all this (and heaven too)

//

these days the sun seems to drip into the sea. dowoon watches it paint yellow streaks across the water as it begins to rise and does his best not to get tangled up in the fishing net he’s trying to untie. with mom out of town, sungjin’s been left in charge of manning their spot at the weekend market. that means today dowoon’s by himself, and he takes his time.

the boat rocks lazily in the ebbing flow of the sea. dowoon can feel the sun on his back, taste salt on his lips. the wind in his hair. out of the corner of his eyes, vision half-shadowed by the baseball cap sungjin stuck on his head before he went fishing this morning, he catches sight of it - a mop of brown hair, floating just a few feet away.

dowoon squints against the sun. he’s pretty far out from the shore for it to be a swimmer. his hands tighten around the edges of his net, knuckles going white, and he sees a set of bright eyes - no call for help, no cry of surprise. just staring. there’s a flash of a half-forgotten memory, and dowoon feels his throat tighten. then comes a sudden gust of wind, sticky and summer-bound. the boat rocks along with the waves and dowoon snaps his attention away to catch the end of his net before it can sink all the way down into the water. when he looks back up, the figure is gone.

“okay,” dowoon says into the air, scooping up a handful of seawater and splashing it across his face. it drips down his collar. makes him shiver. “okay.”

maybe the heat is getting to him, he thinks. next time, he’s bringing a bigger hat.

//

“where’s today’s catch?” is the first thing sungjin says when he comes back home. he kicks the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot and dowoon rushes forward to take a few of the grocery bags off his arms.

“there wasn’t any.” he sets the bags down, digs until he finds one of those apples the nice grandma down the street is always slipping into their bags. “i left the net anchored, i’m going out tonight again to get it. we’ll have enough for tomorrow.”

sungjin’s stuck his head inside their ratty fridge. dowoon can barely hear his hum over its noisy whirring. when he comes back out, he has a tupperware full of kimchi on one hand, the other on his hip, and a frown on his face. “tonight?” his forehead pinches.

“it’ll be fine, hyung.” dowoon hopps up and takes a seat on the kitchen island, bare feet kicking against the chipped white wood shelves underneath. he bites into his apple. “the sea’s been calm lately and you know what they say, the moon’s always the best bait.”

“just be careful, dowoon-ah,” sungjin says, voice going tight. the lines on his face spell concern. “you of all people should know the sea also gets more dangerous at night, bait nor no bait.” stepping closer, sungjin reaches up to ruffle dowoon hair. his hand drops down to the collar of his shirt and he tugs at it, says, “you’re getting bigger,” like it’s a surprise. “we need to get you new clothes.”

“i can borrow from you,” dowoon answers, grins when sungjin lets out an annoyed, “yah, who said you could?”

dowoon laughs, and lunch is spent kicking each other’s shins under the table and getting away with not washing their dishes right after they’re done. it’s a nice morning, but soon enough sungjin has to leave for his part-time job at the carpenter’s shop down by the town plaza.

dowoon kills time walking up and down by the shore, trying to reconcile the picture perfect blues of the afternoon sea and the rushing waters that threaten to pull him under when he sleeps. he drags his feet across the sand and picks seaglass like he picks at his memories.

the sun fades into watercolor, splattering across the waves. by the time the dark blue of the sky tells him it’s time to set out, dowoon’s pocket are full. the afterthought of a pair of brown eyes lingers stubbornly inside his head.

//

there’s a boy caught up inside his net.

dowoon blinks. sees skin, lots of it, and it’s only when his eyes start to stray down to a pair of bony collarbones that he has enough piece of mind to drag his gaze away. the boy is quiet, his upper body hunched around the edges of dowoon’s boat where he had been halfway through raising the fishing net up (now he realizes why it was so heavy. he thought it was the moon that brought him luck.) and his feet kick back against the water, helpless.

the boy is staring up at him - more like glaring, actually. forehead pinched, lips pulled into a thin line. without a word, he points down at the net tangled around his legs and raises an eyebrow.

“uh,” dowoon says, words stumbling on his tongue. “sorry?”

the boy huffs, reaches down in an effort to try and break the grip the net has him in. dowoon watches him, his mind still a few feet behind, until he feels a tug on his hand. the boy is looking up at him resentfully.

