Chapter Text
"Mama, why can't things just stay the same?"
"Sometimes, my child, life will change against our will. It pushes and pulls us in many directions, like bits of sand in the current. There are times we end up far away from where we were before, but if you remember what matters in your heart, you will always find home, in the shallowest of tide pools or the deepest of seas."
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There were not many things in life that struck fear into Chase's heart. Public speaking was a breeze and a pleasure. He loved having the attention on himself. Spiders? Only if he felt like living in fear of the attic above his room everyday. So, no. Spiders weren't an issue. He doesn't even freak out when he hears strange scratching in the barn. He'd just look to find the mouse that wasn't paying rent and evict it. But... there was one thing he feared. Most of the time it merely lingered in the back of his mind. Other times... well, he can't exactly escape from the slimy clutches of the ocean that waved to him from his own window.
Ever since his earliest memories of sailing trips with his dad, being surrounded by a large, deep body of water seemed to rub him the wrong way. It wasn't even the idea of drowning that scared him the most. Whenever Chase was near the water, the back of his mind seemed to itch with the stories of sirens, giant squids, and the vast unknown beneath the water's surface. The ocean seemed to radiate some form of untamed power that Chase was hesitant to touch.
Despite his fears, Chase found himself living in an apartment with his cousin just off of the Atlantic Coast. It was a nice little place that was only an hour from Deacon's parents, where he could visit his mom. And while it wasn't his first, second, or even 50th choice of where to live, Deacon was attending some college here for an authorship program and Chase needed more independence. Or, at least, that was what their grandpa said while banishing him from the house. If you asked Chase, their grandpa just wanted extra room to craft schemes and bake plots for taking down Diane Forenski.
While Deacon was attending college, Chase found himself working at a local cafe. He didn't mind his job. It definitely wasn't the worst place to work, and the regulars were pretty nice, at least most of them were. His boss was also super accommodating with the celiac, making sure Chase wasn't placed in the kitchen to work on pastries or sandwiches. Cali, the cafe owner, even double-checked all the ingredients Chase would be working with to make sure they were fine, despite Chase assuring them that he could work with the syrups regardless as long as he didn't drink them.
Then, there was the part of his job that he did very much mind.
A bell jingled above the entry to the Seafoam Cafe announcing the arrival of a customer. As if his very presence was some dark storm, the atmosphere of the cozy cafe turned turbulent as he sauntered in, acting as if he owned the place. A black stain on the otherwise welcoming interior that would do nothing but complain about tacky decor, as if the interior would change to better suit his majesty at his first complaint. Then the jerk would bark his order at Chase as if he were merely a servant in his majesty's castle. Always the same order: an iced mocha with extra chocolate.
Was it bad that Chase was glad the jerk always left after his drink was served? Probably. But what else is he supposed to think of a guy who wears a black turtleneck in a seaside town?
"Let me guess, regular iced mocha with extra chocolate?" Chase asked, already typing in the order. The other boy scoffed, but nodded.
"Anything else?"
"No, that is all."
Chase scrawled out the order on the side of the cup. "That will be $5.65. Name for the order?"
'Buddy' rolled his eyes. "I fail to see why you need a name when you already know what I look like."
Chase huffed and went to add 'King Jerk' to the cup, only stopping himself because he didn't want to get fired. He just knew the jerk would be one of those people to throw a huge fit upon seeing something like that. No, it was better to play it safe… or well, safer with 'Mallgoth Supreme'. Once his majesty graced the poor servant known as Chase with the meager sum needed to purchase his real treasure, the jerk just meandered over to a plush couch and took his temporary throne. The disdain on his face said all the was needed to be known of his opinion on the blue and white color scheme around his darkness.
Chase silently prepared Buddy's drink, making sure to add all four pumps of chocolate syrup. He swore Buddy must have some sort of magic chocolate detection thing going on. One time he made the drink during a rush and only put three pumps, and that jerk came back to the counter claiming that his drink didn't have enough chocolate in it. With a roll of his eyes, Chase capped the drink, grabbing a straw before heading to the counter.
"Iced chocolate mocha with extra chocolate for Mallgoth Supreme!" Chase called out.
'Buddy' looked up from the centerpiece on the coffee table he was poking at to glare at him. The guy shot one more glare at the dumb shell bouquet before vacating his throne for the treasure he fought all the battles for. The taller boy sauntered over to the counter and picked up his drink.
"Have a good day!" Chase smiled, satisfied in his level of pettiness.
'Buddy' scoffed. "It would be a better day if you repainted the walls, or perhaps you could market this place as a beach house instead. I'm sure you would make more profit on vacation sites than as a cafe."
"Ya know what, Buddy? For someone who hates the decorations so much, you sure come here a lot!" A slight pink twinged Buddy's cheeks, likely from embarrassment 'cause Chase was right.
"Despite your tacky, tourist trap appearance, this is the only place in this town that can make my drink correctly… most of the time," the goth stated before turning heel and leaving.
"What a guy," Chase mumbled before returning to the register.
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A familiar tune cut through the best part of the Mistenwood movie Chase was watching. If Deacon told you he jumped at the noise, NO HE DIDN'T. He was just shifting to grab the phone from his pocket. The Star Brigade song grew louder as the device came out of hiding, letting him see one of the few names allowed to interrupt a Mistenwood movie.
