Archive of Our Own

The sea calls back to you 

Apocalyptica — Sea Song (You Waded Out)

     Minho had never learned to swim. At all. Like an axe thrown into the water, he would just tense up and sink straight to the bottom — to the horror of his parents, and later his school coaches.

Ironically, he lived in a coastal town where everything screamed of the sea: surfers conquering the waves from early spring to late autumn, divers whose equipment cost as much as Minho’s entire shop. Little cafés with names like “The Pearl” and “The Mermaid’s Dream.” And stalls, stalls, stalls, covering the promenade in a colorful mosaic — from tents selling inflatable rings to large souvenir shops hung with wind chimes and magnets.

Minho’s shop was small but open year-round: even in winter, tourists came to admire the sheer cliffs above the raging grey sea. And the souvenirs and jewelry he made himself were well-liked. Moreover, the advantageous proximity to the town’s best baker — Lee Felix — only helped business.

But Minho wasn’t behind the counter every day. Sometimes, when the workshop felt too empty, the low tide was long, and the weather was mild, he would leave everything to his cousin and head under the cliffs to explore the grottos and caves usually hidden underwater. There, he could always find new shells and stones for jewelry — from ordinary scallops for children’s bracelets to the rarest nautiluses, gleaming with mother-of-pearl and curling beautifully into a spiral. The waves also washed up sea-polished colored glass and modest pebbles there. And sometimes, on the smooth cave walls, one could even spot crystals, carnelian, or agates, which Minho would later carefully set in silver and sell to wealthy tourists.

For Minho, it was something between a beloved hobby and real work — collecting sea curiosities. But there was something else that drew him to these deserted grottos, to the secret refuge hidden from human eyes.

One of them — not far from the beach, beyond the cliffs — was his favorite place. There, in the center of the cave, lay a small lake. At low tide, it became smooth as a mirror, plunging down into a black abyss, while algae and mollusks glowed softly in the water, drifting gently in the half-darkness. Blue and green reflections shimmered on the dark stones of the grotto like the northern lights. Sometimes fish found their way into the lake, and then it glowed even brighter, flaring with every movement in the depths. The fairytale sight mesmerized Minho, and he spent many hours simply sitting on a rock near the pool, watching the play of light.

Today, too, he made his way to his favorite cave — the low tide promised to be long, the sun shone over the ocean, and the waves had cast up a multitude of finds. He had already collected especially pretty shells on the beach, and now among the rocks he found several spiny spiral murexes, pieces of wave-polished wood, and a few lost trinkets — a golden ring, a couple of bracelets, and a necklace.

On the floor of the grotto, a few stones glimmered — looking closer, Minho smiled, recognizing small black onyxes. A rarity for their coast: the volcanoes were far away, and black gemstones were not usually found here.

As always, he paused on the shore of the little lake: today the water stirred a little more than usual, and beneath the algae something like the tail of a large fish seemed to flash. Minho shrugged — with the tide, the cave would flood, and whatever was splashing there — a moray eel, a dolphin, or a shark — would swim away anyway.

He decided today to go deeper, into the part of the cave that rose upward — it seemed the last tide had shifted the rocks, now hiding niches in the walls and revealing new ones on the floor. In the shallow hollows on the ground, water glittered, covering new shells and pebbles, with each step, the puddles on the floor vibrated and glowed with a blue radiance. The farther he walked, climbing higher, the richer the finds became — pearl oysters, mother-of-pearl, smooth shards of glass. All of it rustled softly in his bag with every movement.

A huge black-blue stone flashed under his foot, and Minho picked it up, examining it carefully in the light of his headlamp. The surface shimmered in places from sky blue to amber, reflecting the rays, numerous tiny cracks looked like a spiderweb on its smooth surface. It seemed to be labradorite — a rarest find, almost unbelievable here. Set in silver, this gem would be the most expensive one in the shop — or in his own collection, if Minho decided to keep it.

Minho examined the stone with admiration, unable to tear his eyes away — perhaps he had always been searching for such a wonder, every time he went down to the cliffs. Perhaps…

He had wandered so far, so captivated by the treasure, that he completely failed to notice the soles of his sneakers starting to get wet. Only when the cold water seared his ankles did Minho suddenly turn around — and went cold.

He had stayed in the cave too long — and missed the time of the tide.

His heart dropped somewhere into his heels, his whole body froze with ice, he stood rooted to the spot, unable to move — and only a new wave, licking his knees with a cold tongue, brought him to his senses.

His breath caught in horror, he tried to run through the leaden water toward the exit, glowing spray flying in all directions. But the path was already blocked — the water, rising swiftly, inexorably, reached his waist, silently filling the cave. White foam beat against the walls of the grotto, ever higher with each moment, reflecting the sunlight, filling everything around with luminescence.

Desperate, Minho lunged forward — and plunged straight into the lake. His feet lost their footing, his hands tried to grab onto something — and caught only air. The cold seared his chest, water rushed into his lungs instantly, his unresponsive limbs refused to move, the bag dragged him down — but his fingers slipped off the strap…

Could it really end like this? With a stone in his hand, in a cave, amidst his finds?

But there was no fighting it. He couldn't swim to the surface, floundering in the void, couldn’t even find a hold. His vision began to blur, his mind gradually drifting — whether from the cold or the lack of oxygen. The world dissolved into glints and ripples of light. The world around him stilled, his arms fell. The burning in his chest was unbearable…

Through his lashes, he saw a bright glow from the algae, sharp as a flash of lightning. And then — hands, warm, strong. He was seized under the arms and yanked upward.

Something strange flickered before his blurred gaze: blue hair, dark eyes… And a tail? Powerful, huge, like a shark’s, but shimmering blue under the luminescence. The rescuer’s skin glowed faintly from the algae surrounding them both, ghostlike — but the sensation of a strong body pulling him through the water was real.

“This is a hallucination,” a thought flashed. “Now I’ll close my eyes, and it will all be over.”

And perhaps, dying like this — pressed against someone warm in this icy abyss — was not so frightening after all.

     Someone slapped him on the back several times, then flipped him from his stomach onto his side. Pain seared his cheek — then again. Minho opened his eyes and coughed, spitting the remnants of bitter-salty saliva from his mouth. His slightly damp clothes chilled his body; bright light swam before his eyes — blue, like the sky. Somewhere to the side, a stranger's face loomed over him — vaguely familiar, with narrowed, anxious eyes:

"...Come on, wake the hell up!" The voice was thick with panic. "Hyung, I'll kill you with my own hands, what the fuck?!"

He blinked a few times, and his vision cleared: he was lying on dry sand, and next to him, kneeling, was Hyunjin — in a wetsuit, hair tied back in a ponytail, eyes wide with fear. A bright life vest lay crumpled somewhere off to the side.

"Lee Minho, I knew you were an idiot, but this much?!" his friend growled indignantly, helping Minho sit up. "What are you even doing here?! Thank God someone called us, or how would we have found you?!"

"I... What?" His throat burned, and he coughed. Minho looked around, bewildered — he was at the edge of the beach, not far from the eternally empty lifeguard huts. The tidal waves crashed far off, a couple dozen meters below; a small coast guard boat rocked by the half-submerged dock. And right beside Minho...

Beside him lay his bag, neatly placed, covered entirely in salt and algae. And on top of it — that very stone, the labradorite.

"Someone... called the coast guard," Hyunjin said, somewhat calmer. "Said a person was lying at the edge of the beach, and he seemed unwell. I took the boat, got here — and it's you, looking like you'd been swimming and passed out. In the middle of winter."

"I can't swim," Minho answered almost on autopilot, unable to tear his gaze from the stone. "But... I was in the caves, I think?"

"What do you mean?" Hyunjin frowned, glancing back at the cliffs — they were far away. "No, no, when I arrived — you were here. It's too far, hyung. I'd even think you just fell asleep on the beach — but it's all so strange..."

"And no one was nearby?" Minho looked around, but besides the trail of bare feet — possibly Hyunjin's — he saw nothing. "I thought... I was drowning, and I thought someone was pulling me up. Blue hair..."

A tail? No, no, probably imagined it. Maybe it was diving fins? Maybe a diver or a swimmer had found him?

Hyunjin turned anxiously toward the cliffs visible in the distance. Then he turned back, and his expression hardened into anger:

"There was no one here," though his face still betrayed deep fear. "Just you, you reckless fool."

Hyunjin walked him right to the door of his apartment and then rushed off somewhere — having managed to sternly promise to tell Seungmin everything. And Minho, limping and trying not to trip over the cats, who were especially affectionate — as if they knew their owner might not have come back today — dragged himself to his bed, pensively gazing at the stone. Had he imagined it all? Maybe he'd made it out on his own? Or had it been a tourist diver after all?

But the stone only shimmered mysteriously in the light, offering no answers.

     The very first time his heavy head touched the pillow, the blue, glowing water appeared before his eyes. It was terrifying, stole his breath — but every time, as soon as he fell asleep, the ocean closed over him again.

But when he finally slipped into oblivion, a memory came — too vivid to be a dream, too strange to be true.

His eyes were already shut, his body seized by cold, his chest in unbearable pain. Someone — or something — was pulling him through the dense, icy water. Minho hadn't been breathing for a long time — couldn't; his mind was drifting in the darkness. And then something warm, soft, pressed against his lips — like someone else's lips. And suddenly his lungs seemed to fill with air, his head spun from the sharp rush of oxygen — but he still couldn't breathe on his own, nor open his eyes…

When Minho woke up, the first thing he did was search the internet for how divers share air underwater. Surely the unknown rescuer had simply given him a breath from a tank, right?

But something didn't add up. Where had the water in his lungs gone, and why had it been so warm, so tender… so much like a kiss?

And so Minho's obsession began. He tried to remember more — maybe the diver's body shape or facial features? Maybe jewelry on their hands? But he couldn't — everything was as murky as if seen through a wall of water. Only three details were clear: blue hair, bright eyes… and, probably, some kind of strange fins that Minho's panicking brain had mistaken for a tail.

Seungmin and Felix, having heard the whole story the next morning, seemed ready to kill him — while nonetheless plying him with cold medicine and tea:

"Hyung, you could have died!" his cousin growled indignantly, nervously counting the previous day's earnings. "How can you just forget about the tide?! You've lived by the sea your whole life!"

"Minho-hyung, Seungmin's right," Felix looked at him anxiously from behind the counter. "No stone is worth your life. Even a valuable one… What's it called, a retriever?"

"Labradorite, Bokkie. I know, I know," he sighed wearily, sniffling through his stuffed nose. "It was a mistake, a huge mistake, I got carried away… But I came back, didn't I?"

"Yes, thanks to some random diver who happened by!" Seungmin exploded, slamming the cash drawer shut so hard the glass in the display case trembled. His eyes were wet, his mouth twisted with anger. "And what happens next time?! Did you think about me? About your parents, mine?! What would I have told them?!"

His cousin's voice broke into a sob, and he turned away, breathing heavily.

"Minnie, forgive me… I'm sorry, really," Minho said, trying to sound calm. "But first, I'm not about to go crawling into the caves again anyway, and second… second, I don't even know who saved me! Maybe I swam out on my own!"

"You? Doubt it… Ask the fishermen," Felix soothingly patted Seungmin's trembling shoulder and once again offered Minho the thermos. "Divers are usually brought in by them."

By evening, the two younger ones had calmed down somewhat and even examined the rare finds: some went straight to the display, others Minho decided to take to the workshop where he crafted jewelry.

As for the stone — it found its place in his pocket, weighing down the denim and endlessly reminding him: he was alive, he was here — and something strange had truly happened. And he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

🌊🌊🌊

     The fishermen gave him not a single lead — they hadn't taken any divers out recently, it was completely off-season, and no sane person would dive near the cliffs without a boat. Minho asked Hyunjin — he hadn't seen anyone with blue hair on the beach either. He searched the town, among the tourists…

And yet the faint, hazy memories kept surfacing, like pieces of a mosaic — beautiful, but refusing to form a whole.

His chest clenched convulsively; quick, shallow breaths gave him no air. A warm palm struck his back, and a voice — elusive, yet unbearably beautiful — kept crooning something like "breathe," "it's just a dream," and "everything will be fine." He was carried out of the waves in someone's arms, laid down on the soft sand — but he still couldn't open his eyes to see his rescuer.

Lost in thought, slowly rearranging the magnets — closing time was near, and the shop had to be left in order — Minho barely noticed the bell chime above the door. The shop door opened, a flash of sunset light darted across the tile — and his breath caught for a moment…

On the threshold stood a young man — in an unzipped jacket and a hoodie stained with bright paint, enormous baggy pants, with soft cheeks… For a split second, in the glare of the fluorescent lights, his black hair seemed to gleam with that very same vivid blue. He lifted his gaze to Minho — and then the illusion faded, and all the blueness vanished somewhere. Because this could not possibly be his rescuer — Minho knew Jisung.

There was only one school in the small town, and Jisung and his brothers had attended it as well, just a couple of grades below. Like the face of his older brother, Chan, Jisung's dark, wide-eyed gaze greeted everyone from the threshold of the honor roll board, his drawings — beautiful seascapes and chaotic portraits — decorated the hallway walls, and this whole family, just like Minho, had never attended swimming lessons. There had been something about a parental ban and a fear of water — it was hard to recall now — but the fact remained: the local hermit-artist Han Jisung could not swim at all.

What he still did beautifully was draw — rumor had it he did commissions, and Minho had spotted him a couple of times in the summer, when Jisung himself or his brother Changbin would sit under a small awning on the promenade, selling watercolor sketches to tourists for good money.

Minho still kept in touch with Changbin, occasionally exchanged a few words with Chan when they came to town — but seeing Jisung was as rare as finding onyx on the beach. Either he was busy with the family business — their family owned a hotel far off, beyond the cliffs — or he vanished into his studio. In any case, he was not someone Minho expected to see on the threshold of his shop, and certainly not someone Minho had been looking for.

He smiled at the newcomer, leaning his elbows on the counter while the flustered Han swept his gaze over the shells and jewelry.

"Ex…excuse me, sunbae," Jisung began in a quiet, stammering voice, blushing furiously and staring at the floor. "Do you have large shells?"

"Yeah, they're all on the counter." The other's blush endeared Minho — even back in school, he had caught Jisung's admiring glances more than once, and it was rather pleasant to see that the boy's interest hadn't faded over the years. "Any specific kind?"

"I need them for references, yes, something…" When the sleeves of the hoodie slipped down, revealing paint-stained hands, Minho suddenly noticed how long and slender Jisung's fingers were. "Three different large ones and a few smaller ones…"

Minho laid the shells out before him one by one, while Jisung turned each of them over in his palms under the lamplight. And Minho shamelessly studied him in turn: they had never really spoken, especially after Minho's graduation, and seeing the hermit face to face was intriguing.

Jisung had been handsome back then and had grown even more beautiful with age. Without a doubt, his looks attracted far more attention than any watercolor or oil seascape. Plush lips, long lashes, a mole on his soft cheek like a chocolate crumb — if he wanted, he could work as tourist bait, if only he swapped his oversized clothes for something more revealing and didn't shy away from smiling.

"Excuse me, Minho-sunbae," Jisung raised his eyes — they were like those of a cartoon fawn, just as wide and wary. "These ones. How much?"

"Thirty thousand won." Minho accepted the money, counted the bills. When he looked up at the young man again, he was still standing there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. "Hey, Jisung, can I ask you something?"

"O-of course, sunbae." The blush on the other's cheeks deepened, and Minho barely suppressed a smile. "What is it?"

"You and your family run the hotel, right?"

Jisung gave a silent nod in reply.

"Did you happen to have any tourists with blue hair recently?" His chest tightened — maybe he would answer, give a name? Maybe Minho would find the key to his mystery? "Divers or researchers?"

"I'm sorry, but nothing like that. We have few guests in winter. Divers don't dive in this cold." Jisung scratched his nose, pursed his lips. "Are you looking for someone?"

