar to Andrew. At this point, Andrew could close his eyes and trace that shape from memory alone. He’s recreated it on numerous canvases, in countless sketchbooks, in various shades of paint and graphite and charcoal. 

Then the creature pops out of the water, right beside their boat. It is very much not a dolphin. 

It’s Neil.

“A man?” Nicky screeches, arms flailing about wildly as he leans over the railing. “Hey! Are you hurt? Did you fall overboard? Let us help you—”

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil interrupts, sounding impatient. His wet curls are plastered against his forehead, tumbling into his eyes. Andrew itches to reach out and smooth them back, to feel the familiar strands against his fingers.

“Andrew?” Nicky starts, confused. “You know Andrew?” 

Neil’s eyes dart wildly around the boat before landing on Andrew’s pathetic form curled over the stern. His expression changes instantly. In one fluid motion, he hauls himself over the edge, salt water splashing across the deck hard enough to soak Nicky and Aaron. Someone yelps—probably Nicky—but Neil doesn’t spare either of them a glance.

His tail lashes anxiously behind him as he crowds into Andrew’s space, and Andrew barely registers the comforting warmth of Neil’s hands before his knees give out entirely. Neil is there instantly, dropping between Andrew’s legs to catch him as he slides bonelessly to the floor.

Neil cups Andrew's face with damp hands, his eyes huge and worried as he takes in the pallor of Andrew’s skin. “You know you get seasick,” he admonishes with a frown, thumb tracing soothing circles against Andrew’s jaw. 

“Worried about me, huh?” Andrew murmurs, and Neil flicks him on the nose.

“Yes! I saw you from afar. I was going to leave you alone so you could spend more time with your family, but I thought you were going to fall off the side of the boat.”

Before Andrew can open his mouth to tell Neil that he’s fine, that he’s survived worse than a bit of seasickness, a stray bag of pretzels whizzes past and smacks Neil straight in the back of the head. It falls to the ground with a pathetic thwack. Both heads whip up to find Aaron, his nose scrunched up, eyebrows furrowed, arms falling to his side like he just lobbed a fastball instead of a half-empty bag of cheap snack food.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Aaron snarls while Nicky frets beside him. 

Andrew blinks. Oh, right. 

Merfolk sightings aren’t exactly a common occurrence, even in a beach town. Aaron probably thought they were a thing of myth until this very moment, and now his brother is cozying up to one that apparently just ambushed their boat. Andrew can see how it’d be a bit of a shock.  

Neil’s face warps from surprise to annoyance, ears pinned back against his head. Andrew can feel Neil’s anger simmering beneath his skin at having a piece of trash thrown at his face. He should do some damage control before Neil does something very Neil-esque, like taking Aaron down with a side-swipe of his tail.

“Nicky, Aaron.” He pulls Neil closer, because just having Neil nearby seems to soothe every ache in his body. And if he breathes deep and presses his forehead against Neil’s neck for a few seconds, who’s going to stop him? “This is Neil. Neil, this is my idiot family.”

The news is met with wide eyes and complete silence.

It takes a few seconds for this information to parse. It’s clear when it does, because Nicky yells “What?!” so loudly that he’s probably heard across the entire goddamn Pacific, and Aaron’s mouth drops open so wide his jaw nearly unhinges.

“This? This is Neil?” Aaron demands, voice pitching impressively higher with every syllable. “What even…how—how—”

“Take your time,” Andrew drawls.

Aaron throws his hands in the air, then jabs a finger in Neil’s direction. “How can you be sure this thing isn’t going to lure you to your death with his voice?”

That sure wasn’t a response Andrew was expecting.

He knows Neil is shooting a very specific expression at Aaron without even having to look at him—a face that Andrew knows means Neil is extremely unimpressed with whatever was just said.

“I’m a merman, not a siren, you stupid human.”

Aaron sputters. “What kind of insult is that? Andrew is also human!”

“Yeah, but he’s my human,” Neil says petulantly, wrapping his tail around Andrew’s leg, and Andrew’s silly, dumb heart wriggles and flops around in his chest. He and Neil have been mates for many months at this point, but hearing Neil say those words never fails to make him breathless, like a kick to the ribs.

The boat chooses that moment to give a violent lurch, nearly sending Andrew sprawling. He blinks, and everything is sideways. There’s no hope of paying a single fucking iota of attention to what everyone is saying now; his brain is too busy swishing around in his skull. 

Neil is already propping Andrew up against his body, slowly reaching for his hands, giving Andrew the chance to pull away. He tangles their fingers together when Andrew doesn’t and squeezes, his fingers warm to the touch. It settles something in Andrew, makes him feel more solid. 

Nicky ruins the moment.

“Are you two cuddling?” he squeaks, eyes round in what is likely debilitating shock. Because Nicky’s grasp on social cues is tenuous at best, and because he’s doggedly avoiding Andrew’s death glare, he keeps running his mouth. “Andrew Minyard, are you a cuddler?”

Andrew swallows around the bile that threatens to escape his throat. “Take us back to shore, now.” Neil presses in closer, strong arms wrapping around his waist.

