Chapter Text
The Legend:
It breathes water like air
Swims deep in the sea
If you save them, ask a mermaid
What you want it to be
---
Hank felt guilty when he drank.
He felt guilt for his lost son.
He felt guilt that the accident three years gave him a limp, and anxious episodes near flashing lights. As a police lieutenant, this meant he could no longer do his job. He was discharged into an early retirement, of sorts. He felt guilt when he was approved for the small disability checks, when others needed it so much more than just a bachelor and his St. Bernard.
He felt guilt that he had to drag his dog through the struggle; the massive creature finding him passed out with a bottle in his hands or huddled into a corner crying most nights.
He felt guilt that he was lucky enough to have inherited his little plot of land by the ocean. A cabin that was just big enough, and a little bit of beach along the Atlantic coast. There was an old dock, which he had repaired before the accident, and an old boat with some fishing gear.
And fish he did. He would catch fish for the local grocer, sometimes lucky enough to catch a vendor that would put the fish in a bed of ice and drive it further inland.
He felt guilt that he had enough to live comfortably enough, thanks to years of saving and stemming off credit card debt. Nothing fancy, by any means, but well enough. The therapist did his job, his doctor did hers, and Hank lived on.
But… he still drank. It numbed the pain and fear, made him feel brave and in control when it pumped through his veins. It was hardly even 4pm, there was still enough daylight to fish for another few hours before sunset. He mumbled “see you later, boy” to Sumo, leaving his walking cane behind.
It was the alcohol that told him to go out, despite the foreboding dark clouds coming in. It was still summer, but he ignored the thunderous warning in the skies as he launched the boat into the water. He took another swig of his flask, tucking it into his pocket. He got far enough out to throw some bait on his rod and wait.
But the rain and wind came too fast, he was hardly ready when lightning struck near the lighthouse, just barely in view.
“Shit!” He yelled out, trying to start the motor to head back to shore.
The ocean was harsh; waves crashing and filling the boat with the briny water. Another bout of relentless, freezing water crashed into his boat. He screamed as he was flung from its side; the tumultuous water holding him under. Even if it wasn’t, his aching leg would hardly move or kick if he tried. Hank held his breath as long as he could; he had to get back…. He had to-
----
When Connor woke up, more than three full moons ago, he was alone.
All of the merfolk, his friends and family, all gone without any trace.
He had drifted so far away in the night after a fight with one of his brother’s… but upon returning to where the group had settled the week before, the had been nothing. They wouldn't all pick up and leave… would they?
He couldn't be sure, but all he could do was search. He traveled miles and miles, looking wherever they migrated through the seasons. The warmer waters showed nothing promising, so he went up along the coast warily, hardly knowing what more he could do.
As he journeyed, the pressing loneliness felt heavy in his heart. It was so foreign to him; they never separated or left someone behind. But there was a fear deep within him, a dark whisper that could be the answer: the sea demon Kamski. The monster’s desire for power over the oceans was great, returning again and again to take hold of what had never been his. A powerful force; a great energy that the merfolk guarded carefully since the dawn of their time. It protected the oceans, kept balance and peace. If it was ever taken by the cruel soul, all would be lost.
Connor found cooler waters as he traveled further north, finding areas where humans were more scarce. He was always told to fear them, to stay away because of their power over merfolk, but Connor was so curious. It could not have been humans who took away his family… could it?
On a restless night, as he continued his search, he saw the skies darken too early, too quickly. He swam to the surface for a moment, looking around at the angry waves. Salty foam sprayed as they clashed against one another.
And then he saw… a boat. The Mother Amanda had told them of those things. Humans used them to travel upon the water; some were large and loud like whales, and other smaller such as this one.
Inside it, a human flailed about in distress, knocked to and fro by the stormy waters. Connor could see he was struggling to stay in the vessel, until a harsh wave flung the boat upside down, and the human down with it.
Connor knew humans could swim, for a little while. When he dove back below, approaching carefully, he saw the man kicking with only one leg, trying desperately to reach for air as he choked and struggled. But, he was sinking further down with each passing second.
Connor swam as quickly as he could; even if humans had caused the merfolk to disappear, it would likely not have been this specific human. He couldn't let the human die!
Gripping from under the large arms, Connor brought him to the surface’s edge, lifting his head above the waves and looking for any signs of life in the bearded face. They were pushed under again, so Connor swam as hard as he could with the human in tow to the shore.