"No, not really… No." Minho sighed. "Maybe I imagined it."

Jisung shot him an overly attentive glance — great, another person who would think Minho was crazy. Then he bowed politely:

"Thank you, sunbae… But I must go. Have a good day." He hastily gathered the shells and turned around. For an instant, his black hair reflected the color of the evening sky.

The door slammed, the bells chimed. Minho stood there, bewildered, watching the hunched figure recede quickly along the promenade toward the cliffs.

     Minho tried to force himself to go down into the grotto again — but the fear of water wouldn't let him take a single step down the familiar path. His hands trembled, and his chest constricted at the thought that he would end up trapped again, would once again be suffocating in the murky, icy darkness. The stone lying in his bag scratched his leg with its sharp edge, as if reminding him: Minho hadn't saved himself that time, and now, if the mysterious stranger wasn't there beside him — he wouldn't make it out.

He sat down far from the cliff's edge, watching the grey, storm-swept waves crash against the sharp rocks below, and soon the dry grass rustled beside him under someone's feet.

"You've got a workshop full of stones, hyung," Hyunjin sat down next to him and handed him a still-warm meat bun. "No need to look for new ones — work with what you already have."

"That's not why I want to go down there," Minho sighed. "It's just… You know, I feel like if I see the grotto with my own eyes — I'll be able to convince myself it really happened."

"You almost drowned. What's there to be convinced about?" His friend's face was sullen and worried. "Let it go."

"That person…" The vision of strange, shimmering fins flickered before his eyes again, and Minho sighed. "I don't know who he is, but he pulled me out. And just left me on the shore. I don't understand why. He could have asked for a reward, or at least just talked — but instead he called the coast guard and fled. What kind of nonsense is that?"

"Not everyone wants their good deeds to be known," Hyunjin smirked. "Do you really want to find him?"

"Yeah," Minho sighed. "I saw a guy here — for a moment it looked like his hair was blue, and I even thought… But it turned out to be Han Jisung. You spend time with his older brother, don't you, so you know them?" Something odd flickered in Hyunjin's gaze, and Minho smiled. "That's what I thought — definitely not him."

Hyunjin was thoughtfully silent for a while, then finally spoke:

"Yeah, Sungie's more afraid of water than you are," and then he suddenly perked up: "Wait, you saw Jisung? Where? He only shows up in town maybe once every couple of weeks in winter!"

"Yeah, he was buying shells. Something about refrens… Referrals… References? Not sure what he called it."

Hyunjin flopped onto his back and giggled, casting Minho a sly look:

"'He was buying shells, he needs references,'" he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Hyung, he's had a crush on you since school, everyone knows that. Maybe he just came to look at you?"

Minho rolled his eyes and lightly jabbed his friend in the side. Not that he hadn't thought about that himself — but it was nice to hear confirmation of his suspicions. And… Well, to be honest, Jisung was rather cute.

But right now, all his thoughts were occupied by someone else — the one whose elusive, gentle voice haunted his sleep, the one whose soft lips had pressed against his own. A mystery that had to be solved.

      To his surprise, the next day toward evening, Han really did show up at his shop again — in the same jacket and hoodie, but with clean hands this time. He looked far more timid and anxious, however — like a little mouse in the middle of a room, Jisung hovered in front of the display case, studying the jewelry — but it was clear his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

"Hey," Minho rose from the desk where he'd been sketching jewelry designs and walked over to the counter. "Need more references, Jisungie?"

The young man flinched slightly at the familiar form of address, raised his eyes — and smiled, shyly, but very sweetly.

"Yes... Yes, sunbae." He leaned over the display case, and Minho noticed that Han's hair, uncovered by a hood this time, curled slightly around his ears.

For about ten minutes, he examined every shell, held them up to the lamps, stroked them with careful fingers, until finally he set aside two shells — sharp, dangerous murexes. Minho accepted the money and was already prepared for Jisung to flee again — but he surprised him:

"Minho-sunbae, is it true?" Han looked at him with anxious, bright eyes. "About the caves and that you... nearly drowned?"

"Yes," Minho sighed, displeased. "Does the whole town know by now?"

"No, it's just..." Jisung blushed and scratched his nose. "Hyunjin comes by our place often, and I heard from him that you were hurt, and that you were lucky to survive... I hope you're alright now? Was it frightening?"

"I don't remember," Minho shook his head. "That's the thing — I don't remember. I only know there was a diver there with blue hair, that's all."

Not all. He remembered how someone else's breath had seared his ear once they reached the shore. He remembered how hot, dry palms had stroked his cheek while he breathed heavily, shivering from the cold, teetering on the edge of consciousness. He remembered strange words in an unfamiliar language that haunted him in his sleep.

But that felt more like bizarre delirium from oxygen deprivation than a real image. As if his dreams were completing the figure of his rescuer, making him even more beautiful — and more unreachable.

"Minho-sunbae," Jisung cautiously reached out and weightlessly touched Minho's hand. His skin was warm — and very soft. "Please don't go into the caves anymore, I beg you. You must know that, well... It's very dangerous there. Slippery rocks, the tides..."

"I wasn't planning to, for now," Minho looked down at his hands in bewilderment — the skin still tingled from the touch — then met the younger man's pleading gaze. "Do you worry about me that much, Han-ah?"

Jisung gave a sharp, jerky nod and looked away, blushing again.

"Sunbae is a very good person," he murmured quietly, almost to himself. "You were... You were always kind to me in school, I would be terribly upset."

A teasing smile stretched Minho's lips unbidden; warmth bloomed in his chest. Maybe his friends were right, and he should look here, on solid ground? Instead of searching the sea foam for answers that weren't there?

Minho tilted his head to the side, then leaned over the display case, closing the distance:

"Well, I'm very impulsive — who knows what might come into my head... Then this cute hoobae will just have to keep an eye on me, won't he?" He noticed Jisung flinch and blush even harder — and it had only been some harmless flirting. A thought flickered through his mind: just how deeply could he fluster this young man, and how adorable would he be then? "But for that, you'd have to come down to town more often."

"And then you won't stupidly risk your life for some little stones?" Han muttered under his breath — and Minho's grin only widened. So he bites back too — how delightful! "Then I will."

"I'll be waiting, Jisung-ah." Minho stepped back.

When the door closed behind the young man, he felt an intense stare — and saw that through the window of the neighboring shop, Felix and his assistant Jeongin were squinting, glancing between Han's retreating figure and Minho. A sly grin stretched across his friend's face; Innie just rolled his eyes.

Minho only shrugged in response.

     The sand chilled his skin unpleasantly; his chest ached with every convulsive breath. The sensation of the crushing deep pressing in from all sides had vanished, but the weakness had not gone anywhere.

Quiet footsteps sounded nearby, something clinked softly. Strange hands wrapped around him carefully, and he grew warmer. And then the stranger spoke in a tender, affectionate voice, warming something deep inside him, almost otherworldly.

"This is all a dream... you'll be fine when you wake up. It's a dream, do you hear? Just a dream."

A foreign palm stroked softly, carefully, along his back, his shoulder, as if erasing the cold. It touched his cheek — and despite the noise of the sea nearby, it was dry and warm. Minho moaned weakly, tried to open his eyes — and the hand vanished at once; he heard something indistinct, as if in another language — or not a language at all, more like the sound of waves than words. And everything around him disappeared.

Minho jolted upright in bed, reaching his hand forward — to whom? In the bedroom there was only him and Soonie, watching him anxiously from the neighboring pillow — just like that time, the stranger had vanished, leaving behind a strange emptiness in his chest.

    The stone resisted cutting; cracks spread across it like a spiderweb, even despite the jeweler's resin holding the gem from final ruin. The labradorite was incredibly difficult — but that was the challenge.

The shape the gem had taken was unusual for Minho: like a shark's fin slicing through the waves. The silver setting embraced the jewel securely, as if restraining something alive and powerful. Under the lamplight, the black color flowed smoothly into amber, and from there into icy blue — just like the lake in the cave.

"Strange shape," Seungmin remarked as Minho carefully wiped the stone dust from the piece and straightened up. "But it looks good. It'll sell for a lot."

"I'm not selling it."

Seungmin raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Then why did you even make it?"

Minho paused for a moment. He didn't fully understand it himself — he simply felt that he had to give the stone life, just as someone had given him his own.

"For myself, I suppose," he finally said quietly. "So I won't forget."

Seungmin sighed, shook his head, but didn't argue.

Minho set the pendant on a velvet cushion and wiped it once more. Even through the cloth, the stone was cold, like the sea in winter — but it was beautiful, perfectly polished, reflecting everything around it in a blue prism.

He caught himself thinking about the cave again. About how it was there now. Was the water glowing with playful fish, or beckoning with dark depth, motionless? Did rare shells lie on the stones, gleaming with mother-of-pearl under the low winter sun?

Had the one who left him on the shore ever returned there?

He sighed and set the pendant aside. There were many more stones lying in the drawer, and it was time to work on them.

     The day was bleak — though winter in these parts was warm, it brought with it fogs and storms that shattered the breakwaters and swept away the tents of careless vendors. Dark clouds churned over the sea, and everything foretold that soon the town would be swallowed not only by darkness but by a veil of rain.

Minho was nearly dozing behind the counter, unconsciously stroking the pendant hanging around his neck — smooth, even, warming from the heat of his hands. There were no tourists, but he still couldn't bring himself to close the shop and simply go home.

The bell above the door chimed, and Minho startled, sitting up straight.

Jisung appeared on the threshold, slightly disheveled, his hair curling sweetly around his face. He didn't walk up to the display case right away, as before — he stopped at the entrance, as if gathering his courage. His long fingers were hidden in his sleeves — he was clearly uncomfortable even on the already quieting evening promenade.

"Sunbae," he began cautiously. "Um… how are you?"

Minho smirked, tilting his head to the side.

"You're checking on me for the second time this month. I'm fine and I'm here, as you can see."

"They've issued a storm warning, for tomorrow as well," Jisung said quietly, staring at the floor. His fingers twisted the drawstrings of his hoodie. "A strong one. Hyunjin said you often go to the shore for materials during low tides… and I wanted to warn you."

It was very sweet — the way the younger man so obviously worried. Did Jisung really like him so much that he'd decided to come into town more often? Despite the attention it drew, despite the locals turning their heads to stare? The thought spread warmth through his chest.

"I won't go, I won't go," a smile stretched across his lips. "You can exhale."

Jisung's shoulders visibly relaxed. He took a few more steps into the shop, stopped by the counter — this time the one with jewelry — and then finally lifted his gaze. And immediately fixed it on the pendant hanging low against Minho's chest. His cheeks flushed red.

"Th-that's… a beautiful stone. It suits you."

"It's labradorite," Minho nodded. "A great rarity here; I was lucky to find it."

Lucky to have survived, having grown so captivated by a little stone that he'd forgotten about the tide. That was precisely why the jewel now hung like a heavy yoke around his neck, never allowing him to forget again.

Jisung frowned for a moment, lifted his eyes — overly serious, as if he'd just read Minho's thoughts. But then his face lit up with a smile, and the illusion vanished.

"You make such beautiful things, sunbae. Maybe I should get something for myself?"

Minho silently leaned over the display case, pulled out the tray of jewelry, and held it out to Han. The young man shyly began to sift through the small pendants, charms, and beads — everything Minho had crafted from the sea's gifts. His slender fingers stopped on a black onyx heart on a fine silver chain.

"I'll take this one. It'll go with an outfit."

"Which outfit?" Minho tilted his head, casting a glance over the worn jacket, oversized hoodie, and enormous pants. "This one?"

"Oh…" Jisung faltered, blushed, and the tips of his ears turned completely scarlet. "Well, there's a concert in town soon, and I wanted to… By the way, would you like to go with us? Chan is going too, and Changbin with Hyunjin…"

Strange — Hyunjin hadn't mentioned anything of the sort, but…

Minho looked at him long and thoughtfully. Here he was — the real, warm Jisung, who so desperately wanted his attention, who worried so much that he'd rushed into town before the rain. Whose smile made Minho want to smile back — like the sun that illuminates, that warms with its heat. Not a fairy tale, not a dream, not a hallucination of hot palms and a shimmering body — but a real, sweet artist, finally daring to show his long-standing and so very obvious affection.

At last, he grinned.

"Are you inviting me?"

Jisung nodded awkwardly.

"Then it'll be a date," Minho said lightly. "And call me hyung, then — we're not in school anymore."

"A d-date?.." Han froze. Then slowly, as if unable to believe his ears, he exhaled — and clutched the sleeves with trembling fingers.

"What?" Minho asked with feigned surprise. "Did you mean something else?"

No answer came. Jisung only smiled awkwardly. And then his gaze shifted to the window — and his lips parted in a surprised "o".

Outside, the sky was darkening rapidly. The wind bent the trees, scattered debris across the beach, and even through the thick window glass, the roar of waves smashing against the breakwaters was audible — as if the sea were raging with fury just beyond the door.

Jisung's fists clenched.

"I… I… damn, I was rushing to see you… and… Damn! The window in the studio — I left it open, the canvas can't get wet, I killed two weeks on it, damn, damn," he rattled off, not tearing his gaze from the thundering waves. "I have to run, I'm sorry, sunb... hyung. Hyunjin will text you about the concert, sunb… hyung."

"There's about to be a downpour," Minho frowned. "Call your brothers?.."

"They don't know what to cover up… I'll do it myself!"

And without waiting for an answer, Jisung slipped out the door — into the roar of the ever-strengthening wind, into the storm that had shrouded the town in gloom. He stumbled on the uneven cobblestones of the promenade, quickened his steps, then broke into a full run — and soon vanished from sight.

Minho was left alone in the middle of the shop, staring at the dark window, down which the first thin trails of water were already trickling. The stone around his neck was still cold, and on the counter lay the money and the forgotten onyx heart.

     Almost as soon as the last houses disappeared from view, the road worsened — rockier, with potholes in the old asphalt. Hyunjin pointed a finger toward a gravel track leading into a tiny valley closer to the sea.

"That way," he said lightly. "The hotel has a parking lot."

Minho had never been here — beyond the edge of town, where tourists stayed and only farmers and the elderly lived year-round. In the foothills, the forest was dense and quiet — but it was beautiful, no denying that.

A building emerged from around the bend — a three-story winter wing of the hotel, all adorned with blue and azure mosaic. A weathered sign promised a gated area, breakfasts, Wi-Fi, free parking, and air conditioning at the Bang Guesthouse, and below, in someone's neat handwriting, were listed the prices for rooms and individual cabins.

The resort was clearly empty in winter — aside from Minho's car, only a couple of vehicles sat in the parking lot, most of the windows looked like vacant eye sockets with no curtains to cover them, and in the large gazebos nearby, benches stood overturned on the tables. The clean glass reflected the low grey sky; beneath the bare trees, outdoor string lights and colorful lanterns were already beginning to glow.

"I never asked, but why do they have different surnames?" Minho said thoughtfully, cutting the engine. "All three of them?"

"You don't know? Ah, well, you never really talked to them much." Hyunjin glanced in the mirror once more, adjusted his already perfectly styled hair, and flipped the sun visor back into place. "Jisung and Changbin are adopted. Chan's parents didn't insist on a name change, so the boys kept their own surnames."

Minho raised his eyebrows in surprise, feeling both curiosity and awkwardness. Why had he even asked?

"Don't freak out, hyung." Hyunjin stretched, his long arms nearly hitting Minho in the process. "They don't hide it, you can ask them yourself. But it's not my story to tell."

"Maybe," Minho answered evasively. He had enough mysteries of his own for now, weighing down on him with the heft of the pendant around his neck. No need to go poking into other people's.

