Work Text:
Almost all species are a little afraid of the unknown, no matter their position on the food chain.
-=-
"You shouldn't go out to the sea at night," their grandmother says. She's in a rocking chair, old and creaky, her withered body settled with a shawl around her shoulders, wrinkled fingers gripping the edges of the arm rest. "Don't risk it."
"Risk what?" Shiro asks, eyes wide. He's fourteen, just a young boy, on the cusp of maturity, arms wrapped around his younger brother as they sit before their grandmother.
They live near the ocean, in a little house next to the vast expanse of sea - only during the summer, when school is out for Shiro and Keith while their parents are working, and they are sent to their grandmother's house to stay for a month. They spend their summers with sand in between their toes, caught under their fingernails, salty waves lapping at their shins as they wade in the ocean. They never swim in actual swimming costumes; they go in with loose tank tops and shorts, go in until the water licks at their neck and spills into their mouth with a brine that can't be replicated.
"I like the ocean at night," Keith offers, leaning back to press against Shiro. His grandmother smiles softly at them, smiles kindly, and the window is open far enough for a sea breeze to blow in, a night wind that floats through the room and ruffles their hair.
Their grandmother looks out of the window, and the sea is beautiful. The moon hangs high and full, glistening over the ocean and the water sparkles, bright blue and silver, like glass dripping with moonlight. It's utterly stunning, and Keith arches up, pressing against Shiro's knees to prop him up to look outside.
"See?" Keith says, staring adoringly at the sea. "It's pretty."
She's quiet, slowly rocking in her rocking chair, the only sounds in the house are the creaks of old wooden hinges and the wind through the windows. She blinks, long and slow, like she's blinking tears out of her eyes and Shiro leans in closer, breath hitching.
"There are sharks," their grandmother says after a long pause. "Creatures that come out in the night and watch. Sharp teeth, large fins. Long powerful tails. Scales."
Shiro looks at his grandmother and subtly clutches Keith tighter to him, pulling his younger brother further into his grasp and settles quietly.
He has a feeling his grandmother isn't talking about sharks.
-=-
Just like Keith loves the ocean, loves the cool wash of water over him, loves the way he feels like he's floating in the water, Shiro loves the sea. They've easily spent over a year at this beach, all the months piled up together, and it feels like home.
The sea is something that is inherently theirs, kissing at their feet and nudging at their fingers like unruly kittens, begging for attention.
In the sun, the ocean is a cool reprieve. It's quiet and cold, a stark contrast to the heat bearing down on them and they love to dive under, watch their hair lose all semblance of gravity and start floating in strands, feel their body go weightless.
They swim as far down as they can, forcing their eyes open and squinting through the water to gaze further down, watches as the color of the sea turns from bright sparkling blue at the surface to dark swirling blue, going darker and darker until it seems to hit pitch black, far below where Shiro and Keith hover at.
That's where the unknown lies, where what they don't understand and don't know resides.
They have to come up for breath eventually, throwing their heads back when they break the surface, mouths open and drawing air into their lungs, letting the oxygen run through their veins. Their hair is wet, tank tops drenched with water and the sleeves stick to their exposed shoulders.
Keith laughs, the tips of his shoulders already turning red hot from sun burn and he dives back below under the water, twisting as he goes, lightly kicking his legs to propel himself.
Shiro looks under the water and sees Keith looking up at him, hands outstretched, a grin on his face as bubbles escape his mouth, and he blinks when he sees Keith edging further and further away from him, away from the lightness of the sun and the glittering water, and further into the dark abyss below.
He swims down, gripping his brother and tugging him close, pressing his fingers into Keith's sides which make Keith try to pull away from him, and they swim back up together, laughing high and happy, adrenaline pumping through their blood.
"I want to swim in the ocean at night," Keith murmurs just a little unhappily into the crook of Shiro's neck as Shiro wraps his arms around his brother and carries him back to shore, lifts him up and brings him back to the house, the sun beating down on them.
"Maybe when you're older," Shiro allows. When they reach the house, Keith slides down Shiro's body, slick skin against damp fabric and he runs off, barefoot, calling for lunch.
Shiro looks back at the ocean, watches it glitter temptingly, and locks the door before moving to eat lunch.
-=-
There are very few fairytales about the ocean. There are many mythological creatures, but few tales. And most of the mythological creatures are stories to warn children away from the ocean at night, anyways.
