Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Keep steady, this one’s a fighter!” 

The crew around Hongjoong scrams. They move like rats rushing through the dirty streets—past each other, over and through. It is a sight he has not seen since he had traded the bricks for wooden planks. Hongjoong is pushed left and right as everyone rushes to get to the source of the fire. 

The sky is gray above them, winds picking up the water from the crashing waves and spilling it over the deck. Hongjoong can barely hear the shouts over howling. 

A blunt push knocks him to the ground. Hongjoong groans. The impact leaves his lungs stunned, stuck for a moment in a sensation akin to drowning. Hongjoong wheezes, curling himself up just in time to avoid a foot crashing into his back. His hat flies somewhere across the deck. He watches it get trampled under busy feet. 

They had been sailing without any hiccups, making way for the next port. A commotion was only a matter of time. The seas had been clear as the skies. There were no other ships out on these waters—only madmen would sail these waves.  

Hongjoong lays his hand on his pocket. Within the residue of a raid is tucked away. Hongjoong feels the edges of the cross dig into his palms. He breaths out, looking up at the heavens. If he keeps calling out Hongjoong hopes one day his luck will be returned to him. 

“Get your ass up there, boy!” the Quartermaster yells at him. 

He is a gruff man, thrice Hongjoong’s size with a body made of booze. He towers over him, face more a shadow than anything. He hooks his hand underneath Hongjoong’s armpit, jostling him around. With a grunt he drops him back down, continuing his way. 

Hongjoong scrambles to his feet. “Yeah… yes!” 

He stumbles to the edge, and he sees the cause. At first he is not quite sure, though his eyes are blown wide. He has never seen such a shade of silver, flickering like the peaks of the waves when the sun hits them. Silver leaning into sapphires, then rubies, then jade. 

“Keep pulling!” 

The cold wind blows into Hongjoong’s face, howling like it had not before. The peace of the night had been disturbed. The sea shakes the ship with another crashing wave. The crew stumble, but the hands do not leave the ropes.

Hongjoong’s eyes flutter shut, the frost cutting out tears. The yells do not lessen. Heavy boots shake the deck. Hongjoong’s body is tossed around as his crewmates scurry past him. 

Terror shakes the night, piercing Hongjoong’s ear like a screech. He winces, trying to block it out with his palms. It does not do much. If only a split, Hongjoong forces his eyes open.

The creature in the net curls and shakes, nails clawing at the ropes. It lets out a cry, so far from human and yet it strikes something inside Hongjoong’s soul. It raises his hackles, twists into his heart like a knife. The crew tighten their hold, blisters forming on their palms and their fingers swallowed up by purple blotches. They grunt, heave-ho with each drag. 

All the while, the Admiral stands aside, his arms crossed. His lips are stretched thin, but it cannot hide the glint in his eyes. They flicker in the storm. 

The crew let out a collective groan. The rope is stretched thin, trembling with effort as the creature writhes around for freedom. 

“Well, well,” the Admiral laughs. “Look at that. Usually your kind lurks far beneath the surface.”

He steps in front of them, ready to inspect his catch. His frame is large, his getup even larger. A long coat of scabbing velvet and a large hat, puffy feather eating up most of it. He swallows Hongjoong’s view up. 

The Admiral’s fingers hover over the creature’s skin. He then raises them, hand swiping down.

The nets drop, but the creature has tangled itself up in it. Its pupils slit at the sight of the Admiral, claws swiping at his neck. The Admiral laughs, easily leaning back. His jewelry glistens under the moon, light rippling over the metal. 

The creature cries out. No matter how it claws and scratches, the nets do not loosen. A high hiss rattles Hongjoong to the bones. 

The legends are written out before his gaze. The ink bleeds out into silver scales; coins layered on top of one another. They dig into the flesh of its hip bones, scattered over its cheekbones and temples. 

Hongjoong’s heart pounds in his throat. 

A siren. And a male, from what it seems. 

Hongjoong didn’t know there were any of those. The tales of sailors in taverns were never ones to trust, but when they speak of the creatures of the waves there is a newfound conviction in their tone. Their eyes glaze over, voices hushing. A warning. A premonition.

The siren opens his mouth, revealing a line of razor sharp teeth. Hongjoong’s eyes go wide. Immediately he slaps his hands over his ears. 

Leather strikes down, loud enough to thrum through his palms. The sound screams over the winds. 

Hongjoong flinches. Even through his covered ears it had been thunderous. The siren’s skin splits open, revealing its red flesh. It howls out in pain. 

Hongjoong peers through the cracks between the bodies. All jowl and cheer. “A mighty fine catch, we’ve got!” one of them gruffs. 

Another sneers. “We’ll be rich till next winter passes!” 

The siren curls into itself, claws reaching to cradle its wounds. The ropes string tighter as it moves. They string around its arms, its throat. Its gills clamp shut.

No, Hongjoong thinks. Don’t call him that. 

The bile rises to Hongjoong’s tongue. Bitter. Foul. It fills his mouth like a poison vile, and yet, it is a thousand times sweeter than what is before him. 

The Admiral crouches down next to the creature, tilting his head up with the tip of his dagger. The way it had been crafted is a work of art, with the metal pearl-like when the light hits it and a hilt bound with strong leather. Hongjoong had seen the Admiral twirl it around, tap it down the edges of the ship as he surveyed the crew. Humming, always humming. A tune that carried over the ocean in a deep, grumbled tone. 

The creature hisses. The Admiral presses the blade further into its throat. A spot of red blood starts beading at the tip. It runs down the edge of the blade, seeping into the cracks of the metal. 

The sea clatters on the deck. It doesn’t take the blood back with it.

The creature’s gaze is stone cold, chest rising and falling with difficulty. Its lungs rattle, gills fluttering with each mouthful of air it is trying to take. 

“What a beauty you are,” the Admiral drawls. “You could’ve almost fooled me. You’re as stunning as any female of your kind.”

He drags the blade up, tracing the outline of the siren’s face. It leaves a stinging red line, enough to burn but not to bleed. The siren’s slit pupils remain on the Admiral, upper lip curling as he closes in. His hot breath blows the siren’s hair out of his face. “You’re a treasure.”