Connor pushed the man up to the sandy shore, shuffling himself out of the water just enough to tug the man away from the powerful undertow. Curiously, he pressed on the man's soft tummy, and water dribbled from his mouth. Tilting the man's head to the side, he pressed again, harder, until a raspy gasp was heard, but no words.
The man seemed to be asleep, and the storm passed away as quickly as it came. He waited, amusing himself in the nearby shallows, but constantly checking on the human.
After some time, the sun rose up to warm the world. Connor laid upon the beach beside the man, observing him with the morning light. He had never been this close to one before. This human was kinda hairy, and his hair was a speckled series of greys. He looked so peaceful while asleep; Connor dared to reach out and touch him.
He was so… soft . His hair, his arms… the very apples of his cheeks. Connor pressed his thumb into the areas that could dip and squish under his touch, and he smiled warmly as he studied the gentle face. The human looked troubled, but a gentle heart lying within.
From the bluffs above, up a set of rock stairs, a voice called out with the barking of a land-dog. Connor looked down one more time to see the human looking up at him; eyes fixed on him with their wildly clear pools of blue. The sight made Connor’s tail tense as he retreated to the ocean, swift like a current.
Hank sat up, rubbing his head and trying to follow the face that was just in his sights. The beautiful brunet looked at him with such curiosity, and a moment later in the ocean he saw what looked to be a grey and blue-tinted tailfin.
He shook himself slightly, did I really just see that? Or, did I swallow too much sea water?
His dog came over and licked his face, and a familiar voice bellowed out from behind him.
“Hank! Hank, you all right?” His old buddy with the police force, Fowler was there. “I was out on patrol, heard your dog barking from down your driveway. What happened?”
Hank coughed, finding his mouth strangely salty as he licked his cheeks. “I’m fine Jeffrey…. uhhh.. I think…” Mind reeling, he continued to stare out into the calm, glistening waters.
“Thank God, you’re alive! Christ, Hank! Don’t do that to me!!” Fowler said, pocketing his radio and kneeling beside his friend. “You want me to help you back up to the house?”
“Sure, yeah….” Hank said, taking an offered hand to stand up. Sumo followed them up the path.
--
Connor could feel his cheeks warm up as he fled away.
Hank… the human’s name is Hank...
He did an enthusiastic flip in the cool water; the thought of the human’s face and stunning eyes made him feel… oddly happy. For the first time in so long, he was not dragging his fins along the ocean floor in dismay, and instead happily floating among the fish and sea grass.
He laid down on a rock, looking up at the shifting light of the sun through the waves. The thought of the human in his mind… Hank… the sound echoed with joy in his mind, and his face warmed like sand that soaked in the warmth of sunshine.
--
“Anderson, you sure you’re all right? Your dog still seems a little more than agitated, and you look like you got run over by a trawler. Should I call your doctor or something?” Fowler asked, taking a sip of coffee.
Hank raised his hand, hobbling from the kitchen counter with his own cup; “I’m perfectly fine, Jeff. Gonna take my meds, a quick nap, and maybe go into town. The boat’s gone anyway, so I can’t go out on the ocean for a while.” His coffee spilled small drips on his way to the table, his still-shaking hands clutching the porcelain handle, and he sat with defeated sigh, “Do you know if Collins still has that spare boat hanging around in his garage?”
Fowler nodded, finished his drink and donning his hat. “I’ll ask; he should, though.” The officer nodded as he stepped toward the door, pulling the car keys from his pocket. “You need anything, you call me Anderson,” he insisted. “Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah… see ya ‘round,” Hank waved his friend away, sipping his light and sweet drink and looked back out at the ocean. That face… that creature… it couldn’t have been real… could it? Hank just had a rather traumatic experience and was seeing things, according to Fowler. But he knew what that was like, he’d been through it before. But this... this was real.
When he went out in his boat, roaring drunk, he was hoping through his whiskey-induced stupor that he wouldn’t return. He couldn’t live with the pain anymore, at least he would go quietly and with some dignity. But that mermaid… merman?... that mer-person that had been on the beach, it made him content and curious enough to live another day.
“Sumo, let's go see Collins about that boat, huh?” Hank asked his dog, abandoning his coffee for his car keys and cane.
Lucky for him, Ben still had an old boat sitting in his barn. It was bigger than Hank's was and would need a new engine, but it was tough fiberglass all over. The portly farmer gave it to Hank at a steep discount, having had no use for it in many years anyway, and offered to help Hank launch it into the water. It wasn't often that you find yourself with such caring neighbors, but ol’ Ben was a generous one.
