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The creature — Eddie — is beautiful. The part of him that is skin is tanned, soft and scarred. There are a few puckered scars that look like bullet wounds. There are thin lines from something sharper. There are three lines along his ribs on each side, gills, Buck is pretty sure. Or something similar. He’d love to know more. He needs to, really.
Which is why he came back.
Curiosity killed the cat.
The owner — fuck, Buck hates calling him that, but he’s not sure what else to call him - is still in the hospital. He’d been carted away in the ambulance this morning when his team had first entered the … compound? Facility? Whatever the fuck this is.
They were never supposed to find Eddie, he thinks. No one ever was. He’s beautiful, tail long, pink and scales shiny under the faux lights. The fins coming off him look thin and graceful, different shades of purple blending into each other. His ears are — well. Fishlike, to say the least. More fins along his human forearms.
Other than that, he just looks like a man. Like a man Buck could know from a bar, or the street, or anywhere.
His eyes linger on the scar on his shoulder. It can’t be anything but a bullet wound. A human gun. He wonders how it happened. He doesn’t get a chance to ask before it’s already being answered.
I am a soldier. Or I was, once.
The mermaid confesses it like he’s ashamed, his voice quiet in Buck’s brain, softer than it’s been so far.
“Not anymore?” He asks, because how could he not? He has so many questions, ones that he’s not sure he’ll ever have the time to ask.
Eddie didn’t answer right away. He simply looked at Buck, eyes dark and unreadable behind the distorted glass. Then he raised one hand and pressed his fingers against the barrier between them, the tips of them ghosting over the surface like he was remembering how it felt to touch something real. He tapped once. Then again.
Tink, tink.
The sound was delicate, but it echoed like a bell in Buck’s head.
How could I be? Here?
Trapped in glass. Kept. Owned.
He shuts his eyes for a second and shakes his head, jaw tight with something like shame.
“Sorry. No, of course. You’re—”
He falters. A hostage? He doesn’t even know what word fits. Nothing seems big enough.
You are sad.
The voice slips into his mind again, quieter this time, puzzled. Buck’s eyes open, and he finds Eddie watching him, head tilted slightly to the side in a way that’s almost childlike—curious, cautious, unsure.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Buck says. His voice is steady now. Certain.
Neither should you.
The voice is light, almost amused. But Buck hears what’s beneath it: loneliness, sharp as a hook. Buck laughs, ducking his head before he looks around. The room is dark outside of the tank, so empty. He wonders how often the guy they helped even visits in here. Or if he’s just a trophy. Something to say he owns.
“Yeah. Probably not. My Captain— uh, he’d kill me if he found out I broke in. I could lose my job. You don’t… do you know what a job is?”
The look Eddie gives him, a small, amused smile, is answer enough.
“Right. Okay. That was a dumb question.” Buck huffs a quiet laugh. “I’m a firefighter. Emergency rescue. I help people when they’re in trouble.”
He gestures vaguely around them.
“Breaking in here? It’s illegal. Not allowed. We were let in the first time, but this time…”
Why did you come back?
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Which is true. Undeniably true. He’d just caught a moment with him last time before his name had been shouted from the hall, urgent. Eddie had told him to go then, that he needed to leave.
He’s not telling him to leave now. Not that it’s just the two of them. Maybe he was scared to be seen. Maybe he wasn’t sure Buck could be trusted.
What? You’ve never seen a guy with a tail before?
Eddie looks endlessly amused, but it doesn’t feel mean or condescending; it looks fond. His fins are flowing in the water behind him, fluttering, almost.
Like they know Buck is looking.
“Never. But it’s not just that.” It was something about the way Eddie looked at him the first time he pushed through the door. He was terrified. But he also looked…. hopeful? Maybe?
Buck’s not sure how to describe it.
“How long have you been here?” Maybe he should’ve asked that sooner.
A sadness washes over Eddie’s face, and it feels suddenly like the wrong question to ask. His hand pulls away from the glass, two fingers catching the necklace that’s hanging around his neck. It’d caught Buck’s attention the first time, glistening under the lights, looking so out of place in a tank full of normal fish, normal sea plants.