“We have the boat for another hour, though,” Nicky starts, and promptly skitters to the helm when Neil shoots him a vicious glare. 

Andrew can feel Aaron’s eyes burning into his back as he remains folded against Neil, his face mashed against Neil’s chest. Neil is giving it right back to Aaron, Andrew can tell, but he’s a bit too incapacitated to do anything about it at the moment.

Aaron and Neil will have to get along at some point. 

Maybe.

Actually, knowing his brother and his mate, probably not. 

Andrew will worry about that later. For now, he squeezes his eyes shut, grounds himself in the steady rise and fall of Neil’s chest, and lets Nicky guide them back to shore.

*

They don’t talk for long once the boat is docked. Andrew is too busy trying to keep the world from spinning. Aaron, meanwhile, is still jumpy around Neil, like he thinks Neil is a nefarious sea creature who’ll take control of his mind the second they make eye contact.

Andrew decides that’s Aaron’s problem. 

He reaches for Neil instead, hooking a finger beneath his chin. “I’ll see you later,” he murmurs. Neil is surging forward before Andrew can say anything else, strong arms winding around Andrew’s neck as he drops a string of salty kisses against Andrew’s mouth.

Nicky’s answering gasp could break sound barriers. Andrew ignores him. The kiss is soft, almost chaste, sweet little pecks exchanged, which is nice, because the last thing Andrew wants is to give his brother and cousin a front-row view of him tonguing Neil. 

“I hope you feel better,” Neil whispers, smiling his stupid, pretty smile, and all Andrew can do in the face of that look is press another peck against the side of his mouth. Neil flicks his tail one last time at Aaron, a gesture painfully reminiscent of a middle finger, before diving gracefully off the boat, leaving Andrew to the mercy of his family. 

Nicky is downright fucking giddy, his eyes the size of saucepans. Aaron looks like he’s about to throw up in his mouth, which is coincidentally what Andrew thinks he’ll do if he doesn’t get off this boat within the next two seconds.

“Oh my god,” Nicky starts.

“No.”

“Andrew!”

“No.”

“You can’t introduce us to your secret mermaid boyfriend and refuse to explain anything. How long has this been happening? How did you two even meet? Definitely not on Tinder, right? You can’t use cell phones underwater. Andrew! You can’t just—”

“Nicky,” Andrew grits out. “Not now.” Something in his tone must land, because Nicky finally quiets, though just barely. Andrew shoves Nicky off the boat, ushering him towards the docks. He gives it five minutes before the next question erupts from Nicky’s mouth. 

Andrew owes his family some explanations; he knows this, but for now, he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. He’s never getting on another boat with Nicky again. 

At least he got to see Neil, though. That was nice.

*

Andrew spends the next day and a half fielding questions from both Nicky and Aaron, most of them overly invasive. He answers with just enough detail to keep them off his back. Still, Nicky nearly vibrates with unvoiced and unanswered questions, completely unaffected by Andrew’s one-worded answers. 

Unfortunately for Nicky, Andrew would rather take a knife to the thigh than explain merfolk courtship to his family. The last thing he wants to do is show them the pinprick scar on his neck, courtesy of Neil’s sharp teeth. Nicky would think it’s romantic. Aaron would probably go after Neil with a pitchfork. Both outcomes sound equally unbearable.

The second time Neil meets Andrew’s family is, once again, unplanned. And unsurprisingly, a disaster. 

Andrew is in his kitchen, drowning a waffle in copious amounts of syrup, when a loud yelp erupts down the hall, followed by a door slamming and a series of garbled curses. 

Aaron comes barreling into the room. “Your stupid fish is in the bathtub!” he shouts, face bright red. He resembles a boiled lobster.  

Andrew sets the syrup bottle down. Oh, that’s right.

Last night, long after the apartment had gone still, Andrew had slipped out to the beach and brought Neil back home. Getting ready for bed with Neil has become almost routine now, a ritual he knows by heart. It mostly consists of sticking Neil into the shower to rinse away the salt and sand (and if Andrew lets himself get pulled beneath the spray as well, that’s no one’s business but his). Then, a few minutes of waiting while Neil agonizes over which of Andrew’s shirts to wear before Andrew inevitably loses patience and jams a random one over Neil’s head, wrangling him into bed.

Their bed. 

Neil, as always, is asleep almost immediately, tangled around Andrew like an octopus, leaving Andrew to lie there and stare at the ceiling with a smile on his face that’s so ridiculous, he has to slap a hand over his mouth to get it to go away.

Neil has turned him into a lovesick fool. 

“Yes.” Andrew pours one last generous dollop of syrup onto his drenched waffle. “He stays here sometimes.”

Aaron blanches. “You let this thing stay in your house? But you don’t have another spare bedroo—” And it’s almost funny, seeing the exact moment it all clicks in Aaron’s brain. “He sleeps in your bed?” 

Andrew’s jaw twitches.

“Stop calling me a thing. That’s rude.” Neil saunters out of the bathroom in his human form, wearing a pair of shorts and one of Andrew’s t-shirts that has MILF: Man I Love Fish screenprinted on the front. Renee had found it at a thrift store and gifted it to Andrew. It’s unironically one of Andrew’s favorite shirts. 