The blade pierces.  

The siren lets out a cry. His teeth flicker, crimson flowing down his surface cuts like a brook. 

The Admiral’s grin widens. He twists the knife deeper, prying it beneath one of the siren’s silver scales. The siren’s skin splits open further. The silver of his scales turn into rose gold coins. The Admiral gives a final twist and tears a single scale from the siren’s temple. 

The siren yowls. He opens his mouth, taking in a lungful. His vocal chords fracture, thawing from their misuse. His voice is deep. The beginning of a lure seeps out of him before his voice breaks. It sounds like the shattering of glass, spreading over tiles in a million splinters. 

The Admiral brings the knife back to his throat, right above a throbbing vein. Hongjoong can see it, black splitting up his porcelain skin. 

The siren clamps his jaws. His nails scratch the planks. Wood curls up beneath them. He keeps his chin up. 

“There is nowhere you can go. You are not my first siren,” the Admiral says. His voice scratches like the low creaking of a rusty door. “There is no use keeping up the act.” 

The siren cracks. It is only for a second, but it is enough. His scales clatter onto the deck like a rain of gems. Diamonds fall between the planks. The crew roars back to life around him, scrambling to the ground. They fill their pockets with them. They bulge, slip right through the tears and back to where they come from. 

Hongjoong stands frozen amidst it all. The siren does not take his eyes off the Admiral, even if the crew pokes at him and pushes him around. His gaze speaks out curses.

The Admiral grabs the siren’s chin, pulling their faces together. The siren’s eyes narrow, but he does not flinch. Even in his newfound nudity, he keeps his chest puffed out. Though, sirens are not bound to rules the way humans are. Hongjoong had read it in vague transcripts, heard it from scholars when he had been a young boy. Sirens do not care for such matters, the stories had said, but they are prideful. A human would never be their downfall, not without binding their fates to them.  

The Admiral’s grin breaks through his cheeks. “Well, well. That eases things up, doesn’t it?” 

He leans closer, licking the blood off his temple, before pressing his lips down. His hands press down on the wounds on his torso. 

The crew cheers. They yell out their praises, that their Admiral has mastered a siren and will live to tell the tale. Their jealousy. If only it had been them, their names would be remembered forever. 

Hongjoong’s stomach churns. 

The siren’s fists curl into the nets. His pupils, briefly rounded, are back into narrow cracks. He lifts his chin, lips set. His gills flutter with the wind. Blood dribbles down his temple, his neck. It falls from his chin in droplets. 

Hongjoong cannot watch. Pirates are ruthless. They are crude and barbaric and vile. Hongjoong was not made for the waves and bloodshed. His teeth are not yet blackened, there was no dirt beneath his nails—no remnants of human flesh and debris. 

He strikes the cross on his thigh. Again, and again. The sea knows no laws. Out here nothing is certain, but still he repeats the words, like they saved him all those years ago. Through tribulations, through ruthlessness, may I keep my mercy. 

Hongjoong gazes upon the siren, at the nets. The burn marks on his arms and back, the blood running down his cheeks. No tears. Never tears. Sirens do not cry. They have no soul. They do not feel the way humans do—if at all—but Hongjoong sees him. He sees the flesh that is red beneath his graying skin. He wonders if perhaps the ocean floor would be the mercy he has been begging for. 

The siren turns his head. His eyes find Hongjoong’s, slit pupils rounding out. Hongjoong swears he sees them glaze over. Hongjoong’s fingers twitch. 

The Admiral raises his brow. He hums, then snaps his fingers. “Hongjoong.” 

Hongjoong stiffens up. “Yes, Sir!”

The Admiral beckons him over, eyes covered. The twist of his lips, however, is clear to see. Hongjoong’s ribs ache at the strength of his heartbeat, but still he walks. 

The Admiral doesn’t regard him as he joins his side. He pulls a cloth from his sleeve, dangling it before Hongjoong’s eyes. Hongjoong stares at it. Dirty, once white, and grimy. He doesn’t waste time grabbing it. 

The Admiral huffs, nodding to himself. “Be ready.” 

He then grabs the siren by the hair. 

The siren cries out in surprise. With a snap of the Admiral’s fingers two other crewmates hold his arms. 

The siren slashes and twists. One sharp nail catches Hongjoong’s leg. Hongjoong stumbles. His hands latch onto the wound. The cloth blooms red. 

Hongjoong grits his teeth not to scream. He falls to one knee, thigh groaning as the movement stretches the wound out over his flesh. There is no judging how it looks, but if Hongjoong’s awareness of pain has remained the same, he knows it will not be a pretty sight. 

The Admiral clicks his tongue. “Well, what was I expecting from you?” 

He snatches the cloth from Hongjoong’s hand and ties it around the siren’s mouth with a harsh tug. The siren’s nostrils flare. More men jump forward, holding his arms, his legs, and anywhere they can reach. 

“Tie the thing down and bring it to my quarters.” The Admiral tosses a rope to the ground, turning on his heel. “There is much to discuss.”

Hongjoong stands frozen as the commotion picks up around him. All the yells are not enough to dampen the frozen stare 

Hongjoong collapses over one of the barrels, body convulsing as he retches. The bile spills onto the wood. He retches again. The sound echoes. He curses himself in his mind to be quiet. If they find him this way, he will not meet the next day in comfort. He gags, spilling out what is left. 

He hovers over the mess for a moment. In the dark no one can see it. By tomorrow it will be nothing but another stain to add to the ship. 

He runs the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping the saliva and remnants of his sick away. 

His arms are black with gunpowder. He stumbles over to the basin—sea water, the most luxurious thing they have outside of the rum their Admiral stores in his quarters. He brings a handful to his mouth, spitting it out on the planks. His mouth is parched. He doesn’t feel better. 

He reaches into it, trying to scrub it off. His reflection ripples. 

He scoops another handful of water, dripping it down his leg. His pant leg is as torn as it can be, so there is no use in removing it unless it is to replace it. Small droplets of blood form at the reopened parts. Hongjoong digs further into the barrels until he finds one of the forgotten rum bottles from a previous night filled with festivities. A simpler thing to celebrate. A successful plundering that brought them the storage they have.