(There is the story of the mermaids, with teeth sharp as knives, scales littering their abdomen as their tail flicks, a large fin on the back. The upper body of a human, lower body of a fish, pretty as a goddess and hungering for the blood of man.
A boy went out to sea once in the evening, lovelorn and desolate, and he saw a beautiful girl in the ocean, swimming. He swam over, asked for her name, and the girl said that she didn't have a name.
"But you look upset," she said, tilting her head. Her hair fell in long curls behind her back, the ends floating on the water surface, and her eyes were very, very blue.
"My heart was broken today," the boy murmured quietly, looking away. The girl reached for him, tilting his face up, and inched closer, eyes wide. Her hands were soft, like flower petals on silk, and they didn't feel wrinkled at all.
"Would you like me to mend your heart?" The girl asked against his lips.
"Please," the boy replied.
The girl took his heart and his name, took his love and his life, and the ocean ran red that night.
It is a story to warn boys from lingering on the beach at dusk, to tell him of the horrors of love unknown.)
Their grandmother tells them a different story.
There was a girl who lived below the ocean, bright eyed and filled with life. She had the upper body of a human and the lower body of a fish.
All mermaid stories start the same way.
And yes, there were scales littering her abdomen. Scales at the tips of her eyes, lips the color of her tail, teeth that resemble nails.
Her father told her not to go up to break the surface, but she did anyway, curiosity curling around her neck and making her feel like she'd drown in her own ocean if she didn't search. She swam up, broke the surface, and there was a boy on the beach, stringing shells together.
"What are you doing?" She asked, inching closer. She made sure that her lower half was concealed by the waves creeping around her waist, but her fingers closed around water as she yearned to touch the boy and find out if he was as soft as he looked.
"Making a necklace for someone," the boy replied, looking up. He had black tousled hair, eyes the color of gold, and his lips were pink and full.
"A shell necklace?" She said, and unknowingly, so drawn by how ethereal he looked sitting on the beach, she swam closer. "It's very pretty."
"Would you like me to make one for you?" The boy asked, and he moved further to where the water met sand. "You're very pretty."
"Please," she said, and that seemed like how all stories ended, with the protagonist asking for something politely.
She said please, he said alright, and he coaxed her out of the water where she shed her tail, the skin growing tight and falling off like she was peeling, her teeth shortened and became blunt, her scales pulled at her skin and left it raw and pink as they littered the sand. Her hair became matted, damp with water, and her new legs were shaky, toes curling weakly in the sand. The tail became a long skirt lying next to her, and she scooped it up with shaking fingers.
The boy looked her over and pursed his lips. "You're not very pretty after all," he said, and gathered up her skirt from her trembling weak grasp.
She was left on the beach, startled and breathless, naked and human.
"Never search for the unknown," their grandmother repeats it like a mantra, a litany, a prayer. Keith loves the story of the girl who broke the surface and asks their grandmother to repeat it as many times as possible, and after every story, their grandmother looks a little forlorn, a little sad, a little regretful, and her hands are clenched tightly into fists.
Shiro asks for the usual story of the boy who swam out to the sea, because he worries it may happen to him, and he needs the reminder of how bitter and salty the taste of failure is.
-=-
When Keith is eighteen, he decides that he'll go out to sea at night.
It can't be that bad. He grips his surfboard tightly and whispers to Shiro that he'll be leaving.
Shiro, who has absolutely no sense of adventure at all, holds Keith by the wrist and raises his eyebrow. "Are you willing to take the risk?" He asks seriously.
Keith knows that there is truth in every fairytale, but surely their grandmother's tall tales of killer mermaids in the ocean are exactly what they are. Tall tales. "Yes," Keith says, eyes bright with the moonlight. "Come with me."
The door is open and the wind blows in, a quiet sea breeze that lingers in Keith's hair, mussing it up, and Keith is one foot outside of the door, Shiro with both feet in the house. The moon is full again, bright and heavy on this night, and the sea looks gorgeous.
"I can't," Shiro says tightly, swallowing. "I can't risk it."
He knows that if he swims once, if he meets the pretty mermaid with brilliant eyes and a sparkling smile, he'll lose it all and the sea will run red.
Keith stares at him for a long moment, gaze warm and understanding, before he turns and steps out of the door, rolling his shoulders back and shaking his muscles out.
"I won't be long," he says, looking at the sea. "I'll be back soon."
"I'll wait up."
Keith looks back for a moment, and darts back into the house, tracking sand on the carpet as he throws his free arm around Shiro. "Don't worry so much. I'll be fine."