Droplets of water trail from Neil’s hair, darkening his shirt and forming a messy path behind him on the hardwood. He smells like citrus, his skin scrubbed clean and pink. Recently, Neil has discovered the joys of bubble baths, and Andrew has started stockpiling various bath bombs in the bathroom cabinet. On any other morning, Andrew would be neck-deep in the bubbles with Neil, his tailbone going numb against the hard enamel.

“And you should learn to knock,” Neil huffs. “Where are your manners?"

Aaron’s mouth opens, then closes, and opens again. “You have legs.” 

“Aren’t you observant?” Neil makes his way to Andrew, planting a wet kiss against his cheek. “Are you sure your brother is studying to become a doctor? He doesn’t seem very bright.”

Aaron sputters, and Andrew hides the twitch of his mouth behind a bite of waffle. Before Aaron can say something scathing in return, Nicky wanders into the kitchen and lets out a loud shriek.

“Neil? Is that you? Look at those legs! I’d like them wrapped around my—”

“Nicky.” Andrew’s voice comes out flat, a warning. 

Nicky throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m just saying, if Neil weren’t off limits, he’d definitely make my hall pass list.”

“I wouldn’t want you anyway,” Neil cuts in haughtily, sliding into the seat beside Andrew. “I only want Andrew.” 

Nicky coos, absolutely delighted. Andrew pointedly ignores him, turning instead to Neil. “Are you staying? Did you want me to take you back?” 

“Stay with us, Neil!” Nicky pleads, taking a waffle from the stack. “It’ll be fun! I want to get to know you better!”

“I’ll stay,” Neil says, staring at Aaron with a sort of lightly aggrieved raise of his eyebrows. “As long as I don’t have to sit next to Aaron.” 

Aaron lets out an offended shout. Under the table, Andrew slides a palm against Neil’s thigh and quietly tunes everything else out. 

*

Andrew tends to avoid the beach boardwalk like the plague. 

It’s a tourist magnet, always shoulder to shoulder with sunburnt strangers, and it never fails to make him feel sticky and sweaty, even when the sky is gloomy and grey. Unfortunately, Nicky had latched onto the idea of a family aquarium visit, citing it as one of the “top five things to do in town” on travel websites. And Andrew supposes he does owe Nicky, considering he cut their boating trip short with the inevitable offloading of his esophagus. 

Andrew has only been to the aquarium once before, when he first moved into town and met Renee, who suggested it as an outing. Because apparently that’s what friends do—hang out together instead of just beating each other up at the gym a few times a week.

It seems that every single tourist had also decided to show up at the aquarium on this very specific Tuesday. Andrew shoves through the crowd huddled around the ticket booth, one hand clamped firmly around Neil’s wrist so he doesn’t vanish into the throng of bodies like a particularly anxious and slippery eel.

Inside, everything is tinted shades of blue. The walls are wide, swooping curves, blending the light into soft, ocean hues. Neil meanders through the space like he belongs there, fingers trailing over every display, and it’s almost unsettling, the way the sea life reacts. It’s like they know what Neil is, know that he isn’t quite human, because they gather behind the glass as he passes, following along in trails of color—silvery blues, bright yellows, warm reds—massive schools flocking towards Neil like a plant reaching towards the sun.

And Andrew knows the feeling, knows what it’s like to want to get closer and closer to Neil. Knows it intimately. 

They spend a lot of time meandering. Nicky compulsively checks the map for the exhibits he deems interesting, which is how they end up at the shark tunnel. It’s massive, a transparent acrylic walkway arcing through the water, thick with movement and dark, looming shadows. Neil edges closer, tensing, pressing himself against Andrew’s side, too used to these shadows being predators. 

“You’re fine,” Andrew murmurs, thumb rubbing slow circles against Neil’s hip, and Neil relaxes almost immediately, slumping snug and solid against him.

They linger there for a long while. Blue light washes over Neil’s skin as he stares up at the sharks and rays gliding overhead, their fins cutting lazy patterns through the water. Andrew watches Neil, catches his quiet, awed smile, and honestly, it’s nice. It’s nice to hold Neil’s hand, to let Neil lead him around, to see how Neil is still so fascinated by things he sees every day.

They spend a few minutes staring up at the tunnel, breaths quiet and shoulders touching until Nicky barrels past, announcing that he wants to go pet some starfish like a ten-year-old child. Andrew follows at a slower pace, hands shoved in his pockets as his group of idiots scatters towards the touch tanks. 

It’s good, easy. Aaron and Neil have been on their best behavior. Everything has been relatively normal. 

That is, until he spies Neil in the kiddie corner by the touch tanks. 

Neil’s hunched over one of the tanks like a gremlin, shoulders shrugged up to his ears in an obvious attempt at stealth as he carefully funnels tiny crabs into his hoodie pocket. Aaron and Nicky stand frozen, watching in equal parts confusion and horror.  