Hongjoong undoes the cork with his teeth, spitting it out immediately. God knows where that has been. He pours the rum over his wound. It stings like needles wriggling their way into his flesh. He tears off a piece of his clothes, securing them around his thigh. A medic would have been nice. A medic would have better things to work with than days-old liquor and a dirty slab of fabric. Alas, they have not had one since the last one plummeted himself into the ocean. 

Hongjoong falls back, resting his arms on his knees. He presses his palms to his sockets. It burns, but that is the least of his concerns right now. 

Sighing, Hongjoong’s vision finally clears. 

There is not far to gaze at. Below deck there is not much to discover. All the planks lay in the same order, boxes and canons mirrored on both sides. Nothing is much exciting anymore. 

The upper deck rumbles. 

Voices and feet trample down above him. Drunken cheer. They must be celebrating their catch. 

Hongjoong is not naive. He has been around long enough to know the worth of a siren. One scale alone could be exchanged for a hundred gold. When the siren shedded them, Hongjoong had seen the way their eyes had widened. And when they had dragged the creature below, he saw the way the crew had scrambled to get a piece of it in their pockets. They had pushed and scratched, only a snap removed from biting each other in the hands. 

He looks down at the wood. The blood has dried into it. A hellish task. 

Hongjoong’s chest burns. He winces, pressing his nails into where his heart should be. It aches. A deep, wet patch presses down on it. He swallows. 

This siren had not been the first creature they had caught. They have fought off sea dragons, and retrieved their corpses. They have lived off the price of their fangs for weeks, and kept their scales for their armor. They have raided, pillaged. Hongjoong stayed silent through it all. But he has not helped. Never once.

He thinks back to the dragons. He recalls the whales they had hunted for flesh. They were bloodridden. He can’t remember the color of their eyes. He doesn’t know if he saw fear in them, nor anger. All he can see is aqua blue, like the sky’s reflection of a calm sea. 

Hongjoong should get back to work. He curls his fist around one of the scrubbing cloths, watching the droplets return back into the murkiness. The music thumps through Hongjoong’s chest. He groans, dropping it back into the bucket.

The crew is distracted. No one has come to check up on him. Hongjoong is certain they have not even noticed his departure—and if they have, it is clear they do not care about it. Hongjoong picks himself up and trails away from the celebration. 

As he moves further into the darkness, he snatches one of the abandoned bamboo sheets. If he ran into his more superstitious crew members, they would drop their heart through their feet seeing him moving around like a phantom, which is all the more hope that they will not find their ways down here. 

Hongjoong follows the bloody dragpath down the stairs. A wet trail follows him. He curses, but if anything he can argue he was merely doing his menial tasks. He picks up his steps, sliding down the ladder to the bilge. 

The floorboards creak when he jumps down. Hongjoong holds his breath, gaze snapping over his shoulder. They cannot have heard him, but he also cannot be too careful. Lurkers will always find their way out. 

Hongjoong straightens out his back, but quickly picks up his pace. Only a fool waiting to be caught would act like they have secrets. 

The ship sways over the waves. Hongjoong can hear them break against her keel, wind gushing through the small cracks that need repatching. In the distance the murmuring of what sings beneath the deep black resonates. A soft sigh. A gentle murmur. Hongjoong’s feet move before his gaze follows. His feet are padded against the deck, falling with urgency.

Without the light, the path is infinite. The ship is in no way small. It can fit hundreds of men, and all the riches one could think of—and then tenfold. The Admiral saw to it himself. The windows are made of the glass Hongjoong had previously only seen in jars, laid in thin sheets to keep out the water but still provide a view of the far reaching ocean. 

Hongjoong can trace every patch of the ship that had been repaired, all the wood chosen not for quality, but out of necessity. The captain’s quarters are only something Hongjoong can imagine, with the most beautiful of silks draping from the ceiling and the bedframe with gold-plated portraits lining the walls.  

He blindly wanders below deck. His muscles guide him forward without much thought. 

The Admiral had left their captive unguarded, though Hongjoong is not sure why. Without much reasoning, if Hongjoong were to look at the knowledge there is on sirens, he can only assume one thing. The song may be gone but the filth beneath skin and a pretty face cannot be undone as easily. 

Hongjoong cannot be the first one to make his way down, but the eerie silence proves Hongjoong should not always rely on his thoughts only. Though if the drinks keep coming, it will be soon before he finds himself in company. 

As he makes his way down the final step, Hongjoong faces the cell. They rarely have prisoners. Hongjoong knows the bars from the inside out. The rings etched in the planks, though it must have changed over time. Some rotting planks had been replaced, if he could trust the boasting of some of their more handy crew. They had to ensure safety. 

He clutches the sheets closer to his chest, hiding behind the corner. He holds his breath. Then, he leans out. 

There is no light here. Despite that the siren glows. His skin has a silver shine to it. Though dimmed, Hongjoong can tell that there is a warmer tone to him. That must be the magic, then. 

The siren is curled up against the back of his cell. A chain is tied around his ankle, clinking with each twitch of his muscles. He pulls his knees up to his chest, shivering. His ragged breaths fill the room, gills fluttering. They rattle with the leftover water in it. 

With his eyes closed he looks like a statue put to slumber. If it were not for the rise and fall of his torso Hongjoong would have thought he was made of marble. Hongjoong had heard of such displays in castles, but they must pale in comparison. 

The siren rests like a star fallen from the heavens, stuck in a crater of grime and drying blood.

There is a draw in Hongjoong’s chest. He leans forward. The planks creak. 

Hongjoong gasps, slaps his hand over his mouth. His back hits the wood of the corner with a thud. 

This was a bad idea, a terribly bad idea. He should run. He should return up and never think about this ever again. They will meet the next port and it will be like the siren has never been here. His blood will be mixed with those before him, dried out and nothing but discoloration on the wood. A lonely thing prisoners can drown in, agonizing their own fates. 

“Leaving so soon?” 

Hongjoong’s breath hitches in his throat. He has to remind himself to breathe. He is not underwater. There is enough air to fill his lungs above the waves. 