About five minutes later, the front door opened, and all three brothers came out, clearly arguing about something. Chan — dressed in all black, wearing makeup, blond, curly-haired, with the same wide smile Minho remembered from school — waved and headed toward a large SUV parked at the edge of the lot. Hyunjin unbuckled his seatbelt and, without looking back, hopped out of the car, blocking Minho's view of the others.

"Hey, Binnie, Sung!" He gracefully embraced the middle brother — who had grown so brawny in recent years that next to stick-figure Jinnie he looked like a bear — then leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You could've been faster."

"It's all Jisung's fault," Changbin grumbled, also waving to Minho, who was still sitting in the driver's seat. For some reason, his gaze felt overly attentive, even unnerving. "Hey, hyung, you'll take the little one?"

"Hey, I'm taller than you!" Jisung protested. Minho looked at him…

…Perhaps he had underestimated this man — because not a trace remained of that shy artist from the shop. Black skinny jeans with chains caught the dim light in glints, a black turtleneck accentuated a surprisingly slender waist, the leather jacket sat on his broad shoulders as if tailored. His eyes were lined with kohl, his dark hair curled into soft waves, and even his lips seemed so crimson, so glossy…

Minho forgot how to breathe for a second.

"Jisung, you…" he exhaled, then immediately cleared his throat, pulling himself together. "You look different."

"Bad?" Jisung asked sheepishly, fidgeting with the chain on his belt.

"God, don't say anything to him, or he'll run off to change again," Changbin snorted, wrapping an arm around Hyunjin's waist and turning toward Chan's car. "Alright, let's go already, it starts at eight."

When Jisung settled into the passenger seat, Minho noticed a blush playing on his cheeks. A reckless thought flashed through his mind — and with a smirk, he pulled a small object from his pocket.

"Missing a detail." The little black heart dropped into Han's palm, and he let out an embarrassed huff. "For the outfit."

"You're right, sunb… hyung. Thank you — I forgot it."

The SUV ahead slowly pulled out of the parking lot, and Minho followed. The smile still refused to leave his face.

"How are your canvases? Didn't get wet?"

"Canvases?" Jisung snorted. "No, I managed to save them. Everything's fine."

Silence settled in the car — awkward, tentative. Minho kept his eyes on the road. Jisung gazed out the window at the flickering lights of the streetlamps coming on, at the forest around them.

"What do you draw?" Minho asked at last, when both cars stopped at a traffic light.

"Different things." Han didn't turn around, just sighed softly. "When I feel like it, closer to summer, I do traditional stuff — local landscapes, mostly. But otherwise — a comic. For two years now."

"A comic?" Minho couldn't quite reconcile the paint-stained fingers, the watercolors on the school hallway walls — with funny, bright drawings from the internet.

"Yeah, webtoons." The light turned green, and the engine growled louder again. Jisung turned and smiled. "They might be short, but they feed me way better than sketches for tourists, so I have to sit curled up like a shrimp at night, tormenting my tablet until my back seizes up."

"Is that why you always come by in the evening?"

"When I wake up, basically," Jisung nodded. "I really love sleeping, in general."

"I'd like to see your work," Minho hummed. "What's the plot?"

"I've got a few… But they're all romance." In the darkness of the car, made-up and dressed up, Jisung was far more open, even laughing quietly. His speech grew more confident — he clearly loved his craft. "There's one about a demon who moved into an abandoned house and then fell in love with its new owner. There's one about noble pirates. There's one about a witch and a con artist, about a fairytale forest…"

"You love fantasy." It was hard to keep the fond smile at bay. "Do you like magic that much?"

And then, to Minho's surprise, Jisung wilted and turned away again.

"Doesn't every artist?"

And he fell silent, once again watching the lights of the big city in the distance.

     The concert was bright, loud, smelling of alcohol and a mix of strangers' perfumes; something close to rock played from the stage — not Minho's favorite kind of music. He couldn't really enjoy it, standing by the wall with a soda… But the sight of Jisung beside him was quite pleasing.

He was glowing. Laughing, shouting across to Hyunjin between sets, saying something to Chan, accepting ever more cocktails from Changbin — and singing along, dancing, forgetting everything around him. Dark curls clung to his neck, lights reflected in his big eyes, a joyful smile lit up his face.

At some point, Minho noticed that the other's blush had grown brighter and his eyes considerably hazier. Changbin, apparently, had noticed too — because instead of cocktails, he started handing his brother the same soda that Chan and Minho were drinking.

The band launched into something more aggressive — and, judging by the screams around them, a fan favorite. And Jisung, standing nearby, began to sing — and how he sang! His voice, tender, melodic, sounded better than the lead singer's; it raised goosebumps, made Minho's skin vibrate.

"You sing really well," Minho murmured into his ear when the song ended. "You should become a performer."

"I couldn't," Jisung giggled drunkenly, scratching his shoulders right through his jacket. His turtleneck rode up slightly, and Minho caught a glimpse of honey-toned skin on a flat stomach — and jerked his gaze away, feeling his ears burn. "For many reasons."

Chan approached them — just as disheveled, though completely sober. But Minho decided to press on anyway:

"I'd like to hear you sing again," he smiled. And immediately noticed how Jisung shrank back, flustered, while his brother's gaze turned far darker — dangerous, even.

That was strange. Was Chan against flirting? Or against Minho so openly embarrassing the youngest? Just a protective reaction?

"You don't want that," but Chan's voice was still gentle. "If you let him sing, he'll never stop at all… Good thing we live separately."

Jisung snorted, scratched his shoulders again, and muttered something under his breath; Chan gave him a watchful look. Minho raised his eyebrows in surprise — but got no answer. The band on stage struck up the next hit.

    The drive home was quieter — but far closer and cozier. Drunk Jisung was somehow soft, even tender, and he chattered without stopping, albeit with half-closed eyes.

"…And then I wrote to their lead singer that I wanted to use his looks as a reference, and he agreed, so in the webtoon about wolves, I've got a werewolf with Lucas's looks…" He yawned without covering his mouth, and Minho found it terribly endearing. "Though Chan-hyung said I drew the blond curls from him, and I didn't argue."

"He said you don't live together?" Minho finally ventured to ask.

"Yeah. Around the hotel, we've got lots of huts? Bungalows? Well, little houses for… for renting out," Jisung explained, stumbling over his words. He yawned again and scratched his shoulders. "So we took three of them. Doesn't hit the wallet too hard. As long as it's not too cold, we all live apart so we don't bother each other. I've got my studio and bedroom there, Channie-hyung set up his own studio in his, Changbin's place mostly has Hyunjin hanging around…"

Minho pictured Jisung among canvases, paints, hunched over a tablet in the dim light of a night lamp — and his heart squeezed strangely.

"I want to see it," he said calmly, not taking his eyes off the road. "There must be a lot of your drawings there?"

Jisung turned, looked at him in surprise, then suddenly smiled, wide and easy, as if he'd been waiting for those words for a long time.

"Alright. Come whenever you want, I'll show you." He said it so simply, so trustingly, as if he were inviting him not to a hermit's home but on an ordinary walk. "Just give me a heads-up — it's usually chaos."

Minho pressed the gas.

"And when it's cold, what then?"

"Then we live in the hotel," Jisung answered easily. "Hot water, heating. Mom and Dad, too, when they come back — they stay with us there."

Minho sensed he was stepping onto dangerous ground — but curiosity pulled him onward.

"Come back?"

Jisung froze for a moment, ran a hand through his hair, baring his forehead, then clutched his forearms again with his fingers. His smile turned far more awkward.

"Well… Yeah, they travel a lot. Decided to take a break from the hotel. It's hard to run a business for years, so they left everything behind, seeing the world — and we handle the family business."

Minho badly wanted to ask about his real parents, about everything he'd learned today — but he held himself back. He didn't want to upset this happily drunk, this wide-open Jisung, and watch him abruptly close up again. So he decided to steer the conversation back into light, safe waters:

"You said you had a character based on Chan — a werewolf?.."

      A new date — yes, these were indisputably dates — happened just a few days later, when a message came from the number Minho had saved the night of the concert: "Want to grab dinner tonight?" "My treat" was sent in reply almost instantly.

By closing time, Jisung was already standing at the door of the shop. Not as dazzling as at the concert — almost domestic, in his usual simple clothes that hid his slender body. But his eyes behind the round glasses were lined, and a blush colored his soft cheeks.

"Hey, hyung." He had turned back into that shy, awkward version of himself who had first come to the shop. "Shall we go?"

The damp cobblestones of the promenade gleamed under the streetlights; the sound of the waves was quiet — the sea today was calm and peaceful. There were few people around — a weekday, after all.

Jisung looked around with curiosity, his whole demeanor reminding Minho that his companion rarely appeared in town at all. He stopped to photograph a glowing fountain, listened to the music spilling from the few open cafés, studied the string lights.

And Minho, in turn, studied him — there was something touchingly beautiful about it, like watching a happy kitten under a Christmas tree, or a curious squirrel in a park. Yes, a squirrel, probably — Han resembled one far more.

His feet turned into an alley of their own accord — toward a small restaurant popular not with tourists but with the locals. The dim sign flickered slightly; the tacky neon meant to depict sushi was only half-lit and hidden behind dusty windows — without knowing, you could mistake this place for a dive. But Minho knew.

"Here?" Jisung shuffled awkwardly in place. "I've never been here…"

"They have the best sashimi in town," Minho smiled, opening the door for his companion. "Don't worry, they won't poison you."

Jisung sat down on a creaky chair, and Minho noticed — for the second time since the car ride — that Han somehow positioned his legs strangely, knees and toes pressed together, like anime girls on posters. That, too, struck him as endearing.

When the owner — a heavyset elderly man — set before them plates overflowing with every kind of fish available here, Jisung gasped in awe — and immediately grabbed his chopsticks. His cheeks puffed up like a hamster's, and even despite that, he lifted his gaze and managed to smile:

"So delicious! Thank you for showing me this place, hyung."

"I'm glad." With Han, a smile kept tugging at his lips unbidden. "Is this still part of your plan to 'keep an eye on the careless sunbae'?"

Jisung blinked several times, swallowed his food. Then he scratched his nose thoughtfully, his face turning serious:

"Well… Is it working?"

"As you can see," Minho smirked.

"Why did you go there, into the caves?" Jisung asked, picking through the pieces of fish with his chopsticks. "It's, well… really dangerous there. The shore washes up just as many shells."

"Because I could find things like this." The tip of his chopstick lightly hooked the chain around his neck, and the stone jolted. "It's my job, Han-ah. The rarer the things I find, the more I earn."

"You could… order everything online." The pleading look made something inside Minho tighten. Jisung caught his breath and spoke quietly, awkwardly, staring somewhere at the wall: "When I was little, some tourists staying at the hotel didn't listen to Mom and Dad. They told them about the tides, about how deep the caves were — but they waved it off; they really wanted the thrill… And they nearly drowned. Well, my parents realized in time…"

"Realized what?" Minho blinked rapidly. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Jisung fixed his gaze on the table, his fingers starting to scratch at his shoulders — was it nerves? —  "They called the coast guard, I think, when the tide came in and the tourists didn't come back… I don't remember it well. But it was very sad and frightening. Me and my hyungs heard at night how one of those girls cried afterward — she just couldn't believe she wasn't underwater anymore…"

"Alright." Minho made his tone as gentle as he could, lightly touching Jisung's palm. "I can't promise I'll never go down there again — it's my bread and butter, after all — but I promise to watch the tides. Okay?"

Jisung sighed heavily and reached for another piece of fish.

    Minho wasn't drowning — he was falling from an enormous height, fast, unstoppable. The cold enveloped his body once again, bubbles tickled his ribs unpleasantly, but this time a cry of horror tore from his chest.

The shimmering figure rushed toward him through the water once more — but this time it was something different. Blue hair obscured the face, streaming behind in a dark trail, but the eyes — large, frightened — shone and were clearly visible.

Minho lowered his gaze — and through the darkness saw neither fins nor scuba gear. As if the mysterious stranger had no body at all, only glowing, warm, strong arms and eyes, luminescent in the fluorescence.

The bottom struck his back softly, knocking a new cry from his chest…

Minho jerked, propped himself up on his elbows, and one of the cats tumbled off his back with an indignant meow, scratching him on the way. It was deep night; the clock read half past two; he lay in his own bed, drenched in cold sweat. The cat — in the light of his phone, it turned out to be Doongie — was grooming himself sulkily on the bedside rug. The pendant glinted on the nightstand.

Minho exhaled and rolled onto his back, patting the blanket beside him. Doongie immediately hopped up and settled against his owner's side, purring and falling asleep almost instantly.

But Minho himself couldn't sleep. The strange, terrifying dreams pursued him day after day, and he saw only one way out — to check. To prove to himself that it had all been real — and had ended long ago.

     Three more weeks passed in agonizing uncertainty. Neither at the library nor online had he learned anything new — stories of drowning victims, normal enough for a coastal town, a few fairy tales about spirits, demons, ghosts — but nothing resembling what had happened to him.

His legs trembled as soon as he drew near the cliffs — when he walked along the shore, he could calmly let the surf lick his soles, but just one step onto the dark rocks and he would freeze in terror.

The nights tormented his mind, making him either fear or yearn for something strange, unknown, unreal. By day, the obsession receded, and in the evenings he went on increasingly frequent dates with such a warm, such a real, such a sunny — and such a strange Jisung. He met up again with Chan, Changbin, and Hyunjin when the latter called friends over for a movie night. Introduced (again, as it turned out) Jisung to Felix, Jeongin, and Seungmin.

He was getting to know the younger man more and more — and falling in love with him more and more.

It turned out Jisung had some unpleasant allergy — that was why he scratched his arms and shoulders so often. And there were problems with sleep, given how easily Jisung had fallen asleep during a creepy horror film on Hyunjin's couch and on a lounger at the beach while Minho went to get hot waffles. But that was already known — after all, Han was an artist and often drew through whole nights.

Minho read his webtoons — so soft, tender, and so unusually detailed. In the pirate story, Jisung had drawn every shell on the beach, every plank on the ship, every glint on the gold coins. Every emotion on the face of the lovestruck hero. In the witch story, the flowers seemed truly alive on the phone screen.

It seemed the stories should have revealed something new, something unusual — but Minho only learned that Jisung was a romantic who believed in undying love. But even their conversations, flowing easily between them as they walked through town or sat on the promenade, could have told him that.

They also had something in common. Minho feared the sea and yet was drawn to its gifts — and, it seemed, Jisung was the same. He never went down to the surf; even rain frightened him, making him hiss like a cat and hide or flee home.

They were sitting in Minho's apartment, Jisung happily playing with the cats and listening attentively to Minho's explanation of the nuances of quartz processing, when a sharp gust of wind made the window glass vibrate. Han threw an anxious glance at the rapidly darkening sky:

"Hyung, there's a storm coming…" His voice was quiet, tense. "Maybe I should go?"

"You can stay here," Minho shrugged. "I'll drive you home afterward."

Jisung opened his mouth — but met Minho's gaze and nodded awkwardly, reaching for the feather wand again.

For another hour, everything was downright perfect — they ate kimchi-jjigae, watched an amusingly silly dating show on TV, and warmed themselves against the cats, who blanketed their clothes with fur. But it seemed that even behind a closed door and sturdy glass, the storm frightened Jisung. When the downpour began outside, drumming against the windowsill with such force that they had to turn up the TV's volume, he grew distant, started scratching his shoulders through the thick sweater, and occasionally — when Minho got up to fetch more tea — would quietly hum something under his breath.

"Are you okay?" Minho reached out and gently stroked Han's shoulder.

He flinched, lifted his gaze — and his eyes seemed dark to Minho, entirely black, as if veiled, and his face — not frightened, no. Absolutely stone-like. But then he blinked — and the strange expression vanished, giving way to awkwardness and a blush:

"I don't like storms," he murmured, pulling his legs up under himself and starting to smooth out the pattern on his funny watermelon socks with his fingers. "I sound like a child, probably, but…"

"Not at all." Minho sat closer, leaned against Jisung, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into the touch. "I got bitten as a kid, and I'm still afraid of dogs to this day — is that childish?"