Andrew promptly changes course. He pivots, catching Neil by the elbow and hauling him to the side as another crab disappears into his pocket. Instead of tensing up at the hands suddenly on him, Neil relaxes immediately, recognizing Andrew by touch alone. “Oh,” he starts, a note of pleased surprise in his voice. “Help me sneak these out. The kids keep poking them and they don’t like it.” 

Aaron makes a strangled noise. “Are you insane? Put them back! You can’t just steal the crabs!”

“Watch me,” Neil snarks back, and Andrew brings a hand up to cover his eyes. He squeezes his temples, then drags his palm slowly down the rest of his face. For once, Aaron is right.

“Neil, put them back. You can’t steal things, remember.”

A soft, sad little noise escapes Neil’s mouth. He looks down at the crab cupped gently in his palms, then up at Andrew with those blue, blue eyes. His eyebrows are practically touching. “You wouldn’t like it if people kept randomly poking me, right?” 

And well, yes. That is true. 

Andrew eyes Neil’s hoodie pocket. At least three little crab pincers are sticking out, snapping open and shut. He flicks a quick look towards the employees stationed around the tanks, all preoccupied with explaining starfish petting etiquette—wash your hands, use two fingers, never grab the animals—to notice the crustacean jailbreak happening in the corner. 

He huffs out a sigh. “Only the ones you have now. You have to leave the rest alone.” It comes out gruff, but Andrew can’t help the tiny tick of his mouth. He feels a burst of fondness, warmed inside out by his mate’s weird quirks. 

Neil grins, bright and clear, with teeth, and it feels good, making Neil smile like that, never stops feeling good.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Aaron hisses. “You’re really gonna let him do this? Andrew?” 

Neil whips around, looking deeply offended on behalf of the tiny creatures in his pocket. “They’re upset.”

“They’re crabs,” Aaron snaps. “They don’t have emotional complexity!”

Another pinch from inside the pocket makes Neil flinch. Andrew exhales slowly through his nose. “Aaron. Go learn about starfish with Nicky.” 

Aaron throws his hands up and grumbles curses under his breath, loud enough that parents start to throw death glares their way. “I can’t believe you two are allowed outside,” he mutters.

Andrew places a hand at the small of Neil’s back, urging him towards the exit before he can smuggle even more sealife into his clothes. A small claw works its way out of Neil’s pocket and snaps blindly at the air in response. 

*

Sometimes, Andrew forgets what it was like before Neil—not because he’s lost himself somewhere along the way. 

It’s more that he can’t imagine wanting to be the version of himself that exists without Neil beside him. He wants Neil—all the time. Wants Neil with a viciousness that almost startles him, that makes his thoughts snag and rewind. Andrew likes how easy it is to just exist with Neil, likes the bubble they’ve created around themselves. 

Sometimes, he forgets that other people can see inside. 

The seaside diner is a tourist trap. The only thing it has to offer is overpriced, bland food, and its biggest offense, in Andrew’s opinion, is charging extra for drink refills. The main thing keeping them in business is the enormous sign out front advertising all-day bottomless mimosas, meant to attract bachelorette parties and wine-drunk moms on vacation.

Which means it predictably snags Nicky’s attention. 

The vinyl sticks to their skin as they slide into their booth, making unfortunate squeaking sounds that have Andrew feeling deeply grateful he never fell for the shorts-and-flip-flops propaganda the entire town seems to live by. 

Nicky, meanwhile, is having the time of his life. He unwraps his utensils, holding up his fork before dragging it through his hair. “Look, Neil!” he says. “It’s a dinglehopper!” 

He receives an unimpressed look from Neil for his efforts. 

Andrew doesn’t even bother looking at the menu. When the waiter arrives, he simply orders a chocolate milkshake. He already knows how this is going to go, knows he’ll just end up eating half of whatever Neil decides to order. Neil has never been particularly enthusiastic about greasy, oversaturated human food. 

Sure enough, the second the plates hit the table, Neil tears his turkey sandwich in half, sliding the slightly larger portion onto Andrew’s plate without a word. Neil hums, happy with the sandwich distribution, and promptly picks up a fry, holding it up to Andrew’s mouth. 

It’s a thoughtless motion, the way Andrew’s lips brush the tips of Neil’s fingers as he bites down, the way Neil grins and wipes stray crumbs from the corner of Andrew’s mouth. Just like the apples on their kitchen counter—one slice for Andrew, one for Neil, over and over.

The clatter of silverware hitting the table is his first clue, made all the worse when he looks up and sees Nicky and Aaron staring at them like a couple of idiots. That’s when Andrew realizes his mistake. 

What’s he gonna do? Spit the fry back out?  

“What,” he says, voice flat. He doesn’t even phrase it as a question, just a vague statement lobbed in their general direction.

“Did you just—” Nicky starts, expression stunned, as if Andrew had just killed a man. “Did you just let Neil feed you?”

The answer to that is painfully obvious.

Nicky makes some sort of vague sound again, longer this time, in a way that Andrew knows means he wants attention. Too fucking bad, Andrew isn’t giving him the satisfaction. When he glances over at Aaron, Aaron is already looking back, eyes narrowed. Andrew doesn’t bother saying anything at all. 