Many cycles of the moon have passed. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it. The lights here turn on and off every day. Even when he’s not here.
It’s the most Eddie has spoken to him. It’s a weird feeling, having someone’s voice echo through your head and not come through your ears, but he doesn’t mind it.
“I don’t know how to get you out of here.”
What? The voice in Buck’s head is startled. Gentle, but confused.
“I don’t—” Buck shakes his head, stepping a little closer to the tank. His reflection overlaps with Eddie’s, warped and ghostlike in the glass. “I mean, how long can you be out of water? How did he even get you here? I don’t know how long—how long you'd last—”
You want to help me leave? The voice is clearer now. Not accusing, but incredulous. Buck’s breath catches.
“What?”
You’d help me?
Buck lets out a rough breath and gives a half-shrug, almost apologetic, like it should be obvious. “Firefighter. Emergency rescue. I help people when they’re in trouble.” It’s the simplest truth he knows.
You’re insane.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
There’s a pause. Then:
I have a son.
That stops Buck cold.
I can breathe air.
The voice slips into his head again, calm but edged with something more fragile now. But I can’t be out of water for very long. Two hours, he once said. He tested. Eddie gestures down at his tail, the long, gleaming sweep of it shifting with the water. I get too dry. It hurts to breathe. I don’t know how it works. He never explains anything. He doesn’t talk to me—just about me. A pause. My people don’t stay out of the water long enough to figure that kind of thing out. Too many humans out there.
The word humans is weighted with something cold and distant. Buck flinches, but Eddie catches it and looks a little sheepish.
Buck lifts a hand quickly. “Hey—no. I get it. You’re trapped because of a human.” He looks around, brain working furiously now. “Okay. But if he studied you, maybe there’s a record of it? Notes? Paperwork?” He mimes writing with his hand, eyebrows raised. “Like— does he write stuff down?”
Eddie nods and points toward the far corner of the room. Buck hadn’t even noticed it before—too focused on the tank, on Eddie—but now he sees the edge of a cluttered desk, half in shadow.
“One second,” Buck says, already stepping back. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?” He realises what he’s said immediately and winces. But when he glances over his shoulder, Eddie’s smirking.
Got it. Not going anywhere.
Buck makes his way over to the desk. There's a filing cabinet beside it, tucked into the shadows. He tries each drawer — one after another — but they're all locked. He exhales sharply through his nose, frustrated.
Instead, he turns to the cluttered desk. Files are scattered across the surface, labelled in neat, impersonal handwriting. None of them look promising at first glance.
Then his eyes catch on a notebook in the corner. The leather cover is worn, softened by time and handling. He picks it up, the weight of it heavier than expected, and begins to flip through the pages.
His stomach turns.
Each page is packed with small, tight script—clinical observations, logged day after day.
Day 14 — Still no vocalisation today. I played music again. No visible distress, but subject’s expressions are difficult to read. May be suppressing response out of stubbornness.
Day 21 — Refused food again. Will reduce water temperature as a consequence. Cold seems to produce quicker compliance.
Day 36 — Brought mirror to the tank. Subject attacked it. Noted increase in aggression when exposed to reflective surfaces. Possible identity confusion? Or rejection of self?
Day 47 — Whispered to me again. Unclear if real communication or mimicking. The voice doesn’t match mouth movement. Likely a parlour trick. Still, unnerving.
Day 53 — Asked about his son. I told him he wasn’t here. No reaction. Unsure if subject is capable of normal human emotion.
Buck’s grip tightens around the edge of the book. He turns away from the tank, heart hammering against his ribs like it wants to escape. He can’t let Eddie see his face right now. He flips toward the back of the notebook, the pages more frantic here. Scribbled. Unstable.
Day 704 — Subject has finished dehydration testing.
This page is different. There are photos. Black and white. Some of them clearly show Eddie, face included. Limbs bound to a steel table, the shine of his tail dulled, mouth open like he’s gasping. One photo has a time stamp along the bottom corner and a note scribbled beside it: Stage 3 dehydration response. Vocal distortion observed.