Hank lead the way back to his place, leaving his truck by the house and meeting Ben a little ways down the beach at a gently sloped section where they eased the trailer into the water. The new owner happily took hold of a leading cord, as Collins slid it off the trailer hooked to his truck.
“There ya go, Anderson! You can store her in the barn in the winter. Maybe bring the missus a fish or two this week? I know she'll love a fresh catch,” the farmer said, hopping back up into his truck.
“Any time you like, Ben. I owe you a lot, thank you…” Hank replied starting to pull the boat toward the dock.
Ben gave him a casual salute as he revved his engine, kicking it into 4-wheel drive to steer back up the hill.
Sumo was running up and down along the coast, happily splashing in the water. “Ahhh, Sumo!! You're gonna fucking trail that into the house, ain't ‘cha?” Hank called out, coming up onto the dock and tying it off to catch his breath. He didn’t always need his cane, but he really should remember to leave one down here for days like this.
Sumo came up to him, rubbing up against Hank's denim pants in a way of asking to be spoiled a little. The man rolled his eyes, patting the wet, matted fur, “You're a good dog, huh?” He teased lovingly.
As he looked up, he saw something splash in the water a little ways from the dock. It was too large to be a fish… Hank froze, looking out for any other movement. Even Sumo was barking at the sudden sound.
“Hmmm… let's grab some supplies and head out, whattya say bud?” Hank smiled, walked with his dog across the beach to slowly climb up to the house. Thankfully, drunk-Hank didn’t bring out sober-Hank's favorite fishing pole.
---
After seeing the man almost look toward him, Connor receded back under the glistening water to avoid being spotted. The human had gotten a new boat, it seemed. He had considered bringing the old one back to him, but unsure if it’s bulk would prove too difficult. Besides, he was still wary of making his presence known.
When the human returned, he dipped strange fins into the water, and Connor could almost make out what he was saying to his land-dog. He wanted to observe the human more closely, and maybe prevent him from drowning if he happened to fall out again.
--
The first trip out on the new boat went off without a hitch. It cut smoothly against the breaking waves, and rocked Hank and Sumo gently. Speaking of, the dog was thrilled to get to wear his life jacket again. It had been ages since Hank took him out to fish.
He got a few good-sized catches and decided to call it a day. Still pretty exhausted, Hank could tell he would need to take his painkillers again. The oars fixed in place, he rowed them back to the dock, and used the support bar his doctor recommend to help him out of the boat.
It may him feel weak, only 53 and needing something to help him stand up like this. He didn't envy people who had to deal with this their whole lives, he was still adjusting to it all himself.
With the boat secured, he patted his leg to beckon Sumo to follow, his phone chiming as he started the long journey up the stairs.
“Hello, this is Hank,” he answered, not bothering to see who it was on the phone’s screen.
“Anderson, heard you got washed up last night,” the voice on the other end was not one for expressing sympathy, but it curled on the edges of the words as if to try.
“Hey Gavin,” Hank greeted, stopping for a moment to prepare himself for whatever Reed was about to say next.
“You, uhhh, doing all right? Heard you had to get new boat… what the fuck happened?” The younger man asked.
Hank let out a sigh, he couldn’t really explain it himself at this point. And would Reed even believe him about it? Then; something occurred to him. He knew exactly who to ask about it later.
“Why don’t you come around to the bay tomorrow? We’ll fish, and I’ll tell you about it. Whattya say?” He asked.
A clear chuckle resonated through the phone’s speaker, “Sure, sure… be over around noon,” the phone beeped as the screen went dark.
When he got to the top of the stairs, finally, Hank could hardly imagine having to drag himself back out again today, but he needed some answers. He poured Sumo’s dinner into his bowl, took his meds, and started preparing a casserole to bring up to the Jericho Lighthouse.
--
After the long drive up the winding hill, Hank parked where the sandy gravel ended, and knocked on the large, metal door.
From a distance, the lighthouse looked like any other: a gleaming, white tower with spinning lights at the top. But as you got closer, you could notice the details painted around it. Different shades of off-white swirled up and around it like an ornate candy cane. The ivories and egg-shells were picked with purpose; Carl was a clever bastard to decorate the old building the way he wanted.
“Uhhh, Mr. Manfred? I brought some dinner… I was wondering if we could chat for a bit?” He spoke into the small intercom. He knocked again, “I dunno if you’re busy or, uhh, asleep… but I was wondering if I could ask you about something I saw out in the water,” he continued, unsure if he was even heard.