“I would assume I’m a bit more of a sight than a mere glance.” The siren’s voice, despite being drained, is still a melodic whisper. “Don’t you want more?” 

Hongjoong squeezes his eyes shut, teeth chattering. He curls his fingers into the sheets.

There is no use hiding. 

He could leave now, but what use is that? Hongjoong’s mind gnaws at him. He has been taught to be braver than this, to care about more than himself. To love and cherish every life that graces these lands, these oceans. Each creature has been created with a purpose. That was how the universe was created. With reason. 

Hongjoong steps forward, one foot after the other. He makes sure to miss the cracks. 

The siren has raised his head, now sitting upright. His eyes are piercing. Deep, endless, alluring blue. They sparkle through half lids.

He does not speak. He does not need to. 

His lips are bruised, reaching far out of the corner and up his cheek. He makes no attempt to soften his expressions, taking in every twitch, every shift Hongjoong makes. 

Hongjoong shrinks away. 

“There you are,” the siren murmurs. And Hongjoong can swear he smiles the slightest smile. 

It is as if every one of Hongjoong’s limbs is tied to a string, played with by the siren’s hands. He is nailed to the ground, feet moving before his mind. Hongjoong finds himself back by the cage he swore he would forget. His hands curl around the grimy bars, fingers torn at the nailbeds. 

Hongjoong knows the divine. He has heard of it through texts and stories. He has prayed to it for a good voyage, for his father’s life and then his own. He has heard the older tales, where the rivers, the mountains and the trees are all their own gods. Some large, some small, but mystical in their own right. 

The siren crawls towards him. The chain rattles against the wood. His blood has dried up into clumps. They must fear what the water can do to him. A creature of the waves is no use when taken out of it. 

His face is sharp, high cheekbones sinking into hollow cheeks. Cutting eyes, a straight nose sloping into a pointed tip, and full lips, trembling blue with the night. Hongjoong does not remember the last time he has stared at a face this intently. Even now he cannot remember the faces of his mother, his father aside from the eyes and mouth he shares with them. 

The ship sways. Hongjoong holds on tighter. 

The siren is littered in bruises and cuts of varying sizes. His ribs poke through his thin skin. His temples are scattered with a dusting of scales, cluttering up around his eyes. The gaping wound is not to be missed, hair stuck to it. The blood must already have dried around it.

A divine creature, that is what the sailors call them. When they speak of them there is a glimmer in their gaze, a sigh into the past. They speak of the terrors with a longing. Hongjoong understands now. The angels of the sea, they said, the incarnate of a holy death. 

They are beautiful. The closest thing he will ever get to the sublime on this earth. 

“You can speak?” Hongjoong asks. 

The siren rolls his eyes. Hongjoong snaps up. The haze in his ears fades.

“Don’t worry,” the siren says. “I can't charm you from here. I need the sea. Out of it, I have no power.” 

The soft murmur of his voice has faded into a deeper tone, though still as silky, there is a rougher grit to the edges.

Hongjoong’s gaze travels down. Immediately he averts it. “I’m sorry.” 

The siren lays there bare as can be. Despite his position covering most of his… parts, Hongjoong should have known better than to expect any of these scumbags would have an ounce of humanity within them. Hongjoong can still see the faint shimmer of scales on the siren’s newfound legs, interrupted by spotted red marks up his thighs. 

His hair is deep black, like the depths he dwells, knotted and tangled. Hongjoong does not want to think about how it has come to be so, how many more hands that must have grabbed it, ripped it from his skull.

“They know that,” the siren continues. He does not shift under Hongjoong’s gaze. “How? Only Choseungdal can tell.” He swallows. “They want to keep me weak, or else they know it’s their end. I've sunken ships before. Hundreds of them, and all it took was a simple tune. Less, at times.” 

Hongjoong presses himself as close as the bars allow him. “What is your name?” 

The siren scowls. “What use is it to you?” 

“It is common respect to address someone with theirs.” 

“Why don’t you give me one? Isn’t that the custom between humans and their pets?”

“I’m asking,” Hongjoong insists. 

The siren scoffs. 

“My name is Hongjoong,” Hongjoong says instead. “I… I brought you this. I cannot reach into the cage, but… You should try to clean it out.” He pushes the bunched fabric through the bars. “I would have brought you more, but if too much is missing it would raise a lot more suspicion.”

The siren looks him up and down, his gaze piercing. It scratches at Hongjoong’s skin, carving him out and laying him bare. 

“When someone comes, there is a corner in the back where you can hide it.” 

The siren narrows his eyes further—as if that were even possible, before looking away. “I was named after the stars,” he then says. The waves flutter against the hull. “Seonghwa.”

Hongjoong nods. He lays the cloth down before the bars. “Please use it. Goodnight—Seonghwa.” 

The next morning greets him far too early. They pull him up to the deck, and demand he scrubs away the sins of the night. It is mostly muck people refused to clean up themselves, sure one of the deckhands would take care of. Hongjoong does not mind it too much. If he is at work, it means no one will bother him. 

He crosses over the deck, following the path of the sun in the sky and the piss stains in the wood.

He wipes the sweat off his forehead. The rays are burning into his neck. It stings. Hongjoong pulls the collar of his shirt higher. It is a temporary fix. He hurries over the stains. Most of them probably will not mind, but Hongjoong cannot wipe the spots from his sight. He sees them everywhere. 

He had never heard a siren before, but he knows their voices were not made for cries. 

Hongjoong had been restless through the night as the crew made their nightly rounds. Always keeping an ear out, and while the feet had shuffled, no voices had been heard aside from the occasional mutters. 

Seonghwa. 

A name so familiar on Hongjoong’s tongue. He had repeated it in his mind, mouthed it into the night air to feel its shape, where it lies in his throat. When he shut his eyes, all he could see was the blood, the scales. 

Hongjoong swallows thickly. His brush is an oxidized brown, the water in which he cleans it now dirtied the same shade. The morning is crisp. Hongjoong’s breath fogs up with each shaky exhale. The nets now lay discarded to the side. A task for later, when he has time to kill between the next layer of slob the crew will cover this deck in. 

“Up early, Hongjoong.” 