Will you? Shiro thinks. For all the time they've spent at this beach with their grandmother, she has never lied.
His brother throws him a smile, moonlight glowing against his skin, and Shiro takes a long shaky breath.
Maybe there really is no use in believing in tall tales. But for now, for tonight, for all the other nights Keith decides to go out and swim, Shiro will stay at home and glance at the window to see if Keith's alright.
-=-
When Keith starts regularly swimming at night, he slowly loses that lingering doubt in his heart of the unknown. Of Shiro's fears, of his grandmother's stories.
The ocean isn't as cold at night. It's still cool, silver and blue mixing and washing over his skin like silk draped over his shoulders, but Keith doesn't shiver as he enters, his muscles don't lock up and tremble like they do when he swims during the day.
The surfboard is left forgotten on the beach as Keith dives, letting the water run through his hair and watches as bubbles escape his mouth. The sea is a lot darker at night, the dark abyss having risen up quite a bit, and sometimes if he goes too far down, he can't see his feet.
This is probably the tenth time he's swam, and when Keith rises up for air, peeking at the house, Shiro's by the window, reading. His brother's still worried, still afraid, and maybe Keith can't fault him. If he were an older brother, if Shiro were young and reckless, maybe he'd be afraid too.
There's a brush of something against his shin and Keith tenses, blinking slowly before ducking down and looking around hurriedly. There's no floating algae, not fish nearby, it's just ocean and water as far as he can see, which is why the thought of something brushing against him is a little eerie.
He goes back above the surface, arms working as he keeps himself afloat, turning around and checking if he's still the only one in the ocean. A healthy dose of paranoia never hurt anyone.
Keith turns one more time and a head pops up above water, a boy with brown skin and even darker hair looks back at him, eyes startlingly blue.
Keith swallows tightly and inches back, limbs moving quickly to bring him back to shore. He didn't see this boy enter the ocean, didn't hear the boy's splash, didn't hear his footsteps against sand and he's not that far from shore, is he?
He doesn't dare turn to look back and keeps his eyes on the boy, just in case, just in case.
"Who're you?" The boy asks, loud and clear, and he looks curious. Just curious, like a boy who's met a new friend, and maybe he isn't dangerous?
"Keith," he says, and tries to propel himself backwards. He's not really up for meeting new people in the middle of the ocean at night. The fear is starting to set in, gripping his heart, and he's confident his eyes are blown wide and his fingers are shaking.
He prays that his grandmother's stories aren't real.
"Keith," the boy repeats, tasting the word on his lips, on his tongue, and he licks his lips, seemingly satisfied. "Nice name."
"Yours?" Keith says, praying he's a normal boy.
"I don't have a name," the boy says, and flashes a grin.
He has sharp teeth, sharper than the knives Keith keeps at home for fun, and Keith's breath hitches in his throat.
It feels like he's looking death in the eye, with chills running down his spine and all of a sudden, the moonlight is haunting instead of beautiful, the ocean is brutally freezing instead of cool.
He can't swallow properly, throat moving uselessly and his mouth is clamped shut; his whole body is tensed up and he knows - he knows that if this boy is a mermaid from the tales his grandmother told him, there is no way he'll reach shore before this boy.
This mermaid.
The boy circles him like a shark, smiling all the way, teeth bared and eyebrows raised, looking like he's challenging Keith. There are tiny blue scales scattered across the tips of his shoulders, the very place where Keith would be sunburnt if it were mid afternoon, and Keith stays very still, moving slightly only to keep himself afloat.
"Why aren't you talking?" The boy says, swimming closer, frowning. "Talk a little. I've never seen a human."
"I've never seen a mermaid," Keith replies, the words rushing out of him like a train wreck, tripping over themselves and collapsing in a pool. "Don't hurt me."
"You didn't say please," the boy notes, clicking his tongue. "No manners. And you know what I am! How interesting."
"I-" Keith swallows tightly when the boy presses up close, his skin sticky and soft against Keith's chest and the scales are hard against his shoulders. The boy reaches up and picks at his hair, and Keith's about to move back when the boy grips it tight and wrenches Keith's head back in a swift movement.
Pain rings through his head, throbbing at the place where the boy pulled at Keith's head and it makes him feel terribly exposed, the fear crawling in under his skin and staying, making a home of its own as the boy stares at Keith's neck.