"Meanwhile, Kim Seungmin is your cousin, and you constantly call him a dog," Jisung giggled quietly — and Minho, with a satisfied smirk, turned, ready to keep the joke going.

      Sometimes Jisung gazed at the grey-blue waves with such longing that Minho's heart clenched.

"Why are you so afraid?" he asked one day, as they lay on the loungers again. The setting sun had stained the waves a ruby-crimson, and the foam on the crests looked pink. The scent of hot waffles, dripping syrup onto their sweaters, mingled with the iodine, creating a strange combination.

"And you?" Jisung responded.

"I can't swim," Minho snorted. "Never could, not at all."

"The sea is dangerous — it can take so much away." The other's voice was low and very soft, his face pensive. "You can control the water in a shower, but the elements — never. Remember I told you about those tourists? They thought they had conquered the sea… But it can't be conquered."

"Did it happen?" Minho asked carefully. "Did the sea… take someone from you?"

"No… At least, not in that sense." Jisung stretched and smiled. There was still cream on his lips. "You mean my parents, right? I don't remember them at all. It's hard to grieve something you don't remember."

He grew thoughtful, then snorted.

"I'll tell you what happened to them someday. Later."

Minho only nodded.

       His heavy eyelids kept trying to close; the soft melody drifting from the shop's speakers lulled him even further toward sleep. Minho had slept poorly again that night — not a nightmare, no, but something beckoning, something elusive.

He was being torn apart from within by something he couldn't name. A pull, an obsession even, with the mysterious figure from his dreams, whose voice never stayed in his memory — and a growing love for Jisung, who smiled so sweetly, laughed, touched him, stayed close… and locked his family secrets behind seven seals. Earthly and abyssal, warm and icy — and he couldn't choose which pulled at him more. And because of that, he felt more and more guilty toward Han.

Jisung was not at all to blame that the mysterious figure from his dreams still occupied his thoughts, still drew him in. But he tried so hard to get Minho's attention, so wanted to be seen, needed, loved by his hyung — and Minho gladly gave that, and was happy, and wanted to be near him, and was falling in love himself…

Until he woke from yet another dream where tender lips touched his own.

The sound of a notification made him lift his head — Jisung had apparently just woken up, right around noon. The message that lit up the screen made his heart beat faster.

Hannie

hyung

wanna come over to my place today?

Minho replied at once. The thought that he would finally see the studio, Jisung's workspace where he created his masterpieces, warmed him. And even the fact that Jisung ultimately demanded food from him as tribute only made him more amused.

      The car came to a stop in the familiar parking lot, and Minho swept his gaze over the hotel — half-dead, quiet, with light only somewhere in the lobby and on the top floor. There were a few more cars — it was a day off, apparently — but the feeling of strange, almost otherworldly emptiness still hadn't gone anywhere.

Evidently, there was no way to reach the bungalows without going through — the forest, the tall fence, and the building itself hid the park and the shoreline from view. So he went through the hotel.

He climbed the wide terrace, pushed open the door, and looked around: it was clean and cozy inside, though very old-fashioned. A worn, plain carpet underfoot softened the sound of his steps; behind the wooden front desk, someone's dark hair was visible. But that wasn't what caught his attention — it was the painting, large, covering an entire wall.

Every guest who entered was greeted by a landscape painted directly onto the wall — not highly detailed, but beautiful in its chaos. It was a dawn, captured from the plateau of the local cliffs in summer, with clouds tinted in the most delicate colors, with the restless sea below cliffs overgrown with green grass and flowers.

Minho stepped closer, leaned in — and saw a familiar signature. The same handwriting appeared at the end of every webtoon Jisung had drawn; the same small, compact letters he used to draw sound effects in his comics.

"The painting's only for sale together with the hotel," came a cheerful voice from behind. Minho turned and smiled at Changbin, who was watching him from behind the counter. "Hey, hyung. You here to see Jisung?"

"Yeah, he invited me." Minho lifted the bag of food in his hand, pulled out the meat chips he'd bought in advance, and placed them on the counter — a playful tribute. "Can you tell me how to find him?"

Changbin looked him over with that attentive gaze — just like every time before, as if weighing something to himself. Minho could feel he was being assessed, tested — but he didn't mind. The Jisung he knew was worthy of any protection, especially from his older brothers. Changbin gave a short nod.

"Go out that way — and left, through the park. Head toward the sea," he said. "The farthest green bungalows stand off on their own; the one you want has string lights on the porch. That's where Jisung lives."

"Thanks." Minho nodded and was about to leave, but turned around anyway — and met the watchful gaze.

"Don't hurt our youngest, hyung." Though spoken with a smile, it was clearly serious. "He's an emotional boy, our Sungie."

Minho didn't ask what the warning was for. He just nodded and stepped out onto the cold porch, heading deeper into the grounds.

The park behind the hotel was dark, deserted. In winter, the solar-powered lanterns glowed dimly and were spaced far apart; their yellow light fell in patches on the damp earth. Between the bare trees, small wooden bungalows nestled — cozy, like something out of a children's holiday film. On the porch of the farthest one, a string of lights truly did shimmer softly.

When Minho climbed the creaking steps, he didn't even have time to knock — the door swung open almost at once.

"Hyung!" Jisung stood on the threshold in a warm green sweater and fluffy socks, without glasses, his hair slightly tousled. His cheeks were pink — either from the warmth or from excitement. "You're fast."

"You were waiting," Minho smirked.

Inside, the bungalow turned out to be unexpectedly spacious — one large room divided by a bookshelf, and another, smaller one off to the side. A compact bathroom with a shower — clearly seldom used, since Jisung had already mentioned the bungalows had no hot water. A space heater crackled. Warm yellow light from the string lights, the smell of paint, solvents, and some kind of dessert — somewhere in the depths of the small room, an electric kettle rumbled.

The large room was the studio. The walls were almost entirely covered with pencil sketches, something dark — ink or charcoal, paintings done in watercolor, oils, something brighter. And all of it was landscapes — cliffs, the sea in different weather, forests, tangerine orchards under the sun, mists over the bluffs, moonlit paths on the water. Though some drawings were hidden — leaning against walls, turned face-inward or covered with cloth. Minho didn't press; what he could already see filled him with admiration.

"You… really drew all of this?" Minho walked slowly along the wall, studying each work. "How much is here?"

"Yeah." Jisung scratched his shoulder sheepishly. "It's everything, actually — old and new, even school projects… I tidied up, but… it's still a mess."

And only now did Minho notice that on the windowsill lay the very shells Jisung had bought from him. They were arranged strangely, as if set out for a still life in some order known only to the artist — but none of the paintings featured them.

"I thought you used them as references," Minho remarked quietly.

Jisung froze for a second, then shrugged vaguely.

"I do — in the next webtoon. But for now… they're just beautiful. I like how they look."

The second room was far simpler: a small bed piled with blankets, a space heater by the wall, a desk marked with mug rings, wires, and equipment — and no drawings. On the windowsill, the kettle steamed; an open pack of cookies sat nearby. On the laptop, some drawing program was open; a tablet and stylus lay beside it.

"Want me to show you?" Minho nodded, and Jisung's eyes lit up.

He quickly, hurriedly poured tea for both of them, then settled next to Minho on the bed with the laptop, clicking rapidly through the trackpad, opening folders. Enlarged pages of his comics flickered across the screen — mythical creatures, landscapes, characters. Rare photos that Han immediately skipped past. Various art pieces that Jisung launched into rushed, rambling stories about:

"This is me trying Goku in my own style… And this — for an author's birthday, she was turning forty, and I, as a reader, drew fan art — and she included it with the others in a bonus chapter… Oh, I never finished the phoenix wings on this one, the cover was different… Don't look, this is just a reference… Oh, and here's the first time I drew the witch — see, in the concept, he has purple hair?"

Minho watched, unable to tear his eyes away.

And suddenly — not a drawing, a photo. Cliffs, stretching upward into the sky, lit by bright sun. So dark, so… familiar.

Minho's breath caught.

"That's…" He didn't finish.

Jisung flipped past the photo abruptly.

"References. I've got a lot of them," he said without looking. "From the internet. I needed the shapes, the light, the texture of the stone."

He scratched his arms again, wrapped his hands around his ribs, digging his fingers into the thick fabric of his sweater.

"Is your allergy worse than usual today?" Minho asked carefully.

"I forgot to take my pills." Jisung waved it off. "It's nothing, it'll pass."

Minho looked at him doubtfully — but said nothing.

     Jisung settled beside him, legs tucked under himself, his head resting on Minho's shoulder. The laptop sat on the small table, flooding the dark room with the screen's glow. On the screen, Spider-Man soared between buildings, and the loud sound of explosions echoed through the tiny room.

Sometimes Han laughed quietly; sometimes he froze, staring at the screen. Sometimes he turned toward Minho as if expecting a reaction — and Minho only had eyes for the utterly charming man beside him. He felt the warmth of his body, caught the scent of apple shampoo, watched him unconsciously scratch his skin.

When the credits rolled, the room fell completely silent. Only the space heater clicked faintly, and the distant surf rumbled beyond the window.

Jisung turned to him first — there was so much hope on his face that Minho's breath caught. He leaned in, a little hesitant, as if still asking permission — and Minho answered at once, not letting doubt take hold.

The kiss came out warm, real, faintly sweet. Jisung sighed softly, relaxing, leaned in closer, rested a palm against his chest. Minho felt the beat of his heart — alive, quick. Not a dream, not an illusion, not a hallucination under the weight of the water — reality.

And still, something clenched painfully inside him the moment those lips — so soft, so warm — yielded under the pressure of his own. The ghost of other lips, salty warmth, a voice — it all surfaced for an instant, like a specter. And when they finally broke the touch, Minho was silent for several seconds, looking into his eyes.

"Jisung…" he said quietly. "I'm truly glad to have you. So much. I like you so much…"

"Then…" Jisung smiled a little bashfully. "Will you stay?"

Minho swallowed.

"Not tonight. I need… to figure something out. I'll tell you everything once I understand, okay?"

Jisung watched him attentively, without offense — only with a faint unease. His fingers stilled on his sides, as if shielding his body.

"Okay… But you'll come back? You'll come again?"

"I promise," Minho answered firmly. "I just want there to be nothing unnecessary between us anymore."

He stood, kissed Jisung once more — brief, gentle, feather-light — and, already at the door, turned around.

"Don't forget to take your pills, Sungie." Jisung smiled and nodded.

Minho stepped out into the cold night air, torn in two. The thought of forgetting his rescuer saddened him — but he had chosen. And his warm, strange Jisungie had nothing in common with the icy darkness of the caves.

    Pink foam beat against the walls of the cave; the glow of the algae flooded it with soft sunset light. Minho turned, waist-deep in water — and saw Jisung, standing higher up, deeper in the cave. The chains on his jeans swayed in the waves.

"Hyung, why are you here?" he said quietly, gazing somewhere into the lake.

Minho opened his mouth to answer — but couldn't make a sound. A wave struck his stomach weakly.

In the depths of the pool, something dark flickered — a shimmering body, dark eyes. It gazed up from below, beckoning, pulling his gaze toward it. The face behind the blue hair was beautiful — and utterly elusive.

"It's just a dream," it said… in Jisung's voice. "You'll be fine when you wake up and forget."

"He won't forget," Jisung answered the stranger softly. "He won't forget until he lets go." He lifted his head and looked Minho straight in the eyes — with that same strange, distant gaze. "He won't let go until he sees for himself."

Minho tried to raise his hand, to touch Han, to ask what he was supposed to forget, what he needed to let go of, what he needed to see — and in that moment, the water washed them both away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the empty cave.

Minho woke, breathing heavily. He could no longer put off the inevitable.

      His legs still trembled, but his mind surged downward, along the cliffs — to the place where it had all begun. He set a timer on his phone — so he wouldn't forget, would never again be caught in the tide's trap. He sent Hyunjin a message with his location. He thought he'd thought of everything — and yet he was still afraid.

And still, he made it there. The waves crashed against the cliffs below; the dawn flooded the rocks with light.

The cave was quiet; the soft light of the rising sun reflected off the water, casting rainbow glimmers onto the ceiling. Every quiet step Minho took made the puddles tremble and the light scatter, like in a kaleidoscope.

He went a little deeper, glanced at his beloved lake… and froze, holding his breath.

On the shore of the lake, in deep sleep, lay Han Jisung. His bare, tanned arms were folded on a stone; his head rested peacefully upon them. His hair — bright blue, curling from moisture and salt — stirred faintly with each slow breath. Strange, pointed ears peeked out from beneath the locks. His mouth was slightly open; on his puffed cheek, a trace of dried salt was visible.

His beautiful, honey-toned body was entirely covered, like diamonds, with glints of silvery scales. They wrapped around his neck like a collar, streamed down his arms, glittered on his bare back, covered his shoulders. They flowed down his slender waist to his hips, where they grew into…

An enormous tail. Powerful, strong, shimmering in the luminescence of the algae, swaying faintly in the water with the merman's breathing. The tail fin was large but thin, like silk, streaming in the water, yielding to the slow, barely perceptible movements of the tail. The side fins seemed somewhat more rigid — but no less beautiful, gleaming with silver. The glow of the algae transformed the already fairy-tale creature into something otherworldly, unearthly — as if you could reach out and touch him, and he would vanish, as though he had never been there at all.

Minho remembered how, that fateful time, he had seen something large at the bottom of the lake. Had it been Jisung, hiding in the depths? Was that why he had found him, drowning, so quickly?

He remembered how Jisung always avoided water and even rain, how he had so sincerely begged Minho not to go into the caves anymore. Had he been worried not only for a human life, but for his wondrous secret as well?

All those slips of the tongue, all that protection from his brothers, the fingers digging in where scales covered his skin like elegant armor and gills quivered beneath his ribs — all of it, finally, came together into a single whole. Jisung didn't fear the sea — Jisung was the sea, beautiful and unreal. Perhaps he feared revealing himself and his family? Perhaps he had simply grown used to hiding from the world in the deep underwater caves?

An idea came in an instant. Minho took the pendant from his neck, reached toward a small stone — heavy enough that the tidal waves wouldn't carry it away. He laid the pendant beside the sleeper's palm and pressed the chain down with the stone, trying not to make a single sound.

As he slowly stepped back from the lake, Jisung sighed softly, murmured something, and turned onto his back in his sleep, arms flung wide — just the way he slept on Hyunjin's couch. The scales flashed again, the gills at his ribs quivered, the lake shimmered with ripples for several moments.

Minho crept to the exit and emerged onto the cliffs, smiling so wide his cheeks ached. A feeling of relief flooded him — not from uncovering the secret, but from the knowledge that the object of his obsession was that very same sunny, awkward Jisung. The Jisung who had sifted through shells. The Jisung who loved sweet waffles. The Jisung who fled from the rain.

His Jisung.

🌊🌊🌊

       Only after that, Jisung disappeared. He didn't come to the shop, didn't answer messages, didn't show up in town — as if he had become once again that elusive artist whom seeing was a miracle. Three days later, a hiatus notice appeared under his webtoon, and Minho froze anxiously, staring at the phone screen.

Had he frightened Jisung that badly? Had it been a mistake to hint that he knew the secret?

A week later, his car pulled to a stop at the hotel. The morning sun reflected off the windows; puddles from yesterday's rain still dotted the deserted parking lot.

This time, Chan sat behind the counter. Seeing Minho, he immediately frowned and shook his head:

"Jisung isn't home, Minho-ya."