There was a static-y buzz, and a loud clunk as the door unlocked, and a reply came through the small speaker, “take the elevator up to the top, Anderson.”
A little unsure, Hank nodded and did as instructed. He pulled open the gate of the old elevator, closing it behind him before selected where he needed to go: to the top, it is.
He didn’t know much about Carl Manfred. He was, at one point, a fairly famous but reclusive painter who was born and raised in the little ocean town but moved out to a big city. He took over the lighthouse about twenty years ago, promising to maintain it despite his age. The first year or two, the old man spent many days suspended against it’s plain, white walls with paint in hand. He had rules to adhere to, of course, but it became a secret treasure for the townsfolk to admire. At least… those who didn’t think Carl was absolutely crazy.
Sometime not too long after he first arrived, he spread stories at the bar about finding a beautiful fish-person by the ocean, washed up by the tide and he helped it back into the ocean.
Hank couldn’t help but wonder… was it the same one that saved him?
The elevator whirred as it brought Hank up, up, up; up as far as it could go. There was a small studio with creaky, wood floors. Papers littered the desk, while beautiful canvases lined the walls; most of them landscapes and sunsets over the ocean. “Uhhh, hello?” He called out.
“Up here! The stairs in the corner!” An elderly voice replied from above, “I’m almost done; you can leave the food down there, we’ll have it in a bit.”
Hank set the casserole dish down on a nearby chair, struggling to get up the scrunched stairs with his bad leg, but the view was worth it.
Carl stood a few feet away on the viewing desk, a canvas strapped to an artist’s easel in front of the white-haired lighthouse keeper. “Isn’t it lovely up here, Anderson?” He said without looking away. He was painting his view of the cliffs to the north, the sharp rocks sticking out of the foamy waters. The purples and oranges of the sunset highlighted carefully along the edges of the waves, just as it was in real life, but something about the way Carl painted it made it seem so much more ethereal.
“Wow… it’s, uh, yeah… it’s beautiful,” he stuttered out, his thoughts lost in the sight.
The painter hummed, finishing up the last few strokes before placing the brush in a tin can by his feet. “So, what is it you wanted to talk about? Must be quite the occasion to get you all the way up here.”
Leaning against the railing to support himself, Hank nodded, “yeah, I uhh… I was out in my boat during that storm last night. And I… I think I saw something,” he explained nervously.
Carl’s eyebrows lifted up, “Oh, is that so?” He confirmed, studying Hank’s face closely, “well, then let’s have some dinner, shall we?”
They returned downstairs, Carl offering to carry the casserole dish, and they took the elevator to his small living quarters toward the base of the building. It was a simple living arrangement, but well taken care of. They each got a plate of the dish, still warm thankfully, and began to eat.
“This was very thoughtful Anderson…” Carl stated after taking his first bite. “It is rare that I have a home cooked meal such as this, thank you.”
Hank awkwardly accepted the compliment, digging in to his own plate. He wasn’t great at cooking, but fish casserole wasn’t exactly hard or particularly complicated, and it was something he enjoyed making all the same. It was his comfort food, and thankfully very hard to overcook.
“So… the old boat is gone,” he started, speaking between bites. He stared down at his food, unsure of how to explain it, but he could feel Carl’s sympathetic gaze. “I shouldn’t have gone out yesterday… the waves tossed the boat over and I fell out and into the water.” He took a deep breath, “I was rescued by something… or someone,” Hank finally looked up, “and I think you know what.”
“Oh… oh my God…” Carl gasped in disbelief, and then insisted swiftly after “did you tell anyone else?”
Hank shook his head defensively, “no, I swear I haven’t.”
“Good… good…” Carl relaxed in his seat, staring distractedly at the corner of the room where, somehow, more canvases leaned against the wall. Silently, he stood up toward them, sifting through them before exclaiming “ah ha!” and bringing it toward the table.
“Did the look like this?” Carl asked, holding the canvas up to Hank.
The man in the portrait sat on a stormy-black rock that nearly matched his tail, his skin a dark tan and freckled cheeks, but no hair; each eye a different color, blue and green. The figure looked out into the ocean with an confidence that Hank could only ever dream of having. But… it wasn’t the face he had seen.
He shook his head, “no… no this one different.” He was… beautiful… Hank thought to himself.
Carl squinted his eyes, looking at the old painting again and shook his head. “I knew I wasn’t dreaming… I knew there had to be...” He set the canvas down, returning to his meal. “You do know the stories, don’t you?” He asked Hank, scooping a piece of cooked fish onto his fork.