Hongjoong lowers his head. “Yes, Sir.” 

The Admiral crouches down next to him. He pushes the pail aside. “Careful, there,” he tuts. “You almost washed away a fortune.” 

He digs his nail into the cracks of the deck, immediately wiping it off with one of his handkerchiefs. He holds up a scale before Hongjoong’s eyes. “Isn’t it fascinating?” he asks. 

“Certainly, Sir.” 

“It must be the first time you have seen one of those creatures,” the Admiral continues. “They are quite beautiful. I can’t fault you for staring.” 

Hongjoong’s stomach twists. He continues scrubbing the floor, arms growing numb. 

The Admiral chuckles. It is a chilling sound. He grabs Hongjoong’s hand. Hongjoong jerks forward, balance tipping over. The Admiral’s hands scratch his skin as they force his palm open. 

Hongjoong shakes his head. “I couldn’t possibly take this from you, Sir.” 

The Admiral taps his locket. “Don’t you worry. I’ve got plenty of my own from better places.” 

“Still, I can’t—” 

“Come on, boy, what’s got you bumbling today? Appreciate the gift, why don’t you!”

Hongjoong looks down. “Sorry, Sir.” 

“You’re going to be sorry if you keep this up.” The Admiral waves him off. “Scram.” 

Hongjoong pockets the scale. He picks up his pail and mop, scurrying across the deck. Far, far from the Admiral’s gaze. 

He continues on another spot. Someone must have had the motion of the waves mix up with the booze sloshing in his stomach. His body must have not been able to handle it. All the while the scale clatters against his thigh like a hailstorm. The sun cannot set soon enough. 

As the night settles, Hongjoong finds himself below deck once again. He runs his thumb over the scale, feels the way the ridges etch into his fingerprints. He wonders briefly if each scale pattern is unique to every siren, if he is holding a piece that is solely Seonghwa in his hand. 

Their silver is deeper than that he has seen on common fish, and there is a subtle iridescence to it. When Hongjoong tilts it to the side, he swears he can see all the colors the world has to offer captured in a thumb-sized sliver. 

He has seen these things converted into many forms. He has seen noble men and women alike dangle scales from their necks and ears, has seen them embroidered into dresses. He has seen them pulverized into powders that could heal any qualm. Everything one could wish for, for the price of a life. 

The sloshing of the waves is killed by the snoring in the room. Hongjoong is not close enough to the sides to hear it better, or to feel the thrum of the sea against the wood like a knock on a door. He used to mourn it. He liked hearing the sea speak to him, even through the wood. However, all things do have their reasons—there is always a larger plan. Patience is once more proven to be a virtue.  

Hongjoong does not go to sleep the following night either. His shirt hands heavy as he holds it like a palace maid traveling to her corner of rest. He finds himself toeing his way around the countless sleeping bodies. He is careful not to make a sound, bare feet scratching the wood below him. 

He knocks on the doorframe. “Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa sits up.“Couldn’t get enough of the spectacle?” 

Hongjoong cannot stop himself from staring. The scales trailing his limbs glisten. Hongjoong’s pocket is lead dragging over the ground. He clears his throat. 

“I… I have something for you,” Hongjoong says. “I thought… since it could get cold at night. And also—” He sits down before the bars and unwraps the bundle in his hands. “I thought you would be hungry. It’s, uh… It isn’t very tasty, but it fills.” 

The tack is dry and miserable, but the dried meat is a treat when sailing. Though Hongjoong does not doubt Seonghwa knows plenty of tastier treats below the waves, if not sitting right in front of him. Hongjoong holds a shaky hand out through the bars. 

Seonghwa eyes the bread, though his pupils go round. Still, he does not move closer. “How would your comrades—Is that what they are? How would they react?” He laughs. “Though I doubt they are bright, I’m sure they know how to spot differences.” 

Hongjoong assures, “I can lie.”

“I don’t doubt it.” 

The bite in his tone might as well have been a strike, but Hongjoong ignores it. 

“Most of them are sleeping now,” Hongjoong instead. “Except the few that are on patrol, but they usually don’t stray below here. There is a story that this is where the ocean spirits dwell. They don’t tend to risk their own lives.” 

“I can assure you I haven’t met any of them,” Seonghwa says. 

“They don’t need to know that.” 

Seonghwa does not respond. He stays curled up in the corner of the cell, backed far enough into the empty boxes. He squints. 

Hongjoong cannot help rubbing his arms. Despite Seonghwa being kept in the cage, Hongjoong cannot shake the feeling of being the one observed. Skalked. 

Then, tucked far away, Hongjoong sees an edge of off-white sticking out. Stained now, but undeniable. The grin comes out before he can stop it. 

Seonghwa’s eyes narrow further, but Hongjoong only shoves the food further through the bars. 

“There is better food in the world, but out here the dried meats are my favorite,” he says. “They’re a bit hard to chew, but once you get to it, it actually becomes fun.” 

He clambers back until he is next to the door. He curls his arms around his knees. 

Seonghwa remains still as a rock. 

Hongjoong purses his lips. “What’s it like, living in the ocean?” 

It is a meager attempt, but Hongjoong will grasp at any string he has. 

Seonghwa leans. “Why do you ask?” 

His tone is more an accusation than it is a question. 

“The ocean seems like a scary place,” is all Hongjoong has to say. 

“It is,” Seonghwa says. “I’m a scary thing, too.” 

“Very much so.”

The answer does not seem to please Seonghwa one bit. “Yet you seem rather peachy to be here.” 

“Well, there isn’t much you can do out of the ocean, right?” Hongjoong repeats the words carefully. “And behind bars, too.” 

“You catch on quickly.” It does not sound like praise. 

“The world out of the ocean is scary too.” Hongjoong picks at his nails. “Pirates aren’t the only evil creatures, but they come pretty high on the list.” 

Seonghwa hums. He scratches at his calves. The bruises have yet to fade, but what is more concerning is the flaking above the red strikes. 

Hongjoong leans forward. “Are you alright—”

Before he can finish, Seonghwa pushes himself back. His back slams into the wall, chains clattering. 

Hongjoong halts. Then, slow, steady, he brings himself back up to his feet. “Goodnight, Seonghwa,” he whispers. 