By the time they make it to the beach later that evening, Nicky has brought up the french fry incident enough times that even Aaron smacks him on the back of the head. 

The cooling sand is soft on Andrew’s bare feet, and Neil’s scales drag familiarly against his forearms as Andrew carries him toward the water. Neil is leaving them for the night, wanting to make sure all is well with Kevin after being away for a few days. When Neil leans forward, lips slightly parted, Andrew goes easily—doesn’t care if Nicky is standing there making googly eyes, doesn’t care if Aaron is pissed off. 

Andrew knows how he looks, with a longing in his eyes that betrays him. His face is no longer fluent in the mechanics of scowling whenever Neil leans in close. At this point, he can’t even pretend like he doesn’t love it, doing all this with Neil.

He’s been read to filth already. 

*

Surprisingly, it takes Nicky and Aaron almost a full week to notice. 

One of the things on Nicky’s meticulously planned Things to Do When Visiting Andrew list is a trip to the nearby tide pools, which is an activity that Andrew can tolerate, since it involves keeping his feet firmly on the ground instead of a rocking boat. Neil comes along at Nicky’s insistence, fielding a relentless stream of questions about starfish and anemones and hermit crabs with a patience that Andrew knows he doesn’t normally have. 

Today is one of the rare times Andrew isn’t wearing jeans—instead clad in a pair of black swim trunks and a tank top. Andrew likes the tide pools. He and Neil come here often; it feels like a bit of a bridge between their two worlds, a place where ocean and sand blend together into something that belongs to them both. 

The water is ridiculously clear and bright, almost the color of Neil’s eyes. The low tide leaves the rocks exposed and heated from the sun, the breeze steady and comfortable. Neil sticks close, hovering by Andrew’s shoulder as the sun slowly lowers to the edge of the cliffside. In the orange-red hues of the setting sun, Neil looks sickeningly beautiful. Andrew’s fingers itch for a paintbrush, like it always does around Neil.

As they walk, a glint catches Andrew’s eye. There’s a shell half-buried in the wet sand. It’s smooth and pale, glinting an iridescent rainbow whenever it catches the light. Andrew crouches to inspect it. If it’s not already claimed by a hermit crab, he might take it back and gift it to Renee. 

A hidden jagged edge slices his palm. “Fuck,” he hisses, dropping the shell. It makes a tiny thwip as it thunks back into the water.

Neil and Aaron turn at the same time. 

Aaron is already digging through his fanny pack (“It’s a murse, you have a murse,” Nicky had said, delighted), while Neil grabs Andrew’s hand without hesitation, inspecting the wound. His fingers are gentle, careful as he examines the cut. Andrew can’t help but shiver at the touch, even though the water is warm and the air is warmer.

“I’m fine,” Andrew says. He wants to lean into Neil’s hand, get those pretty fingers in his hair, have them ghost up the nape of his neck. 

That’s when Nicky spots them. The bands on their ring fingers. He interrupts with an overdramatic gasp, hand pressed to his chest. “Wait, are those—”

Andrew glances down, clenches his hand into a fist before relaxing. About time, really. 

Andrew has always worn rings, a leftover habit from his middle school goth phase. A dark band on his middle finger, another on his thumb that he clicks together whenever he’s craving a smoke, a thin silver band on his pinky. The addition to his left ring finger blends in easily. 

The obsidian ring Neil had made for him seems to absorb the sunlight. Andrew wears it every day, only takes it off when he showers or goes to bed, or wants to keep it clean of paint and charcoal. On Neil’s finger sits a ring that Andrew had made for him in return, after they officially became mates, set with a turquoise gemstone he’d found at the farmer’s market—the color of Neil’s tail. 

Neil had tackled Andrew to the sand and kissed him for twenty minutes straight when Andrew had gifted it to him, until both their mouths were rubbed red and raw from salt and Andrew’s stubble. 

“You’re married?” Nicky shrieks.

Andrew says, “In a manner of speaking,” the same time Neil says, “Yes,” emphatically, with so much gusto it makes something in Andrew’s chest feel all bright, like someone plucked the sun out of the sky and placed it beneath his ribcage.

Aaron whips around to face Andrew properly. “Well, which is it?” 

It’s not that simple, Andrew almost wants to say. But in a way, isn’t it? What he has with Neil is the easiest thing in the world—comfortable, natural—it feels right. Labels don’t matter, other people’s definitions don’t matter.

Andrew is Neil’s, and Neil is Andrew’s. Whether on land or in the sea, curled up in Andrew’s bed or drifting in the tide among the waves. Neil is beautiful and ethereal, and Andrew wonders not for the first time about what gods have smiled on him to put him here now, next to Neil, with Neil.

“It doesn’t matter,” Andrew says. 