Buck closes the book, his finger slides between that page and the next so he doesn’t lose it, but he just needs a second. A minute. An hour.
Fuck. Behind him, through the glass, Eddie doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. But Buck can feel the weight of his gaze — quiet, heavy, waiting.
“I’m not leaving you here.”
You don’t even know me. I don’t even know your name.
Buck winces. Fuck. He didn’t even offer his name, not even when Eddie had offered his own. He was too busy watching with wonder as the tail flicked behind him.
He turns, the book still clutched tightly in his hands. He makes his way back over to the tank. He thinks maybe there are tears in his eyes. This isn’t about him.
“It’s Buck. I mean, it’s Evan, but my friends call me Buck.”
Eddie’s face is unreadable for a beat. Are we friends?
“I think so. Or we could be. But, I mean—“ He sighs, trying to gather his thoughts. “We’ve got two options here, as far as I see it. Either I can call my friends and get help so that we can make sure he goes to jail for a long, long time. But I don’t know what they’d want to do with you.”
The thought sends a shiver down his spine. This is just one guy with Eddie. He can’t imagine what the government would do. “Or I can get you out. Just you and me.”
You and me. Eddie answers so quickly, like he doesn’t even have to think about it. I trust you, Buck.
He looks like he’s surprised to even be saying it. Maybe he is.
“Okay. I’ve gotta— I’m gonna have to keep reading this. It’s… It’s bad stuff. Invasive. About you. Is that okay?”
Eddie looks at him like he’s something he’s never seen before. He nods.
“I’m gonna sit here. With you.”
Eddie nods again, a small smile playing on his lips. Buck lowers himself to the floor in front of the tank, crossing his legs.
Eddie watches him curiously for a moment, then drifts lower in the water, mirroring the motion. His tail curves in the middle, the weight settling so that only his hips and the tip of his tail touch the sand, almost like sitting with his knees bent. The long fin fans out behind him across the soft, white sand, delicate and luminous.
He’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him.
You stare a lot, Buck.
His eyes flick up from the curve of Eddie’s tail, a flush rising to his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he says, voice soft. “You’re just—”
Fishy?
“Beautiful.”
Oh.
Holy shit. His cheeks flush such a bright, vivid pink that it travels all the way to the tips of his ears—fins, really—but the gesture is unmistakable. Buck feels his breath catch. Buck wishes he could touch him.
“Sorry.” Buck rushes to say, clutching the book tighter in his hand.
Why? You didn’t mean it?
“No, no. I did. It’s just you’re— I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Eddie blinks at him.
Then, with a smooth, slow motion, he swims a gentle arc through the water, circling once. When he settles again, it’s lower this time, not copying Buck, but settling in — his body is stretched out, most of him resting flat against the soft white sand.
He props his head up in his hands, elbows sunk lightly into the sand of the tank. His tail curves behind him, the fin fanning lazily like a cat flicking its tail.
Do I look uncomfortable?
Buck stares at him. He doesn’t know how to answer that. Eddie looks like he’s sunbathing on a beach somewhere, not trapped in a tank deep in some facility no one was ever supposed to find. “No,” Buck says, quieter now. “I guess not.”
Eddie smiles, nodding his head toward the book, relaxing against the sand as he waits for Buck to read.
He opens back up to the page with the pictures. He’s got it angled so that Eddie won’t have to see them. He wonders if he knows the pictures exist. He wonders if he knows what pictures are.
He flicks to the next page.
Day 704 — Results:
Subject can remain out of water without hydration for approximately forty-five minutes before exhibiting visible side effects. At this point, tail begins to dull—loss of sheen, sluggish movement.Difficulty breathing begins at eighty-five minutes. Subject becomes violent, animalistic, and panicked by the ninety-minute mark. Broke the initial set of restraints. Was quickly subdued and secured again.
At ninety-five minutes, subject began gasping, labored, painful. Vocal cords appeared strained.
Maximum conscious duration out of water: ninety-five minutes and forty-three seconds. Test was repeated four times to ensure consistency.