"Hyung…" Minho glanced at the mural on the wall, then looked pleadingly at the elder — there was no chance Chan didn't know what had happened. "Hyung, I didn't…"

"Go home," Chan cut him off, then sighed wearily and rubbed his temples. He glanced around — there wasn't a soul in the lobby besides them. "Listen, Hannie, he… You have to understand, he has reasons to be afraid. He didn't think you'd see him, didn't think that… Look." The elder's gaze hardened. "If you're sure, if you truly don't want to run away and forget all of this — give him time."

"Forget?!" Minho snorted indignantly. "You're telling me to forget about Jisung?!"

"About all of this." There was something dark, dangerous in Chan's voice; his eyes darkened for a moment, as if veiled. "You weren't supposed to know at all."

"This is all a dream… you'll be fine when you wake up. It's a dream, do you hear? Just a dream." The words came back to him — and Minho even stepped back, his mouth opening in horror:

"That's what you do if someone finds out? You erase their memory?!" He shook his head angrily. "And what if I don't want to forget?! Jisung is precious to me — I'm not going to run away because I saw him differently!"

"Then give him time," Chan repeated, far more calmly. "My brother will come to you himself when he's calmed down."

Minho sighed and placed a small bag on the counter — waffles from Felix's bakery, the ones Jisung had grown so fond of.

"Give these to him, please. He likes them."

"Alright." Chan took the bag, stowed it under the counter. His lips curved into a faint semblance of a smile. "Don't hold it against us, Minho-ya. We have to be careful. Otherwise, we won't survive."

     That evening, Minho stood on Hyunjin's doorstep. Remembering his friend's relationship with Changbin, all their conversations, the strange glances — he suddenly realized that his friend, too, had done everything to keep Minho from understanding, from connecting the shy artist with his rescuer. Which meant — he knew.

Hyunjin opened the door after the second ring — and his eyes widened slightly in surprise:

"Hyung? You don't usually drop by."

"Let me in, Jinnie." Minho stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "We need to talk."

Hyunjin only sighed and closed the door behind him, nudging a pair of slippers over with his foot.

"I knew you'd come. Tea?"

Minho scanned the familiar kitchen — and noticed, on a small painting he'd seen a hundred times, a familiar signature. Only now did he realize that this little landscape of the cliffs had been painted by Jisung's hand — and now he looked more closely: there, in the foreground, trees blossomed in soft colors in the hotel park. Sea foam sparkled under the sun. There, in the distance, the cave where it all began was visible as a dark spot.

"He painted it for me when Binnie and I were already dating," Hyunjin followed his gaze and nudged the mug closer. "Though it took him quite a long time to start trusting me."

"How did you even find out?" The tea smelled of jasmine and was so hot it scalded his tongue. "That they're, well…"

Hyunjin smiled.

"Changbin showed me himself. Said if we were going to date seriously, I should know everything. He talked the others into it, they took me to the guesthouse pool, and, well…" He hummed thoughtfully and stirred his spoon. "And then Jisung promised to tear me apart like a shark if I ever told anyone or hurt Binnie. Let's just say," he smirked, "my relationship with Sungie wasn't very good back then. He doesn't really trust people."

"Does any of them? Chan hinted to me today that he'd wipe my memory," Minho sighed.

"Sounds like Chan-hyung," Hyunjin giggled, but then sighed. "Listen, the guys, they… Well, they're afraid of a lot. That someone will see them — and that someone near them will drown. They're afraid of storms and of themselves."

"Why?" Minho froze in surprise.

"Well," Hyunjin cleared his throat, looked away, "you'd better not see a siren during a storm. It's a sight… not for the faint of heart."

"But I did see," Minho remembered how Jisung had watched the rain outside the window with those dark eyes. "Sungie just… got scared."

"That's not it," his friend shook his head gently. "That's not fear — those are instincts. And when the guys are in their other form — those instincts, well, take over. It's truly terrifying, hyung, believe me."

"And what about… the allergy?" Minho accepted another mug and nodded gratefully.

To his surprise, Hyunjin laughed sadly:

"There's no allergy, hyung. This idiot spent so much time hanging out with you on land that his skin was drying out." He reached up somewhere toward a shelf above Minho's head and pulled down a scale — not like Jisung's; this one was black with a purple sheen, surprisingly large, and very fragile. Hyunjin pressed it lightly between his fingers — and it cracked in half. "If you want to keep taking care of Sungie — you should know: for a siren, more than a few days without water is simply torture."

"But why didn't he leave?!" Minho couldn't stop staring at the scale crumbling under Hyunjin's fingers.

"Why did you go back into the cave?" Hyunjin shrugged. "Because you're a lovesick fool, that's why. You weren't the only one who wanted to be closer."

The phrase melted the ice of anxiety and fear inside him — but only just a little.

       At last, a message came. Only a geolocation, pointing to the familiar grotto, and a time — the start of a long low tide.

Minho hurriedly got ready, grabbed his bag, a small bracelet of silver and pearl from the workshop — and met Seungmin's bewildered gaze:

"Where are you going, hyung? To the shore?"

"To Jisung." His fingers trembled with tension and anticipation of the meeting.

"Well, alright then." His cousin sighed and relaxed behind the counter. "I was starting to think you were going to crawl into the caves again."

Minho opened his mouth to answer — and closed it, not knowing what to say. Guilt pricked him like a sharp needle — but he would be with Jisung. The very same Jisung who had once given him breath in that very grotto.

"Go on, then." Seungmin opened his book and waved a hand. "You've got a date, after all."

He approached the cliffs with a small bag in his hands — the hot meat buns smelled so good his stomach growled, but they weren't for him — they were for Jisung. Maybe it was foolish to bring food and jewelry as a peace offering, but Minho hadn't been able to think of anything else.

It was still damn terrifying to enter the grotto, but something pulled him like a magnet — toward that marker, toward his beautiful person who had finally resolved to speak with him. It was far stronger than the horror that still held him in its grip.

The water had already receded, and new shells and pebbles lay on the stones — but as soon as he stepped further, the familiar lake opened up before him. The water in it glowed brighter than usual, swaying with the smooth movements of a silver tail.

Jisung half-lay on the rocks, watching him with large, anxious eyes — like prey caught in a snare. Minho recognized that look, that strange one — black, as if veiled, like on the day of the storm. Blue hair clung to his neck; his pointed ears twitched. The pendant hung around his neck — that very labradorite, shimmering blue. The siren's scales reflected the light in rainbow sparks; the gills at his ribs fluttered rapidly. A picture of impossible beauty — but marred by those hands trembling with fear, folded over his… hips? The base of his tail?

"Hi, hyung," Jisung said, too loudly. The echo bounced off the cave walls, making Minho flinch. "You really came."

"Hi, Sungie," Minho said softly, stepping closer. The bag rustled in his hand, and he carefully held it out to the siren. "Will you take it? It's for you."

Jisung sniffed curiously, peered into the bag. The corners of his lips twitched into a smile, but then he grew serious again. His fin quivered faintly underwater — so much like his usual nervous habit of shaking his leg; sharp fangs caught his lower lip again and again. His claws — small, semi-translucent, but clearly sharp — scratched nervously at his scales, doing them no harm.

Minho slowly lowered himself onto the rocks beside him, almost reached out a hand to soothe him — but held himself back, afraid of frightening the siren even more.

"Thank you," Jisung's voice was louder than usual; the tips of his ears twitched. "You didn't have to…"

"You like them, don't you?" Minho replied almost in a whisper, and a crease formed between the other's brows.

"You're… you're talking very quietly, hyung," Jisung mumbled, and Minho noticed how tense his shoulders were. "My ears… When I'm, well, different, they're different too." He carefully swept a lock of hair aside, tucked it behind his ear, and Minho saw a dense membrane that hadn't been there before. "I can't hear well on land — that's why I didn't realize you were… In the water, I hear every sound, read every vibration for hundreds of meters, but here… here I'm almost deaf."

Minho nodded, cleared his throat.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked, louder now, glancing at the other's bare chest. "You're, well…"

"Ah, no." Jisung shook his head; the corner of his lip twitched. "I was born a shallow-water — we're better adapted to the cold. Look." He extended his hand, carefully touched the Minho's cheek with the back of his palm — and Minho flinched at the coolness.

Minho frowned. He took Jisung's hand, ran his fingers over it — no warmth at all, only cool, damp skin. But that wasn't what he remembered, wasn't what had haunted his dreams for months!

"You… you were warm back then," he looked at the siren in confusion. "I remember how you… carried me out, warmed me?"

"You would have frozen, hyung." The large fin twitched harder; embarrassment flickered in the dark eyes. A quiet, melodic sound rose from the siren's chest — otherworldly, strange — and the skin beneath Minho's touch suddenly began to warm perceptibly, until it became even warmer than his own. The humming faded, and Jisung shrugged awkwardly. "We don't use that often — we rarely need to warm ourselves — but you humans fall ill so easily…"

The being before him wasn't simply a different species — Jisung was something wondrous, magical, physically impossible. Minho couldn't tear his admiring gaze from the large tail, the silver scales, so flexible and yet so firm on the soft, warm skin of his hands.

"Your magic, it's… What is it?" He tilted his head curiously.

"A lot of things." Jisung shrugged, glanced toward the cave opening, where the sun was already slowly descending. "We sirens are made to survive in the ocean, so mostly — dominion over water… But it's weak. I can't handle the tide or the sea in a storm; I can't even create a whirlpool or a big wave — but I can hide myself or help… Something like that."

Jisung lifted himself on his hands and struck the water with his powerful, flexible tail — and thousands upon millions of water droplets froze in the air around him, like glass, never touching Minho. The cave filled with glittering water crystals suspended in motionlessness and the silence that fell. It was impossible to make out Jisung himself through them — the droplets distorted the space around him so greatly. Only the palm that still lay next to Minho's hand was visible in this prism.

And then, yielding to a light motion of the siren's wrist and a quiet melody more like the sound of waves, the droplets slowly, carefully returned to the lake, without a single splash.

Minho sucked in a sharp breath and only then realized he was sitting with his mouth open — stunned and awestruck. His fingers trembled, his heart stood still in his chest — but he felt no fear. Reverence, perhaps?

"That… that's so beautiful," he said, his voice strangled, and leaned closer to the siren. "Jisungie, you're…"

"Don't say it." Jisung pulled away and frowned. "I showed you beautiful magic, but there's also… unbeautiful magic."

"You mean your voice? Chan said that…" Minho coughed awkwardly. "Why didn't you make me forget? Your voice… on the shore. Was that magic too? Is that what you're talking about?"

Jisung lifted his gaze.

"There are so many legends about sirens — and in this, they're true. It's also a defense mechanism, but it's very… difficult to control." The siren seemed to shrink, to grow smaller, and sank lower into the lake, hiding beneath the water up to his shoulders. "Back then, I sang to you so you would fall asleep and, upon waking, remember only that the caves were dangerous — but not who was there with you. I didn't want you to forget absolutely everything — otherwise you'd have gone back. But I was too frightened, and that stone in your pendant… it was as if it grounded you. The magic misfired. I meant to come to the shop the next day and finish what I'd started — erase everything, so even the trip itself would be gone… But when I saw you… I couldn't. Not the next time, not after. But I should have."

Jisung smiled bitterly, pulled back even further.

"You're afraid of water, Minho. And I am water — I can't stay far from the sea for long. I was afraid that if you saw… all of this… you would simply run. Or, well… tell someone — and again…"

"Why would I tell anyone? Why would I run?" Minho tried to edge closer again, and his hand slipped on the wet stone. "You're not…"

Jisung looked at him reproachfully, then ran his fingers along his own neck, where large scales gleamed:

"Our kind is a fairytale, an anomaly, hyung. We weren't supposed to exist; we weren't supposed to rise from the depths. But…" He sighed, glanced again at the opening. "Everyone who wants to see the sun and the sky, flowers and the wind, pays their price — loneliness, the fear of being exposed, of running again. I was ready to pay mine, but I was afraid my brothers would suffer too."

"Hyunjin knows about you," Minho recalled the black scale crumbling to dust.

"Yes." The siren smiled crookedly. "And I still don't know how Binnie found so much strength in himself to tell him. But me — I'm just a stupid fish who's afraid of everything. You remember that fairy tale? Where the little mermaid, because of her love, turned into sea foam?" He stretched, causing his tail to lift a smooth wave in the lake, scattering sparks of light everywhere. "That's only half a fairy tale. Sirens are monogamous. We try not to fall in love unless we're sure it's forever, that… that the other will never betray us. And with humans, it's even more complicated…"

"I won't let anyone find out, Sungie," Minho said softly. "And I won't run. You may be an anomaly — but you're definitely not a stupid fish. I fell in love with you not because you have a tail or legs, but because of who you are."

A second, two — and suddenly Jisung flushed crimson and slipped entirely underwater with a soft splash. Through the glowing ripples on the water, Minho could see the siren pressing his palms to his face, could hear a faint sound from beneath the water — something between a moan and a cry. Then he surfaced, swam up to Minho, staring somewhere at his feet. His claws, gripping the stones, shimmered with mother-of-pearl:

"You…" His voice trembled. "Are you sure? Are you truly sure?"

His hand found the bracelet in his pocket, and Minho carefully took the siren's damp, once-again-cool palm. Jisung obediently extended his hand — and froze in surprise, studying the pearl on his wrist.

"I'm afraid of water," Minho admitted, carefully holding the hand of his wondrous man, looking straight into those shining, large eyes. "And what happened here… I'm still scared — but I'm not afraid of you, Sungie."

Suddenly, there was a powerful splash, an impact, and an impossibly heavy, strong body pressed Minho against the rocks. Jisung buried his face in Minho's neck; his arms pulled him so tightly that it became hard to breathe. The water splashed around them chilled his body; the muscular tail pinned his legs to the stones.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, I love you, Minho, I love you so much," the siren whispered without stopping, his breath searing Minho's ear with cold. "Thank you…"

He lifted his gaze — and sheepishly waved his palm, drawing the water away from himself and Minho. His soft skin at once grew warmer.

"Sorry, it's just…"

"Come here, little mermaid," Minho smirked and, with effort, rolled onto his side, finally breathing deeply. He pressed Jisung to himself, tenderly stroked his head, and the siren relaxed in his arms. "I love you too."

🌊🌊🌊

     Dating Jisung was strange. But — surprisingly — it turned out to be fairly easy to come to terms with his unusual nature. His terrible habits, on the other hand…

Minho hadn't expected that his sweet siren would suddenly start taking care of himself — but more and more often, instead of a date in a café or at home, he was forced to load his boyfriend, scratching at his ribs and shoulders until they bled, into the car and drive to the hotel outside town, where Jisung could dive off the broken breakwater, hidden from the hotel and the beach behind the deserted park. And wait with a towel in hand — in the first minutes after transformation, Jisung's legs were as weak as a newborn fawn's, and he had already fallen more than once onto the cold concrete just meters from Minho.

He picked up a small, dim lantern and turned away, giving the man a bit of privacy. Clothing rustled; Jisung swore quietly and quite obscene — in his human form, he was clearly cold. And then came a soft splash — and Minho turned around. Not a trace of a person nearby — only discarded clothes and foam that seemed reddish in the orange light. Silver flashed in the ink-dark waves — once, twice — and he sat down in the chair, waiting for his siren to release the tension from his weary muscles.

At last, a splash sounded nearby, and a head emerged from the water.

"Sorry we had to drive out again, hyung," Jisung snorted sheepishly, looking up at him from below. His claws scratched against the jeans hastily discarded on the concrete, leaving dark, damp spots; in the dim lantern light, his hair gleamed with a lilac sheen. "Because of the hiatus, I've got too much work — and spring's coming soon, I need to prepare landscapes to sell…"

Minho tucked his legs under himself and settled in more comfortably, wrapping himself in his scarf — even though Jisung had brought out pillows, a blanket, and a folding chair for him so he wouldn't have to sit on the icy concrete, it was still chilly on the seashore at night.