“Yeah, yeah, something about granting your wish or whatever,” Hank shrugged. “He’s probably long gone now, anyway.”
“I see,” Carl replied pensively. “Well, if you ever see him again, I’d love to hear about it.”
--
He couldn’t get the one, brief glimpse of the creature’s face out of his thoughts all night.
Hank woke up groggily, wiping his face and the crusts from his eyes, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable four hours of sitting out on the ocean with Gavin Reed. He had a much bigger boat, which was always tricky to climb onto, but it was a much smoother ride than his own. Besides, he still needed to get a new engine for the one Ben let him have for a steal.
Hank gathered his gear, and waited by the dock for the sound of Reed’s obnoxious boat to come around. He was late, which didn’t surprise Hank in the slightest.
“Good morning ya crazy, ol’ bastard!” Reed called out, stalling his engine far enough away so he wouldn’t crash into the dock.
“Yeah, yeah, same to you,” Hank retorted, grabbing the lead that his friend tossed and securing his boat to the long side of the dock. “Still got those stairs?”
Gavin hissed through his teeth, “shit, I think I left it back at the house… want me to hoist you up?”
“Oh fuck that, you couldn’t even if you tried,” Hank groaned. “I can handle the ladder, but you’ll have to get Sumo in here.”
Gavin hopping off the side of the boat, lifting the enormous hound as Hank meticulously took on the ladder rung by rung. He wasn’t gonna let stop him. Once they were all secured and life-jacketed, Gavin started up the boat again and they sailed out into the ocean. Thankfully, he knew to stock a few six-packs of beer for the two of them.
--
Connor watched from a distance as Hank climbed the larger watercraft with his land-dog and the other human. He imagined it would move so much slower because of its size, but the strange, white vessel proved difficult to keep up with. They went out much further than Hank had before, and without anything to hide under, he had to be more careful observing them.
When they finally stopped, his gills ruffled in relief, and he stayed directly under the boat until they threw their strange strings out into the water.
Connor also enjoyed the taste of fish, but only every so often. The little creatures were friendly enough, and he would play with them when he felt lonely; but they were also incredibly stupid, and didn’t make for much conversation. He assumed that Hank was catching fish to bring back to the other humans who could not do it for themselves. The human must’ve been highly respected and adored for his efforts.
It became boring hanging around alone, sometimes chasing the fish toward their hooked lures, sometimes waving at a passing seal or quietly swimming whale. After some silence from above, he poked his head up from under the water, hoping to not alert the land-dog of his presence. But then, the other human spoke up.
“Hey, you every try fishing nets?” He asked Hank, scuffling and footsteps coming from the top of the boat.
“Nah, always felt kinda like cheating…” Hank replied, the deep voice making Connor smile a little.
Hasty steps thudded above, “Awwww, c’mon Hank. I’ll even show you how… although I’ve lost a few out here. Some of those bigger fish are pretty unruly,” said not-Hank, and Connor shifted in the water nervously.
Suddenly, the land-dog started barking, and he disappeared back under the water as the two humans loudly ran to the side of the boat. That had been too close; he started to swim down, making sure he wouldn’t be seen, resting his chin in the meat of his palm as he stretched out aloft the seaweed.
A moment later, something touched the top of his head, and then his shoulders. Thick, scratchy strands covered him, with heavy rocks at the ends. A single cord strayed, and when pulled taught suddenly Connor found himself being taken away by the trap. His tailfin was too constricted to properly swim, so he grabbed a section of the pulled rope that disappeared above the surface and began trying to undo the knot that connected it to the net. He had been trapped in one of these once before, but not one nearly this strong. Before he got too close to the surface, he managed to separate the cord away, retreated further below to try and break free.
He tried for hours, drifting closer and closer to the shore. At one point he heard the loud boat pass him back to land, but he finagled the heavy net so he could at least follow slowly. The sunlight was fading away quickly, and soon it would be too dark for him to see. Being caught up like this made him unbearably anxious, nervous that he’d never be free again.
He got closer to the shore where he had first left Hank, still trying to break away when a strong wave sent him backwards into a rock that he couldn’t avoid. He felt a sharp thud against his skull, and darkness fell over him.
--
Gavin walked Hank back up to the house, which the older man took as a sign as wanting dinner cooked for him. All he had were leftovers, but his friend graciously didn’t mind. They talked a little while longer, and just as the sun started to set, they went back down to the dock.