Notably, during Test One, the subject responded verbally. This is the only instance of clear speech during physical distress.
The subject said: “Please.”
Buck slams the book closed. In his peripheral vision, he watches Eddie’s eyes flutter with surprise, his shoulders tensing, his body stilling completely. The tail stops flicking behind him.
…Bad news?
“No. Just—bad.” He shakes his head, forcing himself to exhale even though his lungs ache. “Sorry. It’s just hard to read.”
It’s okay. I know. I lived it. Eddie’s voice sounds like he’s trying to comfort him.
Buck feels like a dick.
“I know. Not anymore, okay? He won’t be let out of the hospital for a few days. A nurse told me he still hasn’t woken up. I’m getting you out of here tonight.” Determination rings in his words, exhaling harshly through his nose as he stares down at the worn leather.
“The beach is forty-five minutes from here. I know a private spot. I can pull my car up there. It says you’ve got eighty-five minutes before it hurts to breathe. Is that—“
Eddie cuts him off, shaking his head. It hurt for a little while before that. But I can bear it. I didn’t want him to know.
Buck nods. After this, he’s going to throw up in a trash can; for now, he just shuffles closer. “Okay. I’m gonna— I’m gonna have to carry you out to my car. It’ll be an uncomfortable trip, but we can make it work. How does he feed you?”
Eddie is up suddenly, fluttering and swimming in a small loop before he’s rising, up, up. He breaches the surface of the water, disappearing from Buck’s view. But in front of where he is, Buck can see a small metal ledge. There’s a ladder leading up to it from the floor.
Okay.
That’s unhelpful.
Eddie’s tail looks heavy, and Buck might be strong, but he’s not sure how he’s gonna carry him down a ladder.
Eddie slips back beneath the surface, swimming down as Buck stands, hands pressed to his hips, trying to figure out plan B.
You look stressed.
“How does he get you out? For testing?” Buck asks gently, stepping till he’s toe to toe with the glass. The word testing makes Eddie flinch. Just a small turn of his head, like he’s been slapped, but Buck catches it.
Transfer Chamber. I swim in, he shuts the door and pops open the lid.
Eddie looks like he’s leaving out a few details. Buck doesn’t push.
“You can lead me there?”
Eddie glides through the water, moving with effortless grace. Buck follows closely from the outside, stepping over scattered cables and puddles on the cold concrete floor. The main tank room hums quietly behind them. At the far side, Eddie’s fingers tap twice on the glass to catch Buck’s attention, then slide along the wall until they reach a small, unmarked door set low in the concrete of the wall. The door looks like it hasn’t been opened in a while, rust creeping at the hinges, the handle cold and heavy.
Eddie presses a tiny button next to it, and the lock clicks open. In sync, the wall in front of Buck shifts, moving and opening to reveal a secret room. Buck moves inward, revealing a cramped side room bathed in the dim glow of pale, white lights. In the centre of the room stands the transfer chamber—a large rectangular tank, smaller than the main one, with thick glass walls and a heavy metal lid on top. The water inside ripples gently, reflecting blue from a single overhead lamp.
Transfer chamber. Eddie says softly inside Buck’s mind. He swims into view; the chamber doesn’t leave much space at all for him to move. He fills it out almost entirely.
Buck nods and steps closer. “So this is how they move you around?”
Eddie doesn’t reply but slides to the far side of the tank, pressing his hand against the glass as if weighing the risk. Slowly, Eddie lifts a hand and taps on the chamber’s lid. Buck pushes a button on it. It creaks open, sending a faint hiss of stale air into the room.
Buck reaches out and lifts the lid all the way open. The faint scent of salt and something older drifts out.
“Ready?” Buck asks, voice low.
Eddie nods, a small flicker of a smile touching his lips. Eddie slowly rises out of the water until his arms rest on the edge of the transfer chamber, just inches from where Buck stands.
Droplets cling to his tanned skin, glistening in the dim light. His dark hair is slicked back, framing a face that’s raw and striking. He has sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw softened by a hint of vulnerability.