“Like hell it doesn’t!” Aaron sneers. When Andrew doesn’t speak, Aaron forges ahead. “You barely tell us anything about Neil, barely tell us anything about your relationship. Then we get here, and he’s not even fucking human. And now we find out that you’re—” Aaron gestures violently at Andrew’s hand. “That you’re—that.”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

“It absolutely fucking does!” His voice carries, sharp enough that it catches the attention of a family of four across the rocks. They hurriedly shuffle their kids away. “I’m your brother.” His voice cracks on the second syllable. He winces. “Did you think I wouldn’t care?”

It takes effort not to get defensive, not to rail against the emotion clear as day in the twist of Aaron’s mouth. It’s the only thing Andrew’s ever known—armoring up, defending himself. 

“You wouldn’t have understood. I was right about that.”

“How can anyone? This is so far outside of anything we know—” 

“I would do anything for him,” Andrew interrupts, and the unspoken words hang there, heavy and raw. Just like I’d do anything for you. 

Aaron rears back, stumbling slightly in the sand, because he knows Andrew—knows what his apathy looks like, what it means when Andrew decides to devote himself to someone wholeheartedly, what it looks like when Andrew chooses to care.

“That doesn’t,” Aaron starts. “You don’t, he doesn’t—”

“I accepted Katelyn,” Andrew cuts in, when it’s clear Aaron doesn’t quite know where he’s going with his sputtering. 

“Katelyn doesn’t need your approval!” 

“Neither does Neil.”

“Katelyn isn’t a sea creature—”

“Neil would never hurt me.”

“But—”

“He is everything to me.”

Aaron snaps his mouth shut. He goes still. Not the angry stillness of when Andrew first met Katelyn and didn’t say a single word to her. Not the blank stillness of when they were still new to being family, being brothers, when Aaron wasn’t yet used to Andrew defaulting to sharp words meant to hurt because he didn’t know how to say anything else. 

There's a tension in the line of Aaron’s back as he stares at Andrew, like he’s trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle with half the pieces missing. But there’s something quieter beneath it all. 

“Um,” Neil says hesitantly. “He’s still bleeding.” 

It takes a few seconds for Neil’s words to land. Aaron takes a deep breath, slow enough that Andrew can see the rise and fall of the line of his shoulders. He reaches into his bag, rummaging around. Aaron still doesn’t look at Neil when he presses the band-aid into his hand, but he lets him take it. 

Once the band-aid is secured, Neil shifts closer and presses his mouth to the hinge of Andrew’s jaw, soft as anything. “There you go,” he murmurs. “Aaron can clean it for you properly later. When you get back home.”

Aaron’s expression doesn’t change, save for the slight clench of his jaw. Still, he nods.

The silence grows, filling the space like something living and breathing. Andrew isn’t afraid to break it—he isn’t afraid of much, silences least of all—but he doesn’t have anything to say. 

Predictably, Nicky cracks first. He’s always hated it whenever Andrew and Aaron fought. “So you two are married?” he asks, voice pitched louder than Andrew appreciates. “And we weren’t invited to the wedding?”

“There was no wedding, Nicky. It’s all symbolic.”

“There should’ve been,” Nicky says mournfully. “I love a good occasion to dress up.” 

No one reacts to that, save for Neil’s quiet, wobbly smile. 

*

The not-marriage isn’t mentioned again for the rest of the trip. 

Neil has made himself scarce, claiming Kevin needs him more than usual. “Besides, you see me every day,” Neil had said with a small smile. “You only see Nicky and Aaron a few times a year.” 

Andrew supposes that’s true.

It’s an hour past closing. Andrew had kept his gallery open for limited hours the past week. As much as he’d like to take the full time off, he still has rent to pay. Inside, the gallery is dimly lit, the overhead lights shut off to save on the electric bill. Sunlight filters through the windows, casting long shadows across the framed canvases lining the walls, highlighting the motes of dust collecting on the sketchbooks and art supplies stacked on the shelves. 

Andrew is crouched on the floor, searching for a piece of charcoal that had tumbled into the abyss, when someone calls out, “Andrew?” He jolts, nearly braining himself on the corner of his desk. After the initial spike of adrenaline levels out, he shuffles back and spends a beat squinting up at the intruder. 

Aaron is standing in front of Andrew’s desk, flipping through a sketchbook. Pushing onto his feet, Andrew wipes his hands on a rag and narrows his eyes. Aaron doesn’t say anything, just keeps flipping through page after page—finished watercolor paintings, full pieces done in charcoal and oil pastels, line art sketched in pencil. It’s all drawings of Neil.

Andrew doesn’t say anything either, lets Aaron find the words.  

“Remember the first time we went to the beach? Or I should say, the first time Nicky forced us to go to the beach.”

Andrew pauses, slinging the dirty rag over his shoulder. Out of all the things that Aaron could’ve said, Andrew was not expecting this. Still, he nods. “It was terrible.”

“Sand got all over and in our clothes. You refused to wear swim trunks, and your ears got extremely sunburnt.”

“Your entire back got sunburnt.” 

“So did yours. You hated it.”

“You hated it too.” 

The corner of Aaron’s lips quirks upwards, an almost amused look, before he glances back down at the sketchbook, flipping to another page. “Yeah. But you don’t seem to hate it anymore.” 