With his free hand, the boy runs one finger down Keith's neck, slowly, lingering over where Keith's pulse throbs hard with fear and danger running through his veins, and the boy taps Keith's Adam Apple, making him choke a little.
"You're very pretty," the boy says, and he licks his lips.
Keith shudders, eyes squeezing shut, prepared for the burst of pain where knives dig into his skin but the boy lets go. He lets go and Keith throws himself back, as far back as he can, arms moving to push himself even further, to put as much distance between him and the boy.
It's hard, thinking of this boy as a mermaid when all Keith can see is his very human upper body and it's distractingly pretty. Distractingly handsome. It could get him killed.
The boy stares at him a little absentmindedly, head tilted to the side, like he's trying to understand Keith.
"Will you come again?" The boy asks, and Keith swears to himself he will not.
"Maybe," his mouth traitorously says, eyes trained on the boy's shiny blue eyes, the upward curve of his lips as he smiles, closed mouth, and looking all for the world like a gorgeous human boy in the ocean. Keith feels like he's in a daze.
"Good."
The boy lingers in the ocean as Keith scrambles back to shore, and when he stands outside his house, hand on the door, Keith turns to see the boy dive under the ocean, his tail a dark shimmering blue.
His heart is hammering in his chest, his throat is locked up, and his hand shakes as he opens the door.
"Keith?" Shiro says from the window, raising an eyebrow. He stands up, reaching out. "You look kinda spooked."
Keith catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and his eyes are wide, a wild look in them, and his breaths are shaky.
"I'm fine," he says, trying to convince himself as well. "I just- I saw a shark's fin. Got a little worried."
Shiro pauses, looking Keith over, before ruffling Keith's hair. "Go shower and get some rest. Better avoid the sea for a while, if you're seeing sharks."
"... Yeah," Keith murmurs, looking down. "I'm a little tired."
He sleeps, and his dreams are filled with tan skin and sharp teeth against his neck.
-=-
He stays away from the ocean for three nights, but every night he looks out of the window and he sees the shadow of a boy in the sea, and there's a call - a pull, something that makes Keith want to throw his shirt off and swim.
Keith goes to Shiro's room to sleep after double checking that the door is locked, and spends a long time at the door, trying to decide if he should leave.
-=-
It takes three nights, but Keith can't resist it anymore, the way looking at the sea at night makes his blood run fire hot, makes his breath catch in his throat, the way his shirt grows damp with sweat as he stares at the ocean and yearns.
He sits on his surfboard, crosslegged such that no limbs are dangling into the far unknown, and he waits.
"Hm," a voice says, and Keith almost falls over when he turns and sees the boy behind him, poking at the surfboard. "You're three days late."
"I-" Keith swallows his words. He has nothing to say. He shouldn't even be here. "Yeah."
The boy drapes his upper half over the surfboard, touching it and stroking the surface, and Keith hugs his knees to his chest, afraid to touch him. The boy looks up and wraps a hand around Keith's wrist, grinning brightly.
"Come with me," he says, and there's just enough time for Keith to gasp and breathe in a lungful of air before the boy pulls and Keith goes down, topples off the surfboard and enters the water with a shock.
The boy's tail shimmers in the ocean, glowing slightly, and he grips Keith close to him, wrapping his arms around Keith and trapping Keith against his chest. He twists, turning over and over in dizzy circles as he dives further and further, and the pressure makes Keith's ears pop, makes his head go light, makes his vision blurry.
It feels like he's drowning, the bubbles of oxygen escaping his mouth with a flourish as Keith's brought further and further down, and the boy puts a hand in Keith's hair, pulling gently at the strands.
All of a sudden, when Keith's certain he's about to die in the arms of the boy, the boy swims up, tail moving in powerful flicks as they go back up to the surface. The boy throws Keith back onto the surfboard as Keith shudders and takes in long breaths of air, deep shuddery breaths that make his shoulders shake, and he grips the surfboard like a man possessed.
"It wasn't that bad," the boy says, and he runs a finger down the curve of Keith's spine which makes him shudder and press closer to the surfboard, away from the boy. "You didn't die."
"Almost," Keith forces out, and that's all he can say.
"Almost," the boy agrees. "But didn't. I wouldn't let you die, not now."
Keith chokes a little and he grips his surfboard tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. He's fairly certain he's tearing up a little, the shock still closing around his neck and trapping his air off.
Not now, the boy said.