Buck’s breath catches. He can’t stop staring.
“You gonna pick me up, big guy?” Eddie asks— out loud. Oh. He catches a glimpse of Eddie’s teeth as he smiles. Some are blunt, almost human. Others are sharp, pointed—meant to tear through flesh. Fish, probably. It makes sense.
Eddie catches him staring. His smile fades. His mouth closes tight, jaw locking, lips pressed into a thin line.
Buck realises too late that he’s still gawking, wide-eyed. Probably looking something close to terrified.
“I’m not— No, no. Sorry,” he rushes out. “You’re just— I’m interested. It’s cool.”
Eddie squints at him, head tilted slightly, like he’s trying to read something off Buck’s skin.
Still beautiful? The voice comes quieter this time. Less playful. Uncertain. It feels like a step backward, like Eddie is bracing for rejection now.
“Yeah,” Buck says easily, gently. He turns away for a second to grab a metal table, curling his fingers under the edge and dragging it closer to the tank. The screech of metal on tile is piercing.
Behind him, Eddie lets out a wounded sound.
Buck turns in alarm. Eddie’s hands are clamped over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Shit—fuck, sorry,” Buck mutters, voice low now. “I’m gonna put you on the table. Dry off your back a little so I can carry you easier. Is that okay?”
Eddie opens his eyes slowly. He doesn’t speak, but after a beat, he gives a small nod.
He lowers his hands. Buck is in front of him now, so close that he can feel Eddie’s breath. He moves so slowly, careful not to spook him, lifting one hand to grasp Eddie’s wrist and putting it over Buck’s shoulder.
“Need you to wrap your arms around my neck.” He pauses, just for a beat. “… Please.” Eddie’s been through a lot. The least Buck can do is use his manners.
Eddie follows the instruction, looking somewhere between amused and nervous, wrapping his arms around his neck, and Buck leans in, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s torso. It’s a fucking workout to get him out of the water, tail and all. He lifts him out of the water, transferring him onto the table. It’s different seeing him out of the water. There’s so much of him. He’s six feet in length, maybe a little longer if measuring to the ends of his tail fin. His hair is damp, a couple of strands falling into his face now. The tail is even more intense in person. The colour doesn’t look real. None of him does.
You are too.
He’s cut through his thoughts by the voice again. He looks up, tilting his head a little to the side, puppy-like. “What?”
Beautiful. The voice answers. Eddie looks nervous to admit it. Buck thinks the blush on his cheeks is only a few shades lighter than the one Eddie is now sporting.
“Thanks, Eddie.” He replies gently, leaning a hand over to move the few strands out of his face. He bends down, pulling a towel off the shelf of the table and gently patting Eddie’s back. The gills along his ribs are fascinating. Buck wants to reach out and trace his fingers along them. They’re not fluttering like they were in the water. Two sets of lungs, maybe? One fish, one human?
It’s just ... fascinating.
He’s closer to the bullet scar now. It went through the front and straight through the back, by the looks of it. He wonders how old it is. He doesn’t ask. He’s asked enough questions.
He tosses the towel over the lid of the chamber, moving so he’s standing by Eddie’s side.
“Okay. I’m gonna carry you. Arms around my neck, hold on tight.” He instructs.
Eddie nods, looking mildly amused.
Buck slides one hand beneath the bend of Eddie’s tail, tucked under where his knees would be, if he had them. His other arm curls around Eddie’s back, locking into place just under his arm. Eddie’s arms wrap around Buck’s neck without hesitation.
They’re close. So close. Eddie’s skin is cool where it presses against Buck’s, though not uncomfortably so. His tail is colder, sleek and heavy in Buck’s arms.
Buck’s white t-shirt is completely soaked through, which he should’ve seen coming, but he’s unbothered by it.
Buck carries him through the door he came through, ducking through the maze of hallways he memorised to get back to Eddie after their first meeting. When he’d entered the room for the first time, he’d been stopped dead in his tracks, eyes focused in on the mauve flick of a tail, on the expanse of pink scales, on the planes of Eddie’s back muscles.