Andrew says nothing, eyeing the way Aaron flexes his fingers. He’s not looking at Andrew, instead taking turns staring at the sketchbook and then off into the middle distance at a fixed point behind Andrew’s head.

“These drawings, they’re really good. You put a lot of time into them, I can tell.” Aaron’s voice is almost monotone, but not quite. There’s emotion there if you know where to look, and Andrew does. He’s landed on the last page, a simple pencil sketch of Neil at the beach, sitting on their rock, smiling at Andrew, his eyes curved into beautiful crescents, a single dimple hollowing his left cheek. Aaron chews quietly on his bottom lip. “He means a lot to you.”

Understatement of the century. “Yes.”

“And you love him.”

“Yes.” 

“And he loves you.” Not a question. Andrew doesn’t say anything because he knows Aaron already knows the answer. Aaron smiles a little at that, shaking his head, glancing out the window at the tourists passing by. 

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says quietly. He looks as close to plaintive as Andrew’s ever seen him. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. Or Neil. I know how you are, how you get. You don’t let many people into your life.” 

Andrew stills. It should feel pointed, but it doesn’t. Aaron truly does know him, even if it’s taken a while for them to get to this point.

“Back then, people pissed you off. Existing seemed to piss you off. Hell, I pissed you off most of the time.”

“Still do,” Andrew mutters automatically. 

A soft huff escapes Aaron’s mouth. He looks around the gallery, at the artworks on the walls, the denim jacket thrown over Andrew’s desk chair, the half-eaten sandwich on Andrew’s desk. “You’re happy here.” He gently closes the sketchbook. “I can see that now. I’m happy that you’re happy here.” 

The words wedge somewhere deep in Andrew’s chest, somewhere ugly and defensive that still expects rejection, that tells him he doesn’t deserve this easy acceptance, especially from Aaron. Andrew shakes his head, looking down at the charcoal dust staining his fingertips. “I should’ve told you. About Neil.”

“Probably. But I get why you didn’t.”

Neither of them says anything after that. Slowly, an uncertain hand rests on Andrew’s shoulder, a touch too warm and sweaty. It’s the weird type of touch where it’s so painfully obvious that they both don’t know how to do this naturally, don’t know how to be gentle with one another, but they’re trying anyway, the best that they can. 

They stand together in the middle of the quiet gallery for a few moments, staring at nothing in particular before Aaron clears his throat. “I care about you a lot, Andrew,” he says. “Actually. Just so you know.” He chances a look at Andrew, like he’s trying to gauge how Andrew is feeling, but he’s not sure if he wants to look too hard. 

Andrew bites the inside of his cheek. “The feeling is mutual.” His tongue feels a little thick in his mouth, like he won’t be able to make all his words right, but he can get that much out, and that’s what matters. 

Aaron nods back. “And if he turns you into seafoam, I’m killing him.”

Andrew snorts. In a way, Aaron’s protectiveness reminds Andrew slightly of Kevin—the hard look in his eyes when he’d told Andrew not to hurt Neil, the determined hunch of his shoulders. 

It’s taken Andrew and Aaron a long time to get to where they are now. Their relationship still isn’t easy—it’ll never be easy. It’s still biting words and sharp looks and narrow-eyed suspicion. But slowly, inch by inch, they’ve fought their way towards each other, fought for each other. The two of them are complicated. They always have been, and they probably always will be. But there’s a decent part of Andrew’s heart dedicated to loving his brother, and he knows Aaron feels the same.

Andrew catches Aaron by the wrist as he’s turning to leave and holds tight, feels the bones shift and grind under the skin. Aaron gives Andrew a questioning look. “Thanks,” Andrew says. He doesn’t say any more than that, but from the look on Aaron’s face, Aaron understands. 

“Come upstairs when you’re done here. Nicky wants lobster rolls for dinner. He found a place on Yelp with a five-star review.” 

“Is he paying?” 

Aaron’s mouth curves upwards, a smile that matches Andrew’s own. “We’ll make him."

*

Andrew is up at the asscrack of dawn the morning of Nicky and Aaron’s flights. That’s the one downside of living in a remote town far from the masses. The nearest airport is a ferry ride away, and you’re at the mercy of the ferry’s sparse schedule.

Neil had requested that Andrew and his family swing by the beach before they leave. He hadn’t elaborated on why, and Andrew had spent the entire drive wondering what he was planning. 

Andrew flings the car door open as soon as he parks. He’s taking up two parking spaces, but it doesn’t matter; no one else is at the beach this early. He kicks off his boots and heads barefoot into the sand, Nicky and Aaron trailing behind him. Nicky is blabbing already, lamenting about how the week went by too fast, while Aaron clutches a tumbler of coffee, still half asleep. 

The sight of Neil waiting by their rock settles something restless in Andrew. The wind tugs Neil’s curls loose and wild around his face. Andrew can hear Aaron and Nicky close behind, their footsteps soft beneath the sound of the waves.

“Neil, we’re going to miss you!” Nicky cries out. “What are the chances that we can get you on a plane to visit us during the holidays?”

“I highly doubt Neil has a passport, dumbass,” Aaron grumbles. 