As he leaves he can feel Seonghwa’s eyes burn into his back. The door clicks back into the lock. The waves rock the ship as they always do. 

“Where are you off to?” 

Hongjoong’s arms tremble with the amount of supplies he is carrying. He had emptied the pale over the edge, but with his clothes and cloths still heavy with murky water, there is little strain relieved from his muscles. 

“Down to the storage,” he says. He almost holds up his supplies as if to make the point.

Truthfully, that is not the only reason. But half a lie is still half the truth, and as long as he is telling that, there is no reason for anyone to suspect him. 

“Can I pass?” he asks, swallowing down any remnants of snark. 

“You’ll have to wait, boy,” the Quartermaster says. “There is a meeting down there.” 

Hongjoong frowns. “I’ll be in and out.” 

The Quartermaster grins. His blackened teeth stink of rot. There are not many faces Hongjoong wishes to punch, but this one is certainly one of them. If he could see it twisted and bruised once, Hongjoong thinks he can die happy. 

“Don’t you have things to scrub elsewhere?” the Quartermaster drawls. 

“If I could get to the materials,” Hongjoong snaps. 

The Quartermaster scoffs. He raises his hand. 

Hongjoong flinches. 

What follows is a laugh. Rough and all too loud. Hongjoong’s shoulders curl further around his ears, but he raises his eyes. 

The Quartermaster halts at that. He tilts his head. “Why, you—“ 

“Oh, don’t give the boy a hard time,” the Admiral’s voice rumbles. “Business is over.” 

The Quartermaster perks up. “What’s the verdict?” 

The Admiral turns grim. He adjusts his gloves over his hands. “We’ve got time before we reach the shore. It’ll be worth something if we play it up. Until then we’ll have to be patient.”

“Sir, I—“ 

“The netting needs some work.” 

“Understood.” 

“I could’ve told you that, too.” The Quartermaster scoffs. “Scram, kid.”

Hongjoong nods. He kicks his supplies into a corner and gets to work. His fingers ache and burn as he reties the nets. It has frayed in some places. Nail marks, no doubt. Hongjoong holds them up to his eyes, inspecting them. He wonders what materials they are made up of, if they are sharp or ridged. If the wound in his leg is anything to go by, the slight razors at the edges are what made it so that he could saw his way through. If they had given him more time, they might have. 

Hongjoong sighs. The hull rocks. If the sun burns rough, Hongjoong does not know how to describe the sensation settling in his chest. 

“You’re back,” Seonghwa murmurs. 

Hongjoong shares the tremble in his voice with each step closer to the cell. With the curl of his hands around the bar. Under the moonlight, a new surge of courage finds its way through Hongjoong’s bloodstream. Whether it is the dark, or the snores, Hongjoong is not sure. It is ridiculous, the way his confidence surges as night falls. 

It usually goes that way, though; if one is not caught the first time, it will happen a second, a third, before it becomes a habit. 

The crew has drunken themselves into slumber. Hongjoong waited, watching them fall one by one while he sat in the corner, scrubbing, cleaning, anything to make them forget he existed. The desire was there, to join them in their drink. The merry-making he could do without, but the craving for his senses to be dulled remains an itch at the back of his throat. 

Seonghwa’s eyes are pale silver. His skin is a similar shade of gray. The irritation is worse. Similar to healing wounds, scabbed and angry and red. 

“I couldn’t leave you like that,” Hongjoong admits. 

And that is the truth of it. Some righteous compass finally twisting its way up in his chest. As if that will make up for it. 

“How did you end up between pirates?” Seonghwa asks. 

A new blanket is draped over his body. Hongjoong had brought the old one up for a rinse, though it is better to tear the thing up at this point to reuse as scrubbing material. This one does not prove any better; it is a shabby thing, strings sticking out of it with holes that could fit even the beefiest arms through them. Hongjoong had found it in the storage, stuffed under more meaningless loot. No one would miss it, but Hongjoong still had to be careful. For a bunch of thieves they didn’t take kindly to stealing. 

“I was captured. Lucky.” Hongjoong has his side pressed to the bars as he speaks. “If you look well enough into the corner you can see a little drawing in the corner.”

Seonghwa runs his fingers over the scratches. It was a tree, though Hongjoong is sure Seonghwa would not recognize it even if he had seen it. 

“But you’re out,” Seonghwa says. 

“There isn’t much to run to,” Hongjoong answers. A beat late he adds, “Not everyone gets a tail to venture out into the waves.” 

Seonghwa sighs. His hands move under the fabric; Hongjoong can see their outline traces past his legs. The frown never leaves, but there are moments where it etches deeper. His eyes are the color of a monsoon. 

“But you got out, still,” Seonghwa repeats. 

“I mostly stick to the menial tasks,” Hongjoong says. “The shit buckets and sticking my arms down canons if necessary. If anything—” 

“I already thought you were being awfully excited,” a muffled voice speaks. 

The door slams open. The barrels shake as it hits the wall. 

Seonghwa bares his teeth, fangs sticking out. He scrambles back into the wall, fingertips digging into the cracks. 

“I can’t blame you,” the Admiral continues. He makes his way down the steps, boots clicking with each stride. Louder, and louder as they close in. “It does exactly what it’s supposed to do. Caught your heart, didn’t it?”

Hongjoong shoots to his feet. The Admiral looms over him, his silk coat fanning out like the wings of a dragon. 

Hongjoong feels his muscles weaken. “Sir, I can explain—“

The Admiral grabs him by the scruff of his neck. Hongjoong’s fingers claw at his collar. His throat clogs up, and suddenly there is water. Everywhere, prickling at his skin, clawing its way into his lungs. He tries to scream, but any sound has died long before it could leave his tongue. 

Another jab has him back upright, gasping for air. He presses his palms into the sides of the barrel. “Sir, please—!” 

“Dirty little beggars don’t get to play with the silverware, Hongjoong.” The Admiral clicks his tongue. “I thought you’d know that by now.” 

Hongjoong squeaks as the grip tightens around his throat. This is worse than drowning, he decides, staring into the eyes of the man before him. Watching his face show not a spark of any emotion as he decides Hongjoong’s life is worth less than a dime. 