He’d swum to the glass, palm pressed to it. Buck had mirrored the gesture instinctively, heart in his throat, and said, “Hey.” Just like that. Soft. Awed.
Then Ravi’s voice had echoed through from the hall, and he had to go. He had to. Especially when Eddie told him to.
Now Eddie’s in his arms, breathing the same air. His gaze flicks around the building as they move—quiet, observant. Buck realises he might never have seen any of this. Not the doors, not the floors, not the strange, grey world outside his tank.
The asshole scientist hadn’t been a big guy. Buck still isn’t sure how he moved Eddie around so easily. He hadn’t made it that far in the journal. When they reach the entrance, Buck hesitates in front of the door. Without a word, Eddie reaches out and opens it for him. Buck blinks. How does he know how doors work? Has he been on a shipwreck maybe? He has a thousand questions, but they’re all silenced when Eddie turns toward him, eyes warm.
Are you okay?
“Sorry. Yeah—I just- I have so much to ask.”
Get us outta here, Buck, and I’ll tell you anything.
Buck nods, shifting Eddie’s weight slightly. “Got it. Getting out now, talking later.”
He makes his way to the jeep. It’s still unlocked, thankfully, because he always forgets to lock the damn thing.
“Can you curl your fingers around the handle and just— tug?” He asks gently, nodding towards the door to the back seat. Eddie reaches out with a wet hand, droplets falling into the dirt. The first tug is too soft. Eddie frowns. The second pull is certainly hard enough. Buck winces, sure it’ll snap—but the door pops open with a clunk, intact.
“Okay. You gotta sit back here so you can… stretch out.” There’s so much of Eddie. He helps Buck get him inside of the car, grabbing at different parts of it to help wiggle his way back until he’s tucked into the back seat. Buck grabs a clean gym towel off the floor and drapes it over Eddie’s lap.
Eddie glances up at him, confused.
“I don’t want anyone peeking in and freaking out,” Buck explains. “You’re… kinda hard to miss.”
Eddie laughs a little, his teeth poking out a little again, and god, Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen something as beautiful as the smile that crosses his face. He still looks at Buck a little awed, like he’s not convinced himself this isn’t a dream. Buck isn’t sure he’s awake either. This is something out of a movie, not something that happens to him.
Though he did get struck by lightning, weird things always seem to happen to him.
Buck closes the door so gently, ensuring no parts of Eddie are sticking out. He rounds the car quickly, tugging the driver’s side door open and climbing in. He fishes the keys out of his pocket, sliding them in and starting the car.
Eddie startles behind him, lifting out and gripping Buck’s shoulder in the small gap between the headrest and the door.
“Sorry. Fuck. Car. It’s like— like a boat? It’ll transport us. It’s a little loud. I should’ve warned you.” Buck explains apologetically. The grip on his shoulder loosens, but he doesn’t move.
Buck looks up into the rearview, where Eddie is staring at where they connect.
“You okay?”
Eddie blinks, once, twice, then nods. He’s still staring at his own hand on Buck’s shoulder. Sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve touched someone.
Buck’s heart shatters. His face breaks open, in a hurt, raw thing. He’s touch-starved. He’s been alone in there, separated from his kind, from gentle touch, from kindness.
“It’s okay,” Buck says gently. They really do need to get out of here. He buckles his own belt up, wincing a little as it dislodges Eddie’s hand from his shoulder. It falls back down to rest next to Eddie.
Buck watches out of the corner of his eye as Eddie starts fiddling with the necklace around his neck. He still hasn’t gotten a good look at it. He wants to.
“Your kid,” Buck says quietly. “You could tell me about him. If you want.”
Christopher. He was seven when I saw him last. He’s beautiful. So smart. He’s not like other larva. He’s curious, though. It’s hard to keep him still.
Buck feels the words settle in his chest. He’s already memorising every detail Eddie offers him. He turns the Jeep out of the endlessly long driveway and onto the quiet road, eyes focused ahead, but his attention is split.
“Do you know where he is?” he asks, gentle, hesitant.