"Also, I thought of a name," the boy offers, swimming to where Keith's face is. "You can call me Lance."
"Lance," Keith says slowly, voice cracking.
"Yeah," the boy says, buffing his nails against the surfboard and checking them. "I'll be killing you someday, so you'll need to know my name."
Keith, because he's an idiot and remembers his grandmother's stories, says, "I don't need to know your name for you to kill me."
"But I want you to," Lance replies. "Humans like that, don't they? Knowing each other's names. It makes you feel like you know a person."
Keith stays quiet because Lance isn't exactly wrong.
"You know," Lance rambles on, leaning his head against his palm. "You're actually very pretty. I almost don't want to kill you."
"Then don't," Keith murmurs.
"Ah, but that means I'm risking the unknown," Lance says sagely, saying the words like he's quoting them, and they're too familiar for Keith's liking. Risking the unknown. That's what his grandmother said too.
Keith heaves a deep breath and gives Lance a very small, very shaky smile. "But isn't risking the unknown fun?"
Lance pauses for a moment, eyes blank, before his lips curl up and he's grinning, baring his teeth, leaning in until he's close enough for Keith to feel the puff of Lance's breaths against his skin. "It is."
He looks up at Keith, drops his gaze back to Keith's neck and leans in, pressing the tip of his teeth against the flushed skin.
Keith freezes, worrying that he's pushed too far, that today's the day, the second time he's met this insane creature and now he's done for, but Lance just slowly drags the tips of his teeth up and up and up until he's brushing the underside of Keith's chin and smiles against Keith's skin.
"The sea tastes really good on your skin," he mumbles against Keith's neck, and Keith breathes slowly, knowing that Lance can feel the way his throat works, the way his pulse is rocketing into the sky.
Lance pulls back, eyes blue, and surges up, pulling Keith to his chest.
"We're going again," he says slyly, and lets gravity pull them down into the ocean, further down into the sea until Keith struggles and Lance pushes them back to the surface.
Keith's beautiful, Lance thinks, watching the way Keith chokes and lies limply on the surfboard, gasping for breath. He's beautiful in the way a dying dolphin is beautiful, the way the sun sets every evening, the way a prey is eaten by a predator.
He's beautiful because he's weak, because he's fleeting, because he's brittle, and Lance can very easily break him.
"Go home, Keith," Lance says after a while, and Keith tilts his head up.
Keith, the daft beautiful fragile boy, pulls himself onto the surfboard and paddles back to shore.
-=-
He knows something is wrong with him. Keith feels like he's in a haze, a quiet happiness in his soul whenever he goes out at night to court danger, to be dragged beneath and under and have his breath stolen away from him.
He knows the ending to this story. It's just an extended one of the normal mermaid story, the story Shiro prefers.
Keith has not told Shiro about his meetings, not when Shiro was worried enough the first night with the sharks.
But today Shiro corners him at night and pulls Keith into his room, locking the door and pushing him onto the bed.
"Keith," Shiro says quietly, voice a little shaky and high. "I found something."
"What?" Keith asks, confused. He reaches up to grip Shiro by the shoulders, shakes him a little, tries to steady him. "Shiro, are you okay?"
His brother looks up, and there's a weird look in his eyes, one of disbelief, one of despair. "Keith, I found a long green skirt hidden at the back of grandmother's closet, at the bottom of the large trunk she told us never to touch."
"You opened it?" Keith asks in hushed tones, eyebrows raised.
"She told me to change the lock because it was rusty, and I peeked a little," Shiro replied, regretful. "And I saw the skirt. The skirt."
"What do y-" Keith's breath hitches, a little gasp rolls out of his throat and he blinks, heart beating faster. Yeah, he knows mermaids are real, Lance's proof enough, but there's only one long green skirt that has any importance to them.
(The tail was shed and it turned into a long skirt. Green, the color of her tail, and it shimmered in the setting sun, the scales turning into soft sequins emblazoned on silk. It flowed like water and was soft to the touch, beautiful and rare.
"You're not so beautiful after all," the boy said, and gathered the skirt up in his arms and left.
One night, Keith asked if the girl ever got her skirt back. His grandmother straightened and her eyes turned to steel, and with a cold voice she said, "she found the boy and ripped the skirt away from him, and vowed to never show the skirt to anyone she ever saw again, even if it was someone she truly loved."
"Did she stay on land?" Keith asked, eyes wide.
Their grandmother softened a little and nodded. "She had found someone she truly loved by then, someone who had helped her search for her skirt, and she didn't want to go back to the ocean."