The thermos of tea clinked and wobbled with his movement, and the siren's bare hand deftly caught the lid as it fell into the waves. When their fingers touched, Minho couldn't help but flinch — Jisung's fingers were freezing.

"Does it always have to be seawater?" he asked loudly enough for the siren's weak hearing to catch his words. "Or could you…"

"Nah, not always." Jisung lifted himself out of the water and rested his head on his arms, folded over the rusty steps. His cheek squished like mochi, and Minho restrained himself with great effort from reaching out to touch him. "Just salt water. Sometimes, when the frosts hit and the shore freezes over, we fill up the pool at the hotel and sleep there…"

"A sleepover with brothers?" Minho smiled, sipping his tea.

"Something like that," the siren laughed. "Honestly, the pool's a bit small for the three of us, but we manage."

"You could sleep at my place next time." It was hard to suppress a chuckle when the other's cheeks suddenly flooded with crimson. "In the bathtub, I mean — what did you think?"

"About your bathtub, of course," Jisung mumbled in embarrassment, hiding his face in his folded palms. "It's a bit small for me."

Minho only snorted and reached out, scratching the siren behind his pointed ear through the cold, damp hair. A quiet grumble rose from the other's chest, and now Jisung seemed even more like a cat — a wet, slippery cat with silver scales. This thought only made him laugh harder — in unison with the vibrating sound his wondrous boyfriend was making.

       Another date brought them to the cabin again — Minho had brought food and sweets, Jisung had promised to show him a new anime, and his backpack held overnight things. They hadn't gone too far yet, but Minho was already looking forward to even just the weight of another body in his arms on that narrow bed and the soft taste of another's lips.

What's more, Jisung had promised to show him "something strange," and Minho couldn't even imagine what could possibly surprise him more than mother-of-pearl claws and silver scales. But he walked into the studio and unexpectedly found himself face to face… with himself.

Dozens of portraits — from a round-faced teenager in glasses and a school uniform, slightly crooked and awkward, to a beautiful oil painting depicting his present self — stood before him in the studio, and Jisung, blushing desperately, pressed himself against the doorframe of his bedroom, where quiet music played and the air smelled of tea.

"You… um… I figured you'd see them sooner or later anyway, so I decided to just show you myself… But I'm not a stalker, really, I swear, it's…"

Minho felt his heart beating somewhere in his throat from a mix of embarrassment and tenderness. He looked at the charcoal portrait where he stood in the schoolyard — Jisung had still struggled with proportions back then, but the face was rendered almost flawlessly. At another, where he, young and cheerful, hugged Hyunjin — drawn from a photograph, it seemed. At a watercolor depicting a figure behind the shop counter, seen through the display windows. And nothing in any of them held as much detail as his face in every portrait.

"You… drew me? Why?" Though he already knew the answer, Minho couldn't help but ask.

"I…" Jisung wrapped himself even tighter in his sweater; dark hair fell over his face. His voice grew higher and more frantic, the words spilling out faster and faster. "I'm an artist, I appreciate beautiful things, and…"

"Jisungie." He took a step closer. The man didn't even notice, continuing to babble:

"…and when I drew characters, each time something similar kept coming out, and…"

"Jisung." Another step.

"…and I thought, you already think I'm strange anyway, so I decided that…"

"Sung-ah." Minho stood so close that the other's hot breath seared his neck. "Sung-ah, I don't think you're strange. This is beautiful."

"…that I'd show you now, while… What?" Jisung lifted his gaze and blinked. "But why?"

"Because this," Minho gestured behind his back without looking — he was too flustered to look at himself again —  "is how you see me, jagiya. It's a little awkward, yes, and I couldn't look at them constantly, but…" He lifted Jisung's chin with two fingers. "But I didn't know you'd loved me this long and this deeply. I should have noticed sooner…"

The blush on the other's face was so vivid that Minho wanted to taste it, to lick it off and savor the flavor of raspberries or cherries that had colored his beautiful man such a beautiful shade. He leaned lower — and nudged his nose against the soft cheek, breathing in the faint scent of skin, salt, iodine, and apple shampoo.

"Hyung," Jisung snorted in embarrassment, not moving. "You really… is it really… not strange?"

"You have scales, and you're asking me about portraits," Minho giggled, licking the soft dimple on the cheek anyway — it was salty, not a trace of cherry. Jisung whined, and that only sparked a greater desire to devour him whole. "I think nothing is strange to me anymore, when you're around."

"I take my words back — you're the strange one." Jisung pulled away, still crimson, and tucked his hair behind his ear. "You're very strange, hyung."

Ten minutes later, the anime had to be put on pause after all, and the tea and sweets moved to the table, because Minho was desperately impatient to find out once again whether Jisung's lips were as salty as his cheeks. And as his enchanting siren whined and gasped from the endless kisses, Minho simply could not stop tasting the salt on those plush lips.

       Now that he knew the secret of the caves, Minho could have gone there more often — but his fear still held his insides in an icy grip whenever his feet slipped on the moss of the cliffs. But he needed materials, and it was time to overcome his fear of that place.

Fortunately — he wasn't allowed to go alone.

Before they left, Seungmin very sternly ordered Jisung to watch the time, and he nodded seriously — while Minho had a hard time keeping the smile off his face as his boyfriend installed a tide-tracking app. That was exactly what he was joking about, trying to distract himself from the raging waves below. His legs were trembling again, and his chest prickled with fear.

"Of course I can feel it," Jisung hopped carefully off a large rock and cast a long glance toward the sea, sparkling under the sun's rays with greenish glints. "But what if I get distracted, hm?"

"I don't think you could get as distracted as I did back then," Minho sighed, stepping into the familiar grotto. Almost immediately, he spotted a nautilus shell gleaming with mother-of-pearl underfoot. "What do you usually do here, anyway?"

Jisung bent over a small pool where a piece of wave-polished glass glinted; he turned the green pebble thoughtfully in his fingers.

"This lake — it's bottomless, hyung. It connects to the sea." He handed the stone to Minho and smiled. "It's quiet and beautiful here; no one ever comes." A laugh escaped his lips. "Well, except you. So I often sleep right here, if I'm swimming during the day. Sometimes I draw…" He giggled and bent over a small shell again. "But I drowned my tablet in the tide once, so I don't risk that anymore."

Minho, smiling, stepped deeper into the cave, turned toward the opening — and suddenly suppressed a shiver at the memory of how, standing on these very rocks, he had watched the tidal waves fill everything around him.

A warm palm touched his hand; Jisung's gaze was serious, a small crease forming between his brows that Minho wanted to smooth away with his finger.

"Hyung, everything's fine. There are three hours until the tide… and I'm with you. I will never let you drown."

Minho exhaled, and touched his forehead to the other's shoulder; the dense fabric of the jacket seared his face with cold. Thin, long fingers buried themselves in his hair and scratched behind his ear, drawing a chuckle from his chest.

"I know, jagiya." He pulled back and smiled. "Just come here with me and remind me of that more often, okay?"

Jisung only nodded and bent over the stones again, searching for the sea's gifts.

That same evening, as he arranged the new shells and stones in the workshop, Minho couldn't let go of a small mountain quartz crystal — its shimmering reminded him of the scales, the blue glints — and the feeling of complete safety that he had never, perhaps, felt by the sea before.

🌊🌊🌊

       February frosts struck, and ice locked the waves along the shore. Snow even fell — an enormous rarity in these parts — and the flow of tourists dried up completely, forcing the many shopkeepers to close their shutters and plunging the promenade into an unaccustomed silence.

Minho used this time as a holiday and a chance to work longer in the workshop — with Jisung's help, he had accumulated materials in excess. And though the sun was shining outside, he wasn't particularly eager to venture into the snowy whiteness, preferring the hum of the space heater and hot tea.

Jisung, on the other hand, was bored — his bungalow had grown too cold, and he had moved into the empty hotel, where he worked on his webtoons and slept in the warm pool. His messages, full of discontent, made Minho smile:

Hannie

i can't take it anymore

the snow knocked down the satellite dish

i have to draw

i've been staring at nothing but wolf mugs for three days now

and Chan and Binnie

which is basically the same thing

you:

i'll pass that along

Hannie:

they know

no seriously i can't take it anymore

i'm so damn bored

and my back hurts

and i'm cold

you:

wanna come over?

No reply came for a while, so Minho returned to his task — stringing beads of bright coral and tiny onyx pieces. And then a new notification arrived:

Hannie:

come get me in an hour

Minho smiled wide and set his work aside. A date was more important.

      The desk lamp bathed the living room in soft, warm light; the air smelled of popcorn and apples — a pie sat in the oven. The ending credits of Spy x Family played on the TV screen; else's hair tickled his cheek softly. Minho sprawled on the couch; Jisung was tucked under his side, wrapped in a large blanket, and the cats had settled at their feet, content — they had already been scratched, fed, and smothered with affection.

"Hyung," Jisung grumbled low when the episode ended. Minho turned and, with tenderness, noted his boyfriend's sleepy gaze and puffed-up cheeks. "Hyung, will you drive me home? I'm kind of…"

"Why?" Minho pulled him a little closer, stroking the boneless body along the shoulder. "Stay here and sleep."

Jisung lifted his gaze to him; a blush colored his cheeks.

"I didn't… I didn't bring any things."

"You'll wear mine." Minho shrugged easily. "Or did you want to sleep in the pool?"

"I love the guys, but I can't stand the sight of them anymore — or that blue tile," Jisung snorted in reply and sat up. The seam of the blanket had imprinted on his cheek. "Alright, hyung, hand over your things…"

Half an hour later, Minho finished tidying the kitchen and walked into his own bedroom — only to exhale softly at the sight of Jisung curled up on top of the blankets. The too-big t-shirt had ridden up at the waist, where there was now no trace of scales; the shorts revealed a view of his thighs — soft, tender skin.

He dropped lightly onto the bed beside him — and giggled when, through his sleep, Jisung immediately pressed closer. It was a little too warm, and dark hair tickled his face — but he still found it utterly charming.

      Morning came too early, too warm — but not all that bad. The sun beat against the drawn curtains, and a warm, greedy body pressed against Minho — Jisung kept inching closer in his sleep, grumbling discontentedly without even opening his eyes whenever Minho tried to pull away. And he was lying somehow strangely — too straight, whimpering occasionally when his legs began to tilt sideways.

Minho lay like that beside him for a minute, two, ten, absorbed in a game on his phone — until Jisung let out another pained sound, barely shifting on the bed.

"Hey…" He touched his shoulder quietly. "Your back?"

An unintelligible hum came in response, and Jisung curled up into a ball, pressing his forehead to Minho's chest. But then he rolled onto his back again and sighed, barely cracking his sleepy eyes open:

"Mm-hmm… See…" Jisung yawned without covering his mouth. "I train, I swim a lot — but this body still only remembers the shrimp pose."

"Ever tried training as a human?" Minho snorted, already climbing out from under the blanket. His own ointment was in the bedside drawer — after all, he himself too often sat hunched in the workshop and groaned the next morning.

"Mm, nah," Han mumbled sleepily. "It'd be too much…"

"Roll over, baby," Minho whispered tenderly, ruffling the dark hair.

Jisung obediently turned onto his stomach, hiked up his t-shirt, arms sprawled across the pillows, head slightly turned. His eyes were still closed, his lips pouted like a sulking cat. His skin was warm, smooth, so tender — and Minho froze for a moment before carefully applying the ointment and beginning to slowly, gently knead the tense muscles.

Every movement drew sounds from Jisung — from cute grumbling when fingers pressed into his relaxed shoulders, to staccato, rapid moans when Minho found a petrified knot between his shoulder blades.

Those sounds shouldn't have aroused him, shouldn't have seemed like music — but the way Jisung twitched under his palms, whined, exhaled in relief, was sending filthy images into his head and blood rushing to his cock. Minho straddled his hips and pressed his own arousal into the blanket — beneath which lay such beautiful, honey-toned legs.

"Ah… shit, right there, hyung," Jisung whimpered, twitching as Minho worked the tense muscle. The little devil knew exactly what he was doing — because with each new sound, a smirk spread across his lips instead of a grimace of pain. "Oh my god, that's so good, god, marry me…"

"Without a diamond ring?" Minho giggled, continuing to massage his back — now more to finish rubbing in the ointment than for actual massage. "I'm picky, you know, darling."

"There aren't usually diamonds on the seabed… I'll get you a ton of pearls," Jisung purred contentedly, glancing over his shoulder with a sleepy but satisfied look. "There's plenty off the coast. My father gave my mother pearls, as far as I know…"

"Well, go get them, little mermaid," Minho snorted, then it hit him: "…As far as you know?.."

"Yeah," Jisung yawned. "That's what Chan's mom said — I don't know for sure. My father's from shallow-water sirens, my mother's from the deep — that's why we're not together. I don't belong there; I couldn't survive the pressure… Oh, that kind too!" He nearly cried out when Minho pressed on the sore muscle again. "And with Dad… our pod was seen by humans, so they hid and now they're somewhere in the Indian Ocean. And Binnie's family is there too."

Minho frowned.

"And what about… you guys?"

"We were too small," Jisung spoke about it casually, easily. "Neither me nor Bin-hyung could have survived such a long journey, so they left us with Dad's friends. Settled sirens on land are rare, but they're friends with many pods. And that's how we became brothers."

"And that's… normal?" Minho's massage grew gentler, softer.

"Why wouldn't it be?" The siren cracked one eye open and snorted in surprise, noticing the other's bewilderment. "We're safe and living our lives; the pod is too. We're territorial creatures, hyung. It's easier for us here — for them, there."

"Sirens are strange," Minho sniffed, sliding onto his side of the bed and covering his now-quieting arousal with the blanket. "Damn strange."

"You're strange," Jisung grumbled affectionately in reply. "But I'm not complaining."

When had Jisung gotten his own side of the bed in this house, anyway?.. Still, it wasn't an unwelcome change. Maybe he should get a bigger bathtub, buy a more powerful humidifier? The living room had good lighting for drawing…

His sweet daydreams were interrupted by their very source, pressing his face to Minho's shoulder like a contented cat. A blush played on the siren's cheeks, but he didn't pull down his rucked-up t-shirt — just pressed his bare chest to the man's arm.

"Hyung," Jisung grumbled low, somewhere against his chest. Soft lips brushed against the muscle, and Minho clenched the blanket in his fist. "Did you know that sirens don't have marriage?"

"How would I?" Minho snorted — but he couldn't stop running his fingers, tender, careful, over the bare, slender waist.

"We don't need it," Jisung pressed even closer; his hot breath seared Minho's neck. "Sirens never part from their mate." His teeth, human, not sharp at all, lightly grazed the thin skin just above the pounding pulse. "And do you know how sirens mark the wish to become mates?.."

"I can guess," Minho turned and caught the other's lips with his own — shallow, light. "I think you're showing me quite vividly."

Jisung giggled cautiously into the kiss, then pulled back.

"You're wrong. It's just gifts, hyung." He raised his hand, where the pearl bracelet, not removed for the night, dangled, gleaming white against caramel skin. "Okay, sorry — I'm rambling. It's just… I'm nervous, and…"

He sighed and sat up on the bed, crossing his legs; the blush now covered not only his neck but his cheeks and ears.

"You see, because of… well, my… peculiarity — I haven't really had relationships with people. You're my first and only partner, and…" He caught Minho's surprised gaze and laughed. "No, I mean — I'm not some virginal innocent, but I'm also not… Well, basically, I'm a little scared of disappointing you. Maybe you're expecting something special…"

Minho reached up — and easily toppled the light body onto himself. Jisung yelped, twitched in surprise — and froze when lips touched the soft spot beneath his ear.

"You're already special." Minho threw the blanket aside; a hoarse sigh escaped his throat as a soft thigh brushed his hard cock through layers of clothing. "Stop thinking so much."

"Help me with that," Jisung breathed right against his lips.