With my parents. I was alone when he found me. I know he’s safe there. Eddie’s tone shifts on that first bit. Like it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. But there’s no hesitation when he says he’s safe. Buck can hear the truth in it.
“He’s not with his mom?” he asks before he can stop himself. Maybe too personal. He doesn’t even know how mermaid relationships work.
Eddie laughs quietly in his mind. Not cruel, just amused.
Hopefully not. She’s dead.
“Oh.” Buck’s grip tightens on the wheel. He really should stop asking questions.
It’s okay. She was my best friend. But we weren’t—
A thing. In love.
You humans love that term. In love.
He still echoes the word humans in such a bitter tone in Buck’s mind, but Buck understands. Humans haven’t been kind to Eddie. Fuck, a lot of humans haven’t even been kind to Buck.
“You know a lot about humans?” he tries. Safer ground, maybe.
I know a lot about him. The man who took me.
I know things from stories. Legends. We’re not supposed to talk to humans. It’s unsafe. That’s not just a story, either. This—
Eddie lifts a hand, tapping once, then twice against the scar on his shoulder.
Was a human. Some sort of weapon. So much bleeding. I was trying to lead him away.
“You were protecting someone?” Buck asks softly. Of course, he was. Eddie just seems like the kind of guy who would.
My — group, I guess. We were exploring. Looking for information. There had been word of hunters in the area. People who wanted to prove we exist by bringing back a body.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s okay. You’re not—you’re different. I can tell.
Buck doesn’t know what he did to earn Eddie’s trust so quickly. No one’s ever trusted him that easily before. But Eddie does. And Buck wants to live up to that.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says firmly. Like a promise.
I know. I can read your mind.
“What?!” Buck whips his head toward the backseat, eyes wide. The car veers slightly before he jerks it back into the lane. “Jesus—I almost crashed the car!”
He glances in the mirror. Eddie’s smirking.
Just kidding. Had you for a second, though, didn’t I?
Buck groans and shakes his head. “So not funny.”
It was a little funny.
...It kind of was.
They follow the route Buck’s phone outlines. Eddie keeps casting suspicious looks at it, his brow furrowed every time the voice chimes in with directions. At one point, Buck catches him glaring so hard it looks like he’s trying to blow it up with his mind.
Buck laughs under his breath. “It’s just a GPS, man. Navigation.”
Eddie doesn’t reply—at least not out loud. But he doesn’t stop glaring at it either.
The car is quiet except for the hum of the road and the occasional barked direction from the phone, but their conversation fills the space between. Most of Eddie’s questions come through that strange psychic link they seem to share, curious and unintrusive.
He asks about Buck’s sister after Buck mentions her in passing. Then his family. His job. What it’s like saving people.
Buck answers them all honestly. Easily. He’s not used to that—talking without having to edit himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever had such an easy conversation before. He’s definitely never felt so listened to. Eddie’s been lonely for a long time, Buck can feel it like an echo in the air between them. Maybe that’s all this is—Eddie's just happy to have someone to talk to again. Buck’s okay with giving him that. More than okay.
By the time he pulls into the familiar gravel lot beside a small private beach, the horizon is already softening with the early hues of dawn. The ocean glints beyond the tree line, pale and still. It’s a little tucked-away nook, one Buck’s come to dozens of times before when he needed space to think. But now it feels like something else entirely.
They don’t have much time before the world starts to wake up - before someone could stumble across them.
“Alright,” Buck says softly, cutting the engine. “We’re here.”
Eddie’s already looking toward the water. Like he can feel it calling him home.
“I’ve been here before,” Eddie says out loud, the second thing he’s ever said out loud to Buck. He sounds like his throat is tight. Maybe from dehydration, maybe from being overwhelmed.
“You live near here?” In his… mermaid house? Or the equivalent. God, Buck really does have so many questions.
Eddie shakes his head, just once. His voice is a little rough, maybe from lack of use. “No, but my parents do. Chris— he’ll be close by.”
Buck nods and climbs out of the car, circling around to the door Eddie’s leaning against. He opens it carefully and, with Eddie’s help—mostly clinging to Buck and doing some awkward wiggling—he lifts him out and into his arms again.