“Damn net… still not sure what happened with that thing!” Gavin spat, climbing up into his boat, “If you see it, let me know if it worked.” he asked.
Hank chuckled, “sure thing, Reed. I’ll see you around.”
Gavin clicked his tongue, giving Hank finger guns, and set off back home.
Sumo was exploring the shore, pawing at the smaller fish that swam daringly near the water’s edge. Hank stood aimlessly on the dock, and noticed that there would be another rather nice sunset soon. Soon it would be too cold to enjoy them out on the dock, so he managed himself down to sit on the edge of the dock, sneaker-covered feet dangling just at the water’s edge.
He had been thinking about his conversation with Carl… how many other merfolk could be out there? Were they only in this area, or around the world? Heaving a sigh, he looked out over the ocean as the waves lapped at his feet.
Sumo had wandered off somewhere, barking at his heart’s content. At least someone was having fun.
The large animal came up beside his owner, nuzzling into Hank’s lap with an urgent boof . “Hey buddy,” Hank said, scratching Sumo’s favorite spot under his neck. But usually, the big oaf would lay down and ask for belly rubs at a time like this. Instead, the dog continued to bark, making whining noises and pacing back and forth, as if waiting for Hank.
“You crazy dog… hang on, hang on… I’m getting up,” he grunted, pulling himself up with some difficulty from the long day. Sumo ran down the dock and along the beach, “I’m coming, see? Can you wait just a fuckin’ minute?”
Further up the beach was a rocky area that Hank hadn’t visited in a long time, lots of large boulders around and much more secluded than the rest of the shoreline. He rounded one of the larger ones, following his suddenly-crazy dog. He looked down with a weighted gasp, clutching his chest.
Tangled up in the rope net that Gavin had thrown off the boat earlier was a young man with a long grey-and-blue tail where his legs should be. It… couldn’t be…
It was hard, but Hank could manage to kneel down on one of his legs long enough to help. The creature wasn’t struggling, or awake from the looks of it. Pulling a utility knife from his pocket, he started to cut away at the harsh rope with the serrated blade. Once he got a few sections cut, he tugged the net away, and his heart thumped as he saw the face unobstructed once more.
Brown hair, soft and curling but weighed down with water. Plush cheeks with little marks and freckles that continued down his body, and the skin shimmered in the fading sunlight. Leaning closer, he saw the little marks were a dark blue… it was remarkable. He also noticed at the closer angle that there was also something blue in the sand behind his head. A strange, thick liquid stained the sand; Hank bit his lip, now even more nervous about touching the stranger if he was injured.
Before he could move another muscle, eyelashes fluttered open, and he saw the trusting brown eyes look up at him. The merman’s mouth fell open, as he sat upright, looking around and seeing the half-started job of freeing him from the net.
Hank flinched, “right! Sorry, sorry… I…” he looked away, continuing to work his knife through the fibers. “I just… I can’t believe you’re really…”
Something in the back of Hank’s mind, probably his mother, slapped him for forgetting his manners.
He looked back up at the merman’s face, “Oh! Uhhh… thank you, by the way…. Thank you for saving my life that night,” he said. The merman gave him a surprised and almost blank stare, but smiled slightly at the words and opened his mouth again. Frustration drew his brown eyebrows together, unable to reply to Hank.
The human nodded as he cut the last few offending lengths of rope. “Can’t talk, huh? That’s all right… uhh… I wish I knew what your name was, though.” They exchanged another quick look, but the merman could only shrug sadly. “Well… I’m Hank Anderson. I hope you weren’t too badly hurt from Gavin’s stupid net.” Hank tossed aside the cut up trawl, and then found a cold hand pressed against his cheek that drew his gaze back at the merman. The young body moved closer to him, bringing their faces merely inches apart. Hank could see the cheeks tinted in a light teal-blue, complimenting nicely with the blue of his other features.
The merman mouthed “Hank”, the “k” sound clicking in the back of his throat.
“Uhhh.. huuhhh…” Hank wasn’t sure if he was even still breathing. Was he? Did he even exist? He didn’t know… all he knew was the look of absolute sincerity directed at him made his stomach churn with warmth and strangeness.
The last fading light of the sun dimmed away, and Hank steadied himself to stand back up, “you stay safe out there, all right? Us humans don’t know if you’re real… well, most of us… I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.” He said, looking down as the merman scooted further toward the splashing water.
The merman looked over his shoulder to Hank, nodding, before slipping away into the ocean to swim back to deeper waters.