"So she gets a happy ending?" Keith presses.
She looked at the both of them for a long moment, and smiled. "Yes," she said. "The girl got her happy ending.")
Shiro's eyes are wide, and the two of them sit on the bed, suddenly twelve and nine, gripping each other as they listen to the haunting tales of mermaids in the ocean.
"They're real?" Shiro asks the air, wrapping Keith tightly in his grasp.
Yes, Keith thinks, bundling back against Shiro's warmth. Very real, very deadly, and judging from his grandmother, a tragic story.
Maybe this is what Lance was talking about when he said he couldn't risk it.
-=-
They don't talk about the skirt. They don't approach their grandmother, and it's just something that lingers in the air when they look at each other, before Keith goes to the ocean to swim.
Shiro hugs him a little tighter before he goes, pressing worried lips into his hair, and Keith hugs him back as tight as he can, and never mentions Lance.
-=-
"What do you mean you can't risk it?" Keith asks Lance, making Lance freeze.
"It means I can't," he replies, and looks away. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's talk about other things."
"Is it because you can become human?" Keith presses. It's their tenth meeting, maybe, because Keith dutifully comes down every night to visit Lance. And they've gotten close enough that maybe, maybe when Keith asks Lance, he won't die.
Maybe that's just wishful thinking though, because Lance growls and bares his teeth, surging up and wrapping his hand around Keith's neck, tight and painful, something he's never done before. "Who told you that," he snarls, teeth too close and too sharp, too close to Keith's neck.
Lance isn't playing anymore, fury in his eyes, and Keith stammers something out.
"Who's her," Lance says, brows furrowing as he loosens his grip slightly.
"My grandma," Keith chokes out, hands gripping at Lance's closed fist. "Come on, loosen up a bit."
Lance tightens his grip just to make Keith gasp before letting go, but he grabs Keith's shoulders and shakes him. "Who's your grandma?"
"My grandma?" Keith replies, confused. "She's just my grandma. And she said-" He swallows, looking down into the water. "She told us stories about why the sea was dangerous. Told us stories about mermaids, a boy who went out to sea and saw a pretty girl swimming. She told us about a girl who surfaced and a boy who took her skirt."
Lance's eyes grow wide and he trembles a bit. "Her skirt?" He asks, hysterical. "How does your grandma know these?"
"We-" Keith's voice cracks, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. "We- my brother and I - found a skirt, the skirt in her closet."
"Impossible," Lance murmurs, running a hand through his hair. "That's just a story. A warning. No one ever went to the surface and tried to stay there. Everyone only comes up to kill people. It's too big a risk."
"Risk taking probably runs in the family," Keith says. "She warned me against coming here at night but I- I did, anyways."
"You're lucky you're not dead," Lance replies and he clenches his teeth, looking like he's trying to wrap his mind around the situation. "I can't believe- She's real?"
"Very real. Maybe, if you'd like I could- I could ask her to come? Maybe?"
Lance looks dumbfounded.
"I have to-" He turns, messing up his hair, breathing fast and shaky. "I have to go. Just, I need- I'm going."
He dives, going down to where Keith can't reach, and Keith feels like he's left a little bereft. Lance has never left before him.
Keith goes back home, showers, and steels himself to go ask his grandmother the next morning.
-=-
"You went to the sea at night?" His grandmother says.
"I- yes," Keith admits. There's no point in trying to defend himself. He did it. Shiro's a witness.
"You went to the sea at night and saw a mermaid?"
"... Yes," Keith says, voice small.
"I knew you'd been going out to sea at night for a long time, but you saw a mermaid and you're still alive?" His grandmother asks, and this time, she sounds vaguely impressed.
"Yes?" Keith asks in return, confusion coloring his voice.
"Who's your mermaid?"
"Lance."
His grandmother pauses at that, staring outside the window for a long slow while, and stands. She's as strong as ever, and takes long strides into her room, opening her closet.
"You two sneaked around in my room and found the skirt, didn't you?" She says without preamble as she opens the trunk. "Shiro looked shocked when he came out of my room."
"Shiro saw," Keith agreed. "Is it true?"
His grandmother eyes him for a moment and huffs, tossing her head. "I never lie."
"I never said you did," Keith replies, but his mouth slams close when his grandmother lifts the skirt out of the trunk.
It just so happens that Shiro is conveniently staying over at a friend's house and will be none the wiser to the fact that Keith and his grandmother will be meeting Lance.