He is ten again. Light enough to push and kick around, with his mind an empty slate. Nothing but horror. Nothing but fear. Tears spring into his eyes as he tries to breathe. His toes dangle above the ground, ears ringing. 

Then the Admiral’s face shifts. Not regret, but panic. 

Hongjoong falls to the ground as the Admiral stumbles. He scratches over the planks, splintering as he goes. 

A pale hand has wrapped itself around the Admiral’s ankle like a specter in the night. It glows as if the moon has come down into this murky corner of the world. 

“Wretched thing!” the Admiral yells. His teeth glisten, pupils blown. 

He kicks Seonghwa’s hand with his heel. Seonghwa cries out, holding the limb to his chest. His eyes sharpen further. 

The Admiral’s nostrils tremble. He reaches through the bars, grabbing Seonghwa’s cheeks. His face collides with the bars. The clank of metal echoes through the bilge.

“Please, stop!” Hongjoong’s heart beats in his throat. 

“The creature has charmed you, fool!” The Admiral slams Seonghwa into the metal again. “Can’t you see that?!”

Seonghwa’s face twists up. His shoulders twitch. 

“You think just because it has a pretty face that it cares? It has no soul, Hongjoong!” The Admiral barks out a laugh. “What is it that does it? You want to make sweet love to it, huh. Far from the first, far from the last, too.” 

He runs his thumb over Seonghwa’s lips, then presses down where it tears into a bruise. 

Seonghwa’s eyes flare. There is a flash of teeth, and then the Admiral jolts from the bars with a shrill scream. 

Seonghwa bleeds from his mouth, spitting to the ground. 

“Foul fucking beast!” the Admiral roars. 

He cradles his hand, breathing heavy. When he gazes upon it again, the color drains from his face. 

Hongjoong trails the Admiral’s gaze to Seonghwa’s bloodied lips. His eyes are the same as when he had first been dragged upon that cursed deck, staring through tangled black strands. He licks his lips. The crimson paints his lips red, reaching into his gums. 

Slowly Hongjoong dares to look. 

There, at Seonghwa’s feet lies the Admiral’s finger. The blood has started curdling around it. 

Hongjoong clamps his hand over his mouth. The bile rises up to his throat, but he swallows it down. 

The Admiral yells something up ahead. Seonghwa's back is curled high like a frightened feline, but the faintest twitch finds its way to Seonghwa’s mouth. He reaches out for the finger. The limb crunches between his teeth, somehow louder than it was before. 

The Admiral yells out a string of profanities so vile Hongjoong does not dare repeat them. The keys jingle around his belt as he reaches for them. His left hand—his bad one. 

Two of the crew members take Hongjoong by the arms. He kicks and screams as the door creaks shut. The last thing he sees through the cracks is the Admiral’s looming body. The clinking of chains rings into the night. 

“Word has it your time’s up,” the Quartermaster says. 

The lilt in his tone tells Hongjoong enough. Still, his body aches too much for him to curse the man’s happiness. 

His skin is blistered from where the ropes cut into his arms. The Quartermaster takes his knife, zagging through. Each shift brings a new burn. With a soft thump the ropes pool at Hongjoong’s feet. The relief, however, is short lived. The moment he is loose, his knees buckle. He drops into a pile along with the remnants of his bindings. 

His muscles scream like a three-day fever with unbroken sweats. 

The curling of his back tears through the wounds, though Hongjoong is uncertain if they had ever closed. He can feel his flesh burn at every twist of his movements, a new stickiness seeping from the cracks. 

The Quartermaster sniffs, rubbing his nose. “If you survive out there, I wouldn’t think of coming back.” 

Hongjoong heaves out a cough. Usually his tolerance for taunts lies higher, but there is a burning in his veins that makes his eye twitch at only his voice. What he would give to claw right through him. 

His lungs burn, his muscles spasm, and he feels like he is on fire, and then this man decides to make this grating sound full of baseless taunts. Always boasting, always lying.

“Don’t worry,” the Quartermaster continues, picking between his teeth. “The creature will be joining you in your fate, now up with you.” 

He hooks his hand around Hongjoong’s bicep. 

Hongjoong’s body screams in protest. The wound in his leg ignites, the ridged edges around the cut crying out as his bodyweight is forced back upon it. 

“Where are you taking me?” Hongjoong demands. 

“Why,” the Quartermaster drawls, “the captain wants to see to you personally.” 

Hongjoong’s feet give out as the Quartermaster takes him by the arm. Hongjoong’s head spins. He feels like nothing more than a rag doll, dragged here and there. 

The Quartermaster tosses him to the ground. Hongjoong is glad for the musty carpet beneath his hands. If it will not give him mites, it at least broke his fall. 

“All yours, Sir,” the Quartermaster says, before the door clicks shut. 

“You really are a roach,” comes the Admiral’s voice from above. 

If Hongjoong could have seen his reflection, he is certain it would have looked very similar to the Admiral’s. Dark circles beneath his eyes, clammy skin. His finger is wrapped up thickly, a brown spot sticking out. 

He rises from his bed, picking an hourglass up from his bedside. His chest rumbles when he inhales. “If I'd known you’d be so persistent I would have left you with the rest of them.” 

Without his hat and coat, he is nothing but a man. There is little velvet in his room, and the sheets and pages are scattered all over. There is no gold dripping from the surface. His hair, long and blond, is tangled in knots. Despite the locket’s glow, it looks like nothing but a tacky imitation where it rests against his chest. Sweat sticks to his brows with each small step. 

The Admiral flips around the hourglass. He traces the outlines with the back of his remaining fingers. He shakes, if ever so slightly. “Wonderful thing, is it not? Mythical, too. And to think I found it at some rotten little stand.”

A surge rushes through Hongjoong’s body. He springs up. His head collides with the Admiral’s nose. His body cries out in agony at the sudden movement, but the ruse dampens his senses. 

He grabs the pillow, pressing it down. The Admiral splutters beneath him. His hands grasp at the material, flailing, but Hongjoong holds on tight. Despite the twitching, he does not budge. 