Neil’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. But there’s something else there, too. Nervousness, Andrew can tell. Before Andrew can read into it, Neil lurches forward, shoving something into Aaron’s hand. 

Aaron glances down, evidently confused, startled enough that his coffee slips from his grip into the sand. Sea glass glints between Aaron’s fingers, all in different shades of green, the color of sea foam. 

“What is this?” he croaks.

“It’s a bracelet.”

Aaron blinks. “Okay?”

“I made it. From sea glass that I found around the beach.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

Neil shrugs. “You mentioned that green is Katelyn’s favorite color.” 

“I—” Aaron says, and stops short. And Andrew remembers this. When they were at the aquarium, Aaron had pointed out a school of fish with glowing electric green stripes and snapped a picture for Katelyn. “It’s Katie’s favorite shade of green,” he’d said. “But why?”

“It’s merfolk tradition to bring gifts for the family of the person you’re courting. Andrew and I are already mates, so I’m doing everything out of order, but…” Anxiously, Neil picks at one of the broken scales on his tail. “You are important to Andrew.”

Aaron just stares at the bracelet, silent long enough that even Nicky starts looking nervous, eyes ping-ponging between Aaron and Neil. When Aaron does speak, his eyes are wide. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Neil says. “Just accepting it is enough.” Just accepting me is enough. 

Aaron’s fingers tighten slightly around the bracelet. He grabs his fanny pack, carefully placing the bracelet in the innermost pocket before zipping it back up. He clears his throat. “Thank you, Neil. Katelyn will love it.”

Beside Andrew, Neil relaxes, his ears twitching slightly upwards, his tail no longer as coiled in the sand. Nicky makes a wounded noise. “Okay, but if Aaron gets a magical sea offering and I don’t—”

“Nicky,” Neil says, and Nicky lets out a little wail, eyes already pink and watery. “I made this for you, too.”

He holds out a sand dollar tied onto a leather band, made into a necklace. Nicky, true to form, bursts into tears. He throws himself down onto the ground, uncaring of all the sand sticking to his sweater, and wraps Neil up in a hug. Neil returns it awkwardly, patting Nicky on the back. And it loosens the fist that had tightened in Andrew’s chest, seeing Neil getting along with his family, being accepted by his family. 

Somewhere in the distance, a ferry horn groans across the water.

“We have to catch that ferry soon,” Aaron interrupts, sounding unusually apologetic.

After all of the wailing and subsequent too-tight bear hugging, Nicky wobbles back to his feet, grossly blowing his nose into a tissue. “We’ll miss you, Neil! Take care of our Andrew for us.”

“We’ll wait for you in the car, Andrew,” Aaron says.

Andrew nods, and then it’s just him and Neil. It’s not freezing this early in the morning, but it isn’t warm either. Andrew stifles a shiver. Neil notices immediately. He hooks his fingers into Andrew’s sleeves and tugs him down against his side, kicking up his body heat.

“Thank you,” Andrew murmurs, leaning against Neil’s shoulder, tucking his nose against Neil’s neck, breathing in his scent. The warmth runs through him like a wave. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I wanted to,” Neil says. “I know I wasn’t…the nicest this week.”

“When are you ever?”

Neil swats Andrew gently on the shoulder. “I want to make an effort. Your family cares about you. I care about you.” 

Andrew brushes his knuckles against Neil’s cheek. Sometimes he doesn’t think he deserves this, whatever beautiful, wonderful thing he’s created with Neil, that Neil has given him. He kisses the side of Neil’s mouth, his jaw, his forehead. Neil makes a low, pleased noise as Andrew runs his tongue over the seam of his lips. 

“We should go back to the aquarium sometime,” Neil mutters in between kisses. “Just us.”

“You just want to smuggle more crabs out.”

“Aaron won’t be there to stop me.” His laugh lands as a puff of air against Andrew’s nose, and he pauses, pressing his forehead against Andrew’s. “I’m glad I met them.”

“Yeah,” Andrew says. He noses against Neil’s jaw, presses one last kiss against his cheek. “Me too.”

The three of them make it to the docks minutes before the ferry is about to depart. There are no goodbye hugs or tearful I’ll miss yous, at least not from Andrew and Aaron. Nicky makes up for all of them. He wraps Andrew up in a hug that Andrew pretends to hate and ruffles his hair like he used to when they were younger. 

Aaron simply gives him a little wave. “Next time, I’ll bring something for Neil,” he says, and Andrew’s mouth twitches slightly upwards. 

“He’d like that.”

Andrew stands at the dock, watching the ferry disappear into the early morning fog until Nicky’s waving hand vanishes from sight.

Next time, Aaron had said, and Andrew finds that he’s looking forward to it—having all the important people in his life together in one place again. The thought settles, comforting and unfamiliar, in Andrew’s chest.

Though next time, he’s not letting Nicky rent another boat. 

Andrew checks his phone—still a few hours before he has to open up the gallery. He’s sure Neil is still on the beach, waiting by their rock. He opens up his group chat with Nicky and Aaron, sends a quick “safe travels” text, and makes his way back to Neil.