His grandmother gathers the skirt up in her arms and she looks a little wistful, staring at the flowing cloth like she misses the ocean, and she turns to face Keith.
"Where's your mermaid?"
-=-
His grandmother greets Lance with a raised eyebrow. They're on the beach, the place where water touches sand and his grandmother takes care to not touch the damp part of the beach.
Keith saw Lance's shadow in the ocean where they usually meet and he waved, which prompted Lance to swim over. Lance takes one look at the cloth in Keith's grandmother's hands and he chokes a little, eyes wide.
"You're really, you-" Lance stammers, fingers twitching. This is the first time Keith's seen him at a loss for words.
"You're a curious one, aren't you?" His grandmother says lightly. "You didn't kill him when you first saw him. Your first mistake."
Lance huffs and crosses his arms, flushed. "I was curious," he says petulantly, a confession.
"At least you didn't get burned by him the way I did," his grandmother continues, and she crouches down to look Lance in the eye. "Keith's a good boy, he won't make your story the same as mine. Am I considered famous underwater now, with the tragedy of mine?"
Lance nods. "You're very famous. A legend. A warning."
"Not all people are as good as my Keith," his grandmother agrees, and Keith splutters a little. "Are you going to kill him?"
"Uh," Lance says, looking incredibly sheepish. "I was considering it, but maybe not?"
"Good," his grandmother says. "Take care of Keith underwater. He doesn't have gills. Playing with him a bit is fine, but make sure he doesn't drown."
Keith's as red as Lance now, probably.
"And for the love of Atlantis," his grandmother adds sternly, "don't make the sea run red with my Keith, or my Shiro. Make sure no one does."
She turns with a flourish, and gripping her skirt, she returns to the house.
"So," Keith says, bright red. "Not going to kill me now?"
"Don't count on it," Lance replies, lips curled up. "I can still mock drown you."
"Shut up," Keith laughs, and enters the water.
-=-
("Why don't you go back?" Keith asks his grandmother when he returns home, watching her gently stroke her skirt.
"If I put this on again," she says, gesturing to the skirt. "I'll never become human again. It's a one time thing. The moment you change, you become a human for life, or you change back and you never become a human ever again. Only one choice."
"Never become human again?" Keith says, slightly horrified. He can't imagine a world without his grandmother. "Can um, a human turn into a mermaid?"
She gives him an odd look. "No. And mermaids age slower than humans, which is one of the reasons I wanted to stay."
She glances at the picture on the table and Keith knows that picture, it's a family picture of when his grandfather was still alive.
"I didn't want to outlive him," she says softly. "I did in the end, but now I have you two. And your parents. I didn't want to leave all of you either. If I go, I've decided to go as a human, not as a mermaid."
"Did grandpa know?"
His grandmother leans forward to stroke his hair. "The thing about love, Keith, is that there are no secrets. And for every secret that you share, they will love you all the more for it, no less, never less."
Keith swallows and looks away.)
-=-
He still doesn't tell Shiro. Maybe one day, but not now, not when Shiro's a little high strung from the discovery that mermaids are real. Maybe next summer, when they come back.
Now, there's just a week more until summer ends, and it'll be almost a whole year before Keith can come back.
He tells Lance as such, and Lance huffs, pouting a little.
Lance presses his lips to Keith's neck, scraping his teeth against the vein and murmurs, "if I kill you, you'll have to stay."
It feels like lightning shoots down his spine, making his back curve and Lance wraps a hand around the small of Keith's back, pulling him closer, and Keith laughs, winding a hand through Lance's hair.
"I'll come back," Keith promises. "I'll come back and introduce Shiro to you, and then you can pull me under again. It'll be fun."
"Hm," Lance says in consideration. "Maybe."
-=-
(There is the story of a boy who came to the beach every summer. When he was nineteen, he went to the beach and was greeted with the sight of a boy swimming in the ocean.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"I have no name," The boy said. "But you can call me Lance."
"Keith," he introduced.
"Keith," Lance repeated. "You look sad."
"That's because my heart aches," Keith murmured softly.
"Would you like me to mend it for you?" Lance asked, pressing up against Keith, asking against Keith's lips.
"Please," Keith whispered in reply, lips tugging up in a smile.
It's a story that goes on.
Lance fits his mouth over Keith's and wraps his arms around the boy, letting gravity do the work as they fall into the ocean.)