He heard that when close to death, some humans get blessed by some wild spirit. He heard accounts of getting rejuvenated, and gaining the strength of ten warriors. How many times has Hongjoong come close to dying? Yet he has never felt anything like this before. Years and years, pent up within him. Perhaps he had festered his spirit for this, feeding it until it could break free. 

The Admiral’s hands tighten one last time before they fall limp. Hongjoong’s heavy breathing is accompanied by the dull thumping of the waves against the hull. 

Hongjoong can only watch. His breath hitches, shaking his head.

He rushes off the Admiral’s body. He snatches up the hourglass and the bundle of keys at the Admiral’s waist. His heart rushes like a storm. Then he runs. 

He runs like he remembers doing on the beach, long before this lifetime. When his heart sped up out of joy. When dunes had scratched his fingertips and the worst wounds he had were scratched knees. 

The yells of his name sound like a curse. He slides down the stair rails, rushing down into the storage. 

He puts the plank down. The door trembles in its hinges. Hongjoong wastes no time. It takes all of his body weight to push the barrels, but soon there is a row of them. That should hold them off. If only for the time being. 

His chest rushes, taking a slow step backwards. His legs ache. 

“Seonghwa,” he calls out. 

“Hongjoong?” comes a muted reply. 

Hongjoong turns around, finally. “I couldn’t find an earlier time to come,” he says.  

Seonghwa frowns. “What happened.” 

There is a rattling noise as Seonghwa comes into view. Even in the low light Hongjoong can see he is scattered with brand new scratches and bruises. The skin around his scales has turned red and blistered. His wrists are bound as his ankles.

Hongjoong swallows thickly. His mind is a throbbing mess. The Admiral’s face, Seonghwa before him. Blood. Fingers. The door trembles again. Hongjoong jolts. 

“Nothing,” he says. Nothing at all. 

“You smell like blood.” Seonghwa narrows his eyes. “Don’t pretend. You carry yourself like a wounded animal.”

“I—” 

“Hongjoong, come here.” 

Hongjoong’s heart simmers, but he cannot help shuffling closer. 

Seonghwa sighs, a raspy sound. His porcelain skin has cracked, breaking apart in front of Hongjoong’s eyes. Thick, blue veins break their way through it. Seonghwa reaches his hands through the metal, laying them against Hongjoong’s cheek. 

Hongjoong’s vision goes white. His body chills over, fine hairs rising up. His ears surge like shells are laid over them. And then comes a soft murmur. Hongjoong cannot make out the words, but they sound like comfort nonetheless. A soft lullaby, even if the words are nothing Hongjoong knows.

He finds himself on a small rowing boat. Silver wisps dance beneath the waves like silk ribbons. The voice sings the gentle melody. 

There is a warmth in Hongjoong’s chest, slowly throbbing his heart back to beating. The boat rocks along the waves, and then it twists. 

Hongjoong waits for the ice to invade his senses, but there is no such thing. The silver curls around his body, binding itself around his thigh, his torso. Hongjoong’s body floats gently to the bottom until he can feel the wood beneath his knees again and the darkness returns. 

Seonghwa’s body spazzes. His gills flutter open, deeper than Hongjoong had seen before. He coughs, blood splattering from his lips. His chest shakes. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hands. 

Hongjoong’s eyes widen. “Why? What’s wrong?” 

“I can only last out of the ocean for a few days before my body gives out,” Seonghwa says.  

His voice is stretched thin. His eyes are shattered glass, spread into thousands of pieces. 

“Please, Hongjoong,” he whispers. “You’re the only one who can help me.” 

The door trembles with another loud bang, the first crack made. 

Hongjoong startles. All the warmth leaks from his body. He fumbles in his pockets. His fingers tremble as presses the key into the lock. It creaks when it opens. 

“We have to hurry,” Hongjoong urges. “They will kill me for this, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

He leans down and undoes the shackles at Seonghwa’s ankles and wrists. The chains ring like raindrops as they fall. 

Seonghwa gives him a smile. Sharp, and beautiful, and blinding. 

The doors rumble again. 

“You filthy bottom feeder!” the Quartermaster roars. The whites of his eyes are split red. 

Hongjoong shakes his head. “Okay, think, Hongjoong, think.”

Hongjoong can barely hear his thoughts over the rushing of his blood. His fingers tingle as he brushes them through his hair. His eyes dart around. He has been in this place a thousand times. There should be something he remembers. The planks creak beneath his feet. 

Hongjoong kicks down. The floorboards creak and tremble. Water splutters from the cracks. 

It nearly rips a laugh from Hongjoong’s throat. The slackers, what a fucking blessing. 

He kicks down again and again and again. The water pools at their feet, reaching their calves. 

Seonghwa sighs out in relief. Silver scales speckle his abdomen, his thighs and his lower arms. When he smiles, his teeth glisten, deep blue eyes staring back at him. 

The trembling of the door briefly halts, and then follows the distressed shouting. The water reaches higher. For all the strength in his body, Hongjoong suddenly feels very flimsy in the prospect of things. He may not have punched the Quartermaster in the nose, but if he were to die, at least there would be some deeds he could hold up when his soul gets judged. 

“You’re free to go,” Hongjoong says, voice wavering. “Return back home.” 

“Not yet, Hongjoong.” 

Seonghwa cups Hongjoong’s cheeks, pressing his lips to his. 

Hongjoong’s breath hitches. He melts into Seonghwa, head turning fuzzy. Seonghwa wraps his arms around him, pressing their bodies together. The hug is tight, almost too much. Hongjoong feels the air get pressed out of his lungs as Seonghwa’s nails scratch into him. The winds go silent, the only thing echoing through him the lulling of Seonghwa’s voice. 

Seonghwa tucks a strand of Hongjoong’s hair behind his ear. “Do you trust me?” 

Hongjoong nods, throat dry.

Seonghwa’s smile is of deep sea pearls, flickering in the moonlight. 

They are weightless as Seonghwa surrenders them to gravity. The splash impales Hongjoong’s skin like a thousand knives. A silver tail wraps around his body like the lints of dancers. 

A rush of warmth surges through him, Seonghwa’s lips to his once again. 

Hongjoong succumbs.