Minho didn't answer. He flipped them over, covering Jisung — trembling with anticipation — with his body, pressing him into the mattress with a long, deep kiss. His hands slipped under the rucked-up t-shirt, finally pulling it off and tossing it aside. His palms felt the hot, silken skin beneath, slid over the traces of ointment on his back — and without breaking from the siren's lips, he grabbed wipes from the nightstand, cleaning the ointment from his fingers.

Jisung glanced down and giggled.

"I don't think the ointment works as lube?"

"Definitely not." Minho jabbed him reproachfully in the side with a finger.

"Then wait." Jisung looked at the glass of water Minho had left from the evening, then snapped his fingers — and a small orb of water slowly slid through the air and approached Minho's palms, spreading over them and coating them in pleasant coolness. The water instantly turned cloudy, then slid off his clean hands, leaving no trace — and then Jisung snapped again, and the murky orb dropped sharply onto the t-shirt lying on the floor.

Minho watched all of this with admiration — though the last gesture made him snort, eyeing the wet spot spreading across the dark fabric.

"Now I have to wash it."

"You'd have to anyway," Jisung smiled smugly. "Convenient, right?"

"Damn convenient." Minho leaned back down and pressed his lips to the long neck, once again drawing whimpering sounds from the other's chest.

His lips, and then his teeth, found the sensitive spot where neck met shoulder. Jisung shivered and cried out softly; his fingers dug into Minho's hair, either trying to pull him away or drag him closer. Minho felt a shudder run through the body beneath him and bit down harder, greedily, leaving the first dark-pink mark, which against the honey skin promised to bloom into a vivid bruise.

"Minho…" The name fell from Jisung's lips in a low moan as Minho moved lower, to his chest, licking and nibbling one nipple while his fingers circled and teased the other.

Minho looked up; his own breath had stuttered. Jisung lay with his head thrown back, eyes half-closed, dark hair scattered across the pillow, lips parted in quiet, ragged breathing. The blush spread from his neck to his navel, and every new mark — from a bite, from too firm a touch of fingers — seemed like an adornment.

"Do you like it?" Minho asked hoarsely, running his thumb over a fresh bruise.

"Yes," Jisung breathed. "My skin is so sensitive when I'm human…"

Minho smirked: beneath his palms, Jisung's body seemed to burn with wild, uncontrollable heat, breaking out in goosebumps at the slightest movement. He slowly descended lower, kissing and biting just above the waistband of the shorts, feeling the tender stomach quiver beneath his lips.

He wanted to stretch this moment out — so Jisung would forget his fears and awkwardness, forget even to think he could disappoint — when he was the most perfect jewel Minho had ever seen in his life.

"Lift your hips, baby," he commanded quietly, and Jisung obediently complied, letting Minho pull off the last barrier.

He froze, admiring the beautiful sight. Jisung was gorgeous in his nakedness — aroused, trembling with desire and scarlet with embarrassment. The honey skin was beautiful against the white sheets, covered in beads of sweat and the marks Minho had left.

He pressed his face to the inside of the siren's thigh, leaving another rapidly darkening mark there, another, and another — feeling like an artist painting on a perfect canvas. And then he ran his tongue along the entire length of his cock, from base to tip, relishing how the whole body beneath him arched — 

…And immediately jerked and collapsed onto the bed with a pained moan.

"Sh-shit," Jisung giggled awkwardly, covering his face with his hand. "My back still hurts a bit…"

"Then don't move." Minho smiled and laid his palm flat on the flat stomach. "I think I can hold you down."

And then he bent lower again and took the head into his mouth, with slow, teasing movements, listening to every ragged moan and pressing the twitching body to the mattress with effort.

"God… Hyung, please…" Jisung babbled, his fingers clawing at the sheets. "Hyung…"

When Minho finally pulled back, Jisung was watching him with wide-open eyes full of desire. The cap of the lube clicked open — and a finger slid inside, into the tight heat that clenched around him.

Jisung tried to arch again — and again Minho wouldn't let him, holding him down on the bed, leaving him only the ability to thrash his head from side to side and moan on every exhale.

Minho didn't tease, didn't torture — mostly himself. As soon as his siren had adjusted to a third finger inside him, he shed the last of his clothes, rolled a condom down his length, and entered him — slowly, tenderly, kissing the quiet gasps from the soft lips. Jisung squeezed his eyes shut; his brows drew together, his lips pressed tight — but it wasn't a grimace of pain. And when Minho was fully sheathed inside him and stilled, the crease between his brows smoothed, and Jisung slowly exhaled, relaxing.

"All good?" Minho whispered, touching his forehead to Jisung's.

Jisung nodded without opening his eyes and wrapped his arms around Minho's back, pulling him into another kiss.

And then Minho began to move. Smoothly at first, measured, searching for the angle, the rhythm that would make Jisung forget everything in the world — his fears, the pain, the sea, the land — everything but this bed. And he found the right rhythm — the quiet moans grew into loud, desperate ones, which Jisung himself didn't seem to expect; he tried to bite his lip, to turn away the moment a cry tore from his lips.

"No," Minho slowed, cupping his face with his palm. "Don't — don't hide…"

Jisung opened his eyes for a moment — and nodded, his mouth falling open. He threw his head back, baring his neck, which Minho immediately covered with new, dark marks. A fresh thrust wrenched another loud moan from Jisung, but this time he didn't try to hide.

"My Sungie," Minho breathed into his ear, speeding up.

"Yours…" Jisung breathed back; his nails dug into Minho's back, leaving burning scratches. "Please, please, more, I…"

He didn't finish, but Minho understood. He lowered his hand between their bodies, wrapped it around Jisung, synchronizing his movements — and just a few thrusts were enough for Jisung to clench, a quiet, strangled cry tearing from crimson lips. The sight of Jisung, eyes rolling back in pleasure, lip caught between his teeth, was the final straw for Minho.

Still shuddering with orgasm, he collapsed onto Jisung, trying not to crush him with his full weight — but Jisung only wrapped his arms and legs around him like a koala and pressed closer. The air smelled of salt, sex, and the faint trail of apple shampoo from dark hair — and pain ointment.

Minho finally managed to push himself up on his elbows to look at Jisung. He looked emptied, sleepy, happy, and incredibly beautiful. His skin was covered in blush, tiny sparkles of sweat, and blossoming dark marks.

"So?" Minho asked hoarsely, carefully sitting up beside him and reaching for the glass of water — his throat was as dry as if he'd run a cross-country race. "Did it help?"

Jisung opened his eyes, lazily followed his gesture, smiled wide.

"My back? Or the not-thinking? Both — definitely." He mumbled, yawning, and reached for the glass, draining it in an instant. "And was it… good for you?"

"You silly thing," Minho snorted and reached for the wipes. "How could it not be?"

Half an hour later, the washing machine hummed in the bathroom, tumbling their long-suffering clothes; an omelet with ham steamed on the stove; and Jisung, half-dressed, sat right on the kitchen table, legs crossed. Beside him lay a toothbrush case, keys, a notebook, several pencils, tissues — half the contents of his bag.

"Are you going home?" Minho, leaning against the stove, watched Jisung rummage through his backpack. Minho's shirt barely covered the reddening marks on his soft thighs. "So soon?"

"No." Jisung glanced sideways at him, snorted, and finally pulled out his tablet and stylus. "I'll do two or three backgrounds — and then watch more anime?"

Minho only nodded and switched on the coffee maker.

      The evening passed more quietly than the one before: half-dressed Jisung sat curled up on the couch in a tight crouch, sketching out every little branch of his enchanted forest, while Minho jotted notes beside him in his notepad — there weren't many small beads left in the workshop, and he had to figure out where to use them, whether on children's trinkets or something bright. Quiet music played; now and then the space heater clicked softly.

But something was off. In the silence between the end of one song and the start of the next, Minho caught the sound of fidgeting and a familiar, barely audible noise — the rustle of fabric against fabric. He lowered his gaze: Jisung, staring at the screen and drawing something, was with his free hand mechanically, insistently rubbing his shoulder through his shirt, then his forearm, as if trying to shake off some invisible irritation. The marks — the love bites — on his thighs seemed somehow darker and larger, and Minho noticed they were now forming a pattern of large scales on the skin.

"Sungie. When's the last time you soaked?"

Jisung flinched, looked at his hand, then back at the screen.

"I did soak… the day before yesterday, I think? I don't remember. My skin probably dried out from the heater," he mumbled distractedly and buried himself in the tablet again, switching between picture layers. "I should order a humidifier… Where's that sky layer, damn…"

"Han Jisung." Minho didn't raise his voice, but tried to make it firm. "The day before yesterday?"

"…Four days," Jisung exhaled and lifted his head, admitting defeat. "I just… got caught up with the deadline. Those damn wolves are sucking the soul out of me, and then our date, and I genuinely forgot…"

"Alright." Minho set aside his notepad and stood, extending a hand to Jisung. "Up. Go to the bathroom."

"Hyung, I'm fine, really…"

"I can't throw you into the sea without hitting you against the ice and attracting attention," Minho tilted his head to the side and smiled sweetly. "But dragging you to the shower — I think I can manage that."

Jisung snorted sheepishly and scratched his nose.

"Okay, no need. Do you have salt?"

"Of course." Already in the bathroom, Minho turned on warm water, opened the cabinet where recently ordered bags of sea salt stood in neat rows, and waved a hand toward the shelf. "Take whatever you want, alright?"

The shirt rustled as it fell to the floor, and Minho admired for a moment the beautiful body, the soft skin, and the morning's marks — until he saw the same scaly pattern of scratches covering the broad shoulders and neck, the inflamed stripes standing out like scars where the gills were. None of this had been there that morning — and it made him frown.

So this was what their dates had been like for Jisung all this time.

"Hyung, it's fine." Jisung rolled his shoulders, turned his back, pulling off his underwear. "I'll just lie in the water for at least ten minutes — and it'll be okay… It heals fast, like a dog's," he snorted quietly.

"Well, lie down, then." The salt clouded the water; the air smelled strongly of lavender and pine. "I'll go make dinner."

Jisung, still embarrassed and covering his nakedness with his hands — as if he hadn't allowed Minho to study it in detail that morning — stepped into the tub, lay down, stretching out his legs — and suddenly a vibration seemed to ripple through the water, and before Minho could fully register it, the honey-toned body was covered in silver scales that concealed every mark on the skin, and a large tail spilled over the side of the tub, splashing water. A soft moan escaped the siren's lips as he tilted his head back against the tile, and something clicked in the air — a quiet sound, after which several translucent, shed scales floated across the water's surface.

Minho crouched down beside him. The tub really was too cramped for the siren in his true form, but judging by the expression on Jisung's face, this was paradise.

"Are you going to sleep?" Minho asked softly, running a hand through his wet hair.

"I think so," Jisung murmured, though it was clear — his eyes were already closing on their own from bliss and accumulated exhaustion. "Thank you, hyung."

       From the bathroom came the occasional soft splash, but the quiet music and the hiss of the frying pan nearly drowned out any sound. The aromas of sauce and garlic mingled with the scent of meat; steam rose from the pot — just a little longer, and he could wake his little mermaid, feed him — and then collapse onto the couch in a tangle, while Lloyd and Yor chased after Anya on the screen…

Some kind of noise from outside made him glance at the window — and he immediately frowned. The plastic windows barely let sound through, but the trees were bending toward the ground as if trying to snap, and droplets of water mixed with large flakes of wet snow raced across the glass. A powerful storm was starting — and no warning had even come to his phone.

Minho hesitated for a moment — was it worth waking Jisung? He was safe, in the water, in the warmth, didn't even know about the raging weather…

And then a blow struck. Not a roll of thunder somewhere in the distance, not the thud of fallen branches, but a dull, powerful impact against the wall that made the dishes in the cupboard rattle. The sound of shattered glass and the clatter of tiles came from the bathroom.

Minho's heart dropped into his heels. He switched off the burners and, without thinking, rushed into the hallway.

The bathroom door was ajar. Thick, cold steam billowed out, and through it came a soft, vibrating melody — not a song, but rather… a croon. Something fairytale, otherworldly, like that strange sound Jisung had used in the cave to warm himself and return the water to the lake — but far louder, terrifying. So mournful that it squeezed the heart in his chest.

"Jisung?" Minho called cautiously, pushing the door open a little wider.

Jisung had wedged himself into the far corner of the tub; his tail had spilled over the edge, dripping water onto the floor. His body was tensed; sharp claws had sunk into the tile — several tiles around him had cracked like eggshells. Even more tiles had flown off where his tail had clearly struck the wall, and now grey shards lay across the entire floor, along with scattered scales. The mirror was cracked; the cup with toothbrushes lay in the sink, its side chipped. The water from the tub had splashed out, straight onto the floor — and steam rose from it, filling the room with icy vapor.

But the most terrifying thing was the siren's eyes. Completely black, without that warm iris, clouded — and without a single glimmer of consciousness. Just two inky abysses, staring at the wall. His mouth was slightly open, and from his throat flowed that very melody — low, hypnotic, making his skin vibrate.

Without thinking, driven by pure horror at this emptiness, Minho stepped closer, reached out — whether to shake him or to embrace, to comfort:

"Jisung! Wake up, you're in the bathroom, everything's fine, it's…"

The sound cut off. Jisung, with that vacant gaze, slowly looked him over from head to toe, looked with those black eyes straight into Minho's eyes… Opened his mouth…

It was hard to grasp what happened next. There were no words, no gesture — but his legs moved on their own, taking a step, then another. Only a command pounded in his head — closer, come closer, don't leave — and he swayed nearer to the tub, shrouded in that icy steam and a wild urge to go, closer, closer, to let himself be taken…

And then everything fell silent; the enchantment vanished — and strong, cold arms suddenly wrapped around his waist and ribs, dragging Minho down into the cramped tub. A wet, slippery, impossibly heavy tail pressed against his legs, robbing him of the slightest chance to move, and his whole body burned with icy water.

Minho gasped, instinctively tried to break free. He braced his hands against Jisung's shoulders, tried to push away. In response, the siren let out a low, displeased sound; his claws sank into the soaked t-shirt for a moment — not enough to cause pain, but as a clear gesture of warning. The embrace tightened further, almost painful.

"What… What are you doing, Jisungie?" Minho turned his head, nearly bumping noses with a soft, cold cheek. His teeth had already begun to chatter slightly. "Let go…"

The siren loosened his arms slightly — not allowing escape, but at least letting him lie more comfortably — and emitted that vibrating, purr-like sound Minho had heard several times before when he stroked the siren's hair. His cheek pressed against Minho's cheek; he almost closed his eyes, continuing to stare somewhere at the wall from under his thick lashes with that vacant gaze.

"Are you… Are you trying to calm down me or yourself?!" Minho giggled, slightly hysterical; he was shaking with violent tremors — though he was almost not afraid. Not anymore — once he realized those claws wouldn't harm him. He nearly pressed his lips to the other's ear in the hope of being heard: "Cold… I'm very cold, Sungie…"

The lashes quivered, and instead of purring, that otherworldly melody rose once again from the siren's chest. And then the other's body, the arms, the water around them — everything began to warm. Quickly, evenly. From icy to cool, from cool to pleasantly warm, almost hot.

The shivering subsided almost at once, and Minho stared at Jisung's tense face, his eyes slanted sideways. Jisung was holding him in his arms as if hiding him from something, and he continued to sing — a strange, soft sound that belonged not in a bathroom but somewhere in that cave among the luminescence, or in the depths of the ocean. Sometimes his lips quivered; the melody changed, grew higher — and then it grew even warmer around them, and the steam billowed around them.

Minho stopped fighting. He went limp in that clinging embrace, let himself be pulled closer, burying his nose in the silver scales on the other's neck. He lifted his hand — the one free from the steel grip — and very carefully, slowly, laid it on Jisung's wet hair. He began to stroke.