"Hey, Simes! What's up, man?" Chase barely managed to snatch the remote to pause the movie before the big confession.
"Yo, Grandma wanted me to get a final list of who's coming to the party Saturday. Something about security wanting to know who's supposed to be there or not. You still coming Saturday?"
Right. The party. The party he agreed to go to because it was Simon's birthday. The party that was happening on the beach. The party that was on a beach attached to the ocean... That party...
"Yeah, dude! Of course I'm still coming. I wouldn't miss it!"
It would be fine. Chase didn't need to get into the water. There was plenty of things to do on a beach that wasn't swimming in the water that has such a haunting melody, trying to entice him into its cold embrace. He wasn't going to let his best friend down and miss his birthday because he had some stupid, irrational fear of the ocean. It wasn't like the party was taking place on a boat. He would have had to move to a different country and change his name again to avoid that entire mess. A beach party would be fine.
Yet, the day crept in faster than the tide could. Saturday arrived and he found himself packed into Deacon's car with the rest of their stuff. A water bottle and a sand pail clutched tightly in his hands, barely acknowledging Deacon's comment about not making a mess in his car. Despite all his hopes, it was a rare, sunny day without a cloud in sight. Like really? Chase wanted to talk to the management of the weather department. The one time he wants a storm...
Still, a check point gate marked the edge of the beach and after waving their car through after confirming they were on the list, the cousins were at the beach. People were still setting up but he could see some of his friends lounging around. A large fire pit was prepared with all the supplies for hot dogs and s'mores set to the side.
Chase easily claimed a spot that kept the fire pit between him and the ocean before lathering up on sunscreen to protect his perfect superstar skin. A soft breeze dried the sunscreen as he chatted with Danielle, barely noticing Deacon placing himself on Chase's other side with a book and umbrella. A screech announced the first victim to the water as several people were wiped out by a wave.
Eventually, a volleyball net was put up and teams were being picked. Despite the nausea threatening to bring some bad attention to himself, he smiled and agreed when Simon asked him to join their team. Volleyball would give him something else to focus on besides the creeping waves and he knew he needed that distraction.
Hours passed with ease as he kept himself from acknowledging that awful rolling nothingness. Volleyball was followed by passing around a Frisbee. Frisbee turned into Cornhole. Cornhole was banned after a bad throw turned into a playful fight.
Chase felt something wet touch his ankle, and the rolling nothingness forced itself to the forefront of his mind.
The water was electrified or something because Chase felt his muscles seize and his blood turn to ice. His body froze, torn between flinging himself far away from the watery grasp and falling in to its gentle siren call. Terror won out and the next thing he was fully aware of was scrambling to his feet, heart trying to outrun the crashing waves, halfway to the parking lot.
"Chase? Chase, you alright, man?" Simon asked, carefully moving as if not to startle him.
"Y-Yeah. Everything's fine. I'm fine. You're fine. Everything's fine. AndIthinkIforgotthissuperimportantthinginthecarandIneedtogograbitnow."
He didn't wait for a reply from his best friend before scrambling away from the beach party. He couldn't focus on anything but the roaring of waves and the gentle caress of the water. Something in him knew the ocean wanted him but he couldn't give in to its soft song. He didn't know what dark magics the water held and he did not want to find out.
Unfortunately, not paying attention to where you were going tends to result in you getting lost. Chase would have been impressed with his ability to get lost when the parking lot was 30ft from the beach, but that was not the issue at the moment. He was nowhere near Deacon's car and all he could see was empty beach and a deceptively calm ocean.
Time to retrace his footsteps.
Chase turned around to head in the right direction when a loud shift in the sand caught his attention. When Chase glanced back, he caught a glimpse of a pale black fin, flopping against the sand until it disappeared further behind a nearby set of rocks. Did some fish get beached? Chase quietly approached the outcropping, unsure of what he might find.
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Nox sighed as he felt the current flow through his hair. He really did not want to be here, fifteen miles offshore, among the strange creatures swimming around him. The fish did not like him. They knew he was different. He was never meant to be part of the sea. The ocean in its kindness, at least, offered him safe passage through its waters, perhaps, to take pity on his soul.
Another flick of his tail sent him closer towards shore. He would need to be careful not to surface too early as there was some kind of party happening on the beach adjacent to the private one he made his way towards. It was merely something in the back of his mind as his thoughts worked through the newest things he has learned today from the local pod.
A stray sunbeam danced around the water. His eyes followed it as it made its way onto black scales that cut through the dancing water. Black scales that covered his arms in a way that still felt so foreign to him. The same color of scales that crafted the long tail pushing him closer and closer to the shore where he could return to what was normal.
Each flick of the powerful tail sent him into brighter, shallower water. Straight to the secluded beach that was purchased for this very purpose. To dry off and return to the faux image of normalcy before he could return to his simple apartment. Finally, he was pulling himself into the small hide away where he could begin to dry off, smoothing the rough sand with a heavy tail.
He slowly made his way to where his bag was hidden among the rocks with his towel. He was reaching for the zipper when he heard a slight shift in the sand behind the rocks. It was probably a bird. He was too far away from the party happening on the other side of the beach.
"Holy shit-" a voice whispered. Nox whipped his attention up to the edge of the outcropping where an annoyingly familiar blond was peering down at him. Their eyes met, and the barista's face morphed into recognition.
“Mer-merman?”
This was not how his day was supposed to go.