Eddie’s tail is noticeably paler now, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are fixed on the sea ahead, wide and unblinking. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. Buck wonders how long he’s been doing that—masking, minimising. He smiles faintly, pushing the thought down.
The sand gives a little beneath his sneakers as he walks, but he keeps moving. Eddie stays quiet the whole way, completely focused on the ocean like it’s the only thing that matters. Maybe it is. By the time Buck reaches the shoreline, his shoulders are aching from the weight. Eddie is heavier than he looks—Buck can’t even begin to guess how much the tail alone weighs. He thinks about setting him down right there, just at the edge, but then he glances at Eddie’s face.
He’s crying.
And his skin is dry.
So Buck doesn’t hesitate. He wades into the water, jeans and shoes immediately soaked. He walks in until the sea reaches his thighs, then carefully lowers Eddie into the surf, almost like he’s pouring him back where he belongs.
The moment Eddie’s tail touches the water, everything changes.
His delicate fins flicker to life, fluttering in vibrant shades of purple. And once he’s fully submerged, it’s like someone turned a light back on inside him. He’s glowing—alive in a way Buck’s never seen before.
Unreal. Beautiful. Mythical.
This water, Buck thinks, is different from the tank. It’s not just sustaining him.
It’s healing him.
Buck.
He stops staring at Eddie’s tail and finds his face. Eddie’s not crying anymore, just looking at him like he finally believes that he’s real.
I have to go.
Buck’s heart sinks. He knows. Eddie’s got a life, a kid, a family. He can’t hang around with Buck forever, even if this has been the most interesting night of Buck’s entire life.
“It’s okay.” He assures him. He’s used to being left. It doesn’t hurt this time as much; he knows Eddie’s going to where he’s supposed to be.
No, I mean— for now. I have to go see my family. But I want to see you again.
The voice is determined, leaving little room for argument.
I will be here when the sun dips below the horizon. Two days from now. I hope you’ll be here.
Buck laughs, a little breathless, his own eyes rimmed a little with tears.
“Man, nothing could stop me from being here. Trust me.”
Buck. Can you come down here?
Buck drops into a crouch right there in the water, not caring that his entire outfit is soaked through. He’s just grateful he left his phone in the car. Eddie is seated in the shallows now, tail curled beneath him, half-submerged in the sand. He reaches up, hand finding Buck’s cheek, cradling it with a tenderness that makes Buck’s breath catch.
No one has ever touched him like that before.
Humans. You kiss?
Eddie’s cheeks are flushed that same pink as his tail, the colour blooming high along his cheekbones.
“Oh! Uh—yeah. Yes, we do. When you, you know... like someone. Romantically. ‘In love,’ like you said.”
I’m going to kiss you.
“Oh.” There’s barely any sound to the word. His brain short-circuits.
“Is that okay?” Eddie asks, more gently now.
“Please,” Buck says. “Yes. Kiss me. Right now, actually—”
He doesn’t get to finish. Eddie leans in, lips pressing softly to his. It’s wet, salty, tentative—until Eddie’s fingers slide into Buck’s hair, pulling him in, grounding him there. Buck melts into it, breath catching in his chest.
It’s Buck who pulls back first, gasping for air, chest heaving.
Two days from now. Eddie says it like a promise, like a vow.
Buck nods, already anchored to the idea. “Two days. I’ll be here. I swear.”
They watch each other in silence for a long beat. Buck memorises the moment—Eddie’s face glowing with life, the sea curling gently around them.
Your eyes. When I first saw you. They’re like the ocean. Not like the tank. They’re like home.
Buck thinks he might actually pass out.
“I’ll see you soon,” he says instead, voice rough with feeling.
Stay safe. Please.
Buck nods. Then Eddie turns, movements seamless and sure, gliding into the water like he was made for it—because he was. With barely a ripple, he disappears beneath the surface, swallowed by the tide.
Buck stays there, kneeling in the surf, water breaking against his stomach. He doesn’t move.
Not until the sun rises.