The singing broke off for a moment; a low, rumbling sound made the water vibrate around them, and the strong body relaxed slightly. And the song returned again — whether born of fear of the storm raging beyond the thick walls, or of protection. But no longer was there that wild, heart-tearing sorrow in it.

"Alright," Minho sighed loudly, closing his eyes. "Alright, let's wait out the storm together, Sungie."

       Time flowed differently in the warm, steamed-up bathroom. Minho, whose muscles were already aching from the awkward position, lay obediently, still pressed tight by those strong arms — he couldn't have freed himself even if he'd wanted to.

But he didn't want to — this way, with him close, Jisung was clearly finding it easier. So Minho endured — he had almost fallen asleep, lulled by the monotonous song and the rhythmic breathing beneath his chest.

And then, through the veil of sleep, he noticed: it had gone quiet — and breathing had become much easier.

The song, that hypnotic, wordless croon, had stopped. The tension in every muscle of the body wrapped around him vanished. The iron grip loosened, the tail stopped pressing against his legs, the arms simply lay on his waist — heavy, limp. Jisung's skin had grown cooler — not hot, warming everything around, and not icy as at the start, just… normal, cooling skin from the water.

Minho carefully lifted his head.

Jisung had fallen asleep. His face — still the face of a siren, unearthly, with fangs peeking from beneath slightly parted lips, with pointed ears jutting out from the blue curls — had relaxed, grown calm, even tender. His breathing had turned deep and steady; his head had lolled to the side.

"Your magic wears you out, doesn't it?" he asked, loudly enough for the other to hear — but Jisung didn't stir, relaxing further and sliding lower into the cooling water. "Are you going to be absolutely no help, darling? Wake up…"

But no answer was forthcoming — if Jisung usually slept quite deeply, now, exhausted by the fear of the storm and the long song, he seemed to have fallen into a kind of hibernation.

The attempt to get free was the next logical but incredibly difficult task. Though the other's arms no longer held him, and the tail no longer pressed him down — it was damn slippery and heavy; his home clothes hung on his body like freezing rags; large drops of water fell onto tile and metal; his numb muscles refused to obey.

He stepped onto the tiled floor; his foot slipped in the tub — and something jabbed it sharply. Minho bent down and fished shards of tile out from under the silver tail.

"Well, damn," he sighed, surveying his ruined bathroom. There were clearly not enough shards on the floor — which meant some of them lay right under the sleeping siren. "It would be great if you'd just transform, of course…"

Minho clenched his teeth, tossed his wet clothes into the washing machine, gathered the bath mats from the floor — and set to work. Clear away everything broken, mop up all the spilled water. Fetch a blanket from the cupboard and, with enormous difficulty, wrap it around Jisung so that when the water drained from the tub, he wouldn't drop his tail straight onto the sharp shards.

In the end, with a crash that, Minho felt, should have woken the entire building, he managed to heave the massive, limp body onto the floor, laid over the sturdiest sheets he could find. The blanket went straight into the wash. Dragging the siren into the bedroom on those sheets was the next feat. Jisung — so tiny and light in his human form — weighed no less than a hundred kilos as a siren; all those muscles in the flexible tail clearly didn't reduce the weight. And although Minho did go to the gym — no one had ever prepared him for how hard it would be to grab onto a scaly tail to lift his boyfriend into his arms.

When Jisung finally thudded onto the towel-covered bed, which creaked pitifully under this inhuman weight, Minho collapsed beside him, nearly wheezing — and the siren still slept a dead, motionless sleep.

At last, he dried Jisung off — and rolled the dry, cool body across the bed, tucking him into blankets. His gaze fell on the wet trail on the floor, on the silver scales scattered over the sheets, on the mother-of-pearl claws stretched limply across the pillows — and a nervous giggle escaped his chest.

Hyunjin hadn't exaggerated; the situation really hadn't been for the faint of heart.

Only half an hour later, having finished cleaning and started the washing machine, Minho returned to the bedroom with a small box in his hands — inside, large scales rustled and rolled around, scales he still couldn't bring himself to throw away. The clock read nearly midnight; the weather forecast promised only prolonged rain — and thank heaven for that; Minho had had enough of storms.

And under the blankets, the form had changed. Where, half an hour ago, a tail fin had draped over the edge of the bed, Soonie was now settling down to doze, and his man — in human form, dry, without a single scale on his body, still with traces of salt in his dark hair — was curled up, hands tucked under the pillow.

Minho carefully lifted the edge of the blanket and lay down beside him. He pulled the warm body close, wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing his chest to Jisung's shoulder blades. Jisung murmured something in his sleep and unconsciously pressed back into his warmth.

Outside the window, the wind had died down completely, leaving behind only the soft rustle of rain. The apartment smelled of the sea, lavender, dampness, and the dinner that had never been cooked — but that was alright. Minho closed his eyes, pressing his nose to the soft hair.

He was exhausted; his muscles ached; his apartment was in need of repairs. He might have managed to flood the neighbors. Tomorrow, Jisung would surely be frightened and upset, but…

But tonight, let him sleep in his arms — this wondrous creature who protected him in the storm like the most precious treasure.

With that tender feeling, he tumbled into sleep.

       When Minho woke, his body reminded him of yesterday with pain that answered the slightest movement. His overstrained muscles ached as if after an especially brutal workout, and he let out a soft groan, rolling onto his back.

His gaze fell on a head of hair barely visible beneath the blankets — absolutely motionless. But Jisung was clearly awake — his body under the covers seemed compressed into a tight ball, his breathing was too quick, and the bedroom door was closed, even though Minho always left it open for the cats.

Minho smiled crookedly and gently ran his palm over the other's hair — still too stiff from the salt.

"Good morning," he said, his voice hoarse with sleep.

Jisung flinched but didn't turn around — only tilted his head into the tender touch.

"G-good… I guess," he mumbled into the wall; his voice was raw, wrecked. No surprise — yesterday he had sung for no less than three hours, barely stopping until he fell asleep. "I saw the bathroom… I'm sorry."

"Well," Minho sat up, groaning at the pain throughout his entire body, and fumbled for his lounge shorts nearby. "Are you alright yourself?"

"My throat hurts." Jisung propped himself up on the bed, covering himself with the blanket. He wasn't looking at Minho. "But… yeah… yeah, I'm fine. Are you?"

Minho groaned again as he got to his feet, and Jisung compressed into an even tighter ball, scarlet from his neck to the tips of his ears.

"I guess I need to hit the gym more often." He stretched, opened the door, and at once three fluffy, anxious little lumps burst into the room. "I'll go feed them…"

"Already did," came the hoarse voice. "And also… there's coffee. In the kitchen."

Minho smiled over his shoulder and somehow crawled to the bathroom — again, this time in daylight, assessing the scale of the damage. After the cleanup, everything looked less catastrophic — but still, some of the tile and the cabinet would need replacing, and the faucet was crooked — only now could he see it clearly. But overall — nothing truly terrible.

In the kitchen, two mugs of coffee indeed stood waiting — still warm; one had milk, and in the second, a spoon for sugar poked out. Minho hummed and carried them back to the bedroom.

Jisung had barely moved — except now he sat, thoroughly bundled, closer to the pillows. His ears were still red; his face bore an expression of extreme shame and fear — and Minho sat down beside him, handing him the mug of sweet coffee.

"What even was that, yesterday?" He tilted his head curiously to the side. "Hyunjin told me it was instinct…"

"I'm from shallow-water sirens," Jisung wrapped his arms around his shoulders and hid his nose in his knees. He hadn't touched the coffee. His dark eyes, slightly distant, watched Soonie chasing a little feather across the floor. "Like Binnie, and Chan, and our parents. And for our shoals, a storm can be very dangerous — especially if a siren is alone."

He sighed, reached for a silver scale lying nearby on the sheet, and turned it in his fingers.

"That's why instinct during a storm pulls us toward the water, toward the shoal, toward home — to protect ourselves, our home, and our… our own. To hide deeper, so we don't get caught in the waves and wind…"

The thought that the siren had perceived him as his own, had perceived him as home in the midst of the raging storm, warmed something inside Minho. He shifted closer.

"And you… are you aware of yourself?"

"No, it's all like a dream," Jisung shook his head and hid his face in his knees again. "Almost none of us are aware. It's like… a panic mode, I guess? I know legends that, centuries ago, predators exploited this and hunted us, and that's why sirens learned to control them — to keep them from getting too close."

"That's not what you did." Minho remembered that strange, irresistible urge to step closer, and shuddered. He hoped Jisung hadn't noticed — but in vain; Jisung curled up even tighter. "With your song…"

"I don't remember what I did," the siren whined into his knees. "I only remember that you were there, and I needed to protect you, and… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so guilty, please forgive me, I…"

"Jisungie." Minho pressed his cheek to the smooth, bare shoulder of the man, buried his fingers in the other's hair. From the other side, Dori pressed up against Jisung, purring loud enough for the whole room. "Sung-ah, everything's fine. Well," he took the scale from Jisung and set it aside on the nightstand, "not completely fine, okay… But I'm not angry, and I'm not afraid of you. Yes, you grabbed me — but you protected me from the storm and warmed me, not hurt me." He sighed. "But I was very scared for you."

"I would have been fine, and you would have been fine," Jisung sniffled, and Minho tensed, remembering the wild sorrow of that song. "But now you're in pain… and you need repairs…"

"Well, if I hadn't carried you out, you'd have cut yourself on the shards, and then you'd be the one in pain." Minho pulled Jisung closer. "I have no idea how to heal cuts on scales. And the repairs — well, it happens."

"I'll help with that." Jisung finally uncurled from his ball and relaxed a little. "But… maybe, during storms, take me home. Or at least don't let me transform… I don't want to destroy anything else or hurt you again."

"Well, I wasn't about to throw you out onto the ice," Minho snorted, glancing out the window, where the recent snow had already melted completely, leaving the landscape dirty and grey. "I'll buy a barometer and earplugs for home. You'll sleep through every storm like the dead."

"I'll buy them myself." The siren had fully relaxed in his arms now and was fiddling with the blanket. His lashes were still wet, but there was far less fear and shame on his face. "I'm still owed a payout for the wolves…"

"You'll buy them, fine." Minho stood and walked to his wardrobe, tossing shorts and a t-shirt at the young man. "But for now — let's go have breakfast, little mermaid. I never finished cooking the meat yesterday…"

And as he walked to the kitchen, he heard the slap of bare feet on the floor behind him. And the memory — of how, yesterday, a similar sound had come from a tail fin slapping against the same floor as it slid off the sheet — made Minho giggle and relax.

       Spring was approaching, and the icy wind gave way more and more often to warm gusts, and thick fogs rolled in from the sea onto the shore. There were still far too few tourists to open the shop — so most of the time, Minho either sat hunched over the worktable in his studio or in his apartment, where the smell of tile adhesive still hadn't aired out.

And Jisung — he had helped with the repairs, yes, though he'd stuck his little tiles on crookedly, and he'd bought a new cabinet, a barometer, even sets of salt — and then vanished for an entire week. Only rare messages in the early morning — "all good, working, miss you, love you" — kept Minho from rushing to the guesthouse, blowing up Chan's and Changbin's phones, and declaring the siren a missing person.

But a week later, a knock came at the studio door — and Minho irritably pulled off his glasses and gloves. The abalone shells were rare and fragile, and he'd nearly cut off too much when he'd flinched at the sound.

Behind the door, Jisung was already waiting, practically bouncing with impatience: he beamed brightly, reached out for an embrace — and then tugged the backpack off his shoulder, nearly knocking his own glasses off his nose:

"Hyung, hi, I know I didn't warn you, sorry, didn't want to interrupt, but I brought you something, like I promised, and if you're busy I'll go, but take it, this'll suit you, right?"

Minho blinked several times, trying to process the rapid stream of words, then lowered his gaze to the dense canvas pouch — it looked quite heavy, and something rustled and shifted inside. He pulled at the drawstrings, carefully opened the gift… and couldn't hold back a stunned gasp.

The entire pouch was filled with pearls: white, pink, golden, and scattered among them, even sparks of green and black — an almost impossible find in these parts. Nearly all the pearls were slightly irregular, some tiny, some enormous.

In five years of walking the shore, Minho hadn't collected even half a pouch like this. Now, before him, lay an immense treasure, an unbelievable hoard — and a man glowing with genuine joy, simply handing this treasure over.

"What… Jisungie, what is this?" Minho murmured, his voice gone, as he lifted a large pearl and turned it in his fingers. "What…"

"It's not a ton of pearls, and not a diamond ring, of course," Jisung scratched his nose and shifted from foot to foot. "But it's everything I gathered over the week. Do you like it? Will it work for your jewelry?"

Minho carefully set the pouch aside on the table, pulling the drawstrings closed. With tweezers, he took the shell he'd been working on and placed it on the velvet, into the box for unfinished pieces. He switched off the desk lamp — and only then turned to Jisung, who was waiting for an answer in nervous suspense.

"Sung-ah, do you realize you've got millions of won in that pouch?" He stepped closer, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind the man's glasses frame.

"Really? I didn't know they were that expensive." Jisung shrugged lightly, smiling even brighter. "Then I should dive for another week or so — I'll bring you another one just like it…"

Minho couldn't resist and leaned into the other's lips. The kiss was so soft; neither of them could stop smiling.

"Don't," he murmured, pulling away and looking down at the happy man. His hands settled of their own accord on the slender waist, squeezing it gently. "Seungmin will be in shock from your gift as it is. How am I supposed to explain this to him?"

"Tell him your future husband makes crazy money off webtoons," Jisung giggled, squinting with pleasure — while Minho's heart clenched at those words. "It's not true, but who's going to check?"

Minho smiled and rolled his eyes. But he tucked the pouch safely away — Seungmin was already eyeing Jisung far too attentively after the whole renovation story; there was no need to provoke his cousin any further.

🌊🌊🌊

        The summer promenade was overflowing with tourists; the bell above the door chimed without pause. Minho kept pulling shells and trays of jewelry from the display case, while Seungmin, on the other side of the shop, darted between magnets, souvenir mugs, and inflatable rings. And though evening was already approaching, the flow of people showed no sign of stopping. Perhaps part of the reason was that a section of the shop was now filled with paintings — Jisung had no time to sell them himself; it was peak season at the hotel.

Across the way, just as tirelessly, Felix and Jeongin were hard at work — in the heat, they set out ice-cream freezers in front of the bakery. The entire promenade was like a bright, colorful mosaic, a kaleidoscope of swimsuits, shorts, inflatable rings, children's toys. A motley chorus of human voices that only fell silent toward night, when the last cafés closed and the lanterns by the beach couldn't light even the white foam of the surf.

His muscles ached from the constant work — and from the fact that, last night, he'd been thoroughly worn out in the small hotel pool, hidden from prying eyes. The sirens and Hyunjin hadn't given up trying to teach Minho to swim — and he'd never learned to swim, and still, like an axe thrown into the water, he would tense up into a ball and… No, not sink to the bottom, but find himself pressed again and again against Jisung's warm, broad chest. And never mind that Hyunjin showed him the right movements over and over — apparently, Minho was born to be on land.

The sea still frightened him. His legs still trembled on the shore of the shining lake. But in the morning, in his new, large bathtub, at a safe depth, a siren would be sleeping again — exhausted by the tourists at the hotel and hours of work on a new webtoon, this time about mermaids. During the day, Minho would once again sell people bracelets and pendants made of stones brought in by the tide — and by Jisung. In the evening, there would be a date at the little restaurant with the best sashimi in town. And at night, he would step into the salt water once more to the laughter of Changbin and Chan — and, perhaps, he would finally take up the brothers' permission and show Seungmin, Felix, and Innie the world hidden beyond the high cliffs.

And if somewhere in this perfect day a storm began — well then, let there be a storm, one they would wait out behind the closed doors of a cozy apartment. And the next morning, the tide would cast new treasures onto the shore — and a new day would begin.