“yes, sorry.” dowoon grabs the boy by the forearms (he’s cold, worryingly so) and heaves him the rest of the way up. the boy lands on the boat with a clatter, almost sends the oars chasing the waves. he crosses his arms over his chest and dowoon swallows, bending down to undo the knots tied around the boy’s ankles. there are imprints on his legs, crisscrossing like scars. he shivers lightly when dowoon’s finger brush against his skin and oh. okay then.

there’s a bit of scrambling when the boy finally breaks free. he kicks his feet out clumsily. the water splashes underneath, and dowoon has to grip onto the helm of the boat to keep himself from tipping over and right into the sea.

“it’s okay. hey - you’re okay. calm down.” dowoon takes the net away, throws it as far as the boat will allow and holds his hands up, palms facing out. the boy watches through narrowed eyes as dowoon takes his sweater off and hands it over. the boy - pretty eyes, sharp jaw, brown hair matted to his forehead and dripping in salt water - takes the sweater after a few tense heartbeats of deliberation and hesitantly puts it on.

he gets stuck halfway through. half of his hair is out of the collar, hair sticking up and down, north and south. his elbow is bent at an awkward angle, trapped inside the blue sweater sleeve. careful not to startle him, dowoon reaches out and tugs at the sleeve until it gives.

“how did you end up here?” dowoon asks, hands falling down to his lap so he won’t reach for the boy, who blinks tiredly up at him. when he looks out across the ocean, there’s just the moon and her reflection across the dark water. no boat in sight the boy could have fallen off of.

the boy opens his mouth, makes a croaking sound. it’s the beginning of a word, but it gets caught up in his throat, tangled up like his feet did in dowoon’s net with no way to go. the boy’s eyes grow that much more wider, hands scrambling up to touch at his adam’s apple. he chokes -

“it’s okay,” dowoon hurries to reassure him when he sees the boy’s breathing getting more and more laboured, eyes panic-hazed. “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, i-”

the boy shakes his head harshly, sends water splattering all over. dowoon blinks once, twice, to get a few drops out of his eyes and sees the boy working his mouth over soundless words.

“you - can’t?” he asks tentatively when the boy starts to run his tongue over his lips, twisting his mouth in odd shapes and half-thoughts. “can’t talk?”

the boy pauses, then nods his head once. his shoulders slump down, hunching in on himself, and in that moment he looks impossibly small. dowoon’s sweater reaches him about mid-thigh and he’s shaking all over, the night wind biting at his skin and making his nose turn as red as the tips of dowoon’s ears.

“okay,” dowoon says again, feels the boat tilt underneath when a wave pushes at its sides gently. guiding. “okay, i’ll take you home alright? and then we can - we can figure it out.”

at least dowoon hopes they will. the boy smiles, a quiet shadow, and the curve of the moon’s own silver grin glints in kind.

//

dowoon’s house sits less than a block away from the shore. it’s small, rough, with walls made of cement and seashells. western in style because that was the fashion back when his father built it for his mother, a wedding gift, before an outbreak of yellow fever took him away. it’s a patchwork of blue shutters and peeling white paint. dowoon can run from the front door and get his legs ankle-deep in seawater in less than a minute. it takes him closer to ten to drag the boy all the way over there.

he can’t seem to walk straight. the second dowoon’s boat touches sand he stumbles out and then promptly falls on his face. his hair is full of sand when he stands back up on clumsy legs. his face too. the corners of his mouth, where his lips pull up into a breathless grin. dowoon takes him by the elbow and guides him towards the house.

the boy digs his toes into the sand every three steps. he wiggles his legs and bends down to stare at his knees like they’re something new and shiny, treasures you find on shore. dowoon breathes through his nose and tries very hard not to stare.

eventually, they stumble through the front door. dowoon has to shush him because the boy keeps bumping into the furniture and sungjin is a light sleeper when their mom is not around. it’s like his instincts kick in and he becomes attuned to every single sound inside the house. that’s why dowoon flinches so harshly when the boy trips on the stairs and makes the wood panelling rattle like a storm.

“dowoon?” he hears sungjin call out from behind his bedroom door not a second after, voice scratchy and deep with sleep. “is that you?”

“yeah,” dowoon replies hastily, pushing at the boy’s back to get him moving across the hallway. he’s not ready to explain how he caught a naked boy in his net when he was supposed to be picking up that day’s fish. “i just got home, sorry hyung. i’ll be quiet. go back to sleep.”

there’s a muffled grunt from sungjin’s bedroom. the sheets rustle and dowoon holds his breath, grateful the boy by his side can’t talk and give him away. it takes a second for dowoon to be sure sungjin’s gone back to sleep but once he’s certain that they're safe he hisses quietly at the boy to move along and pushes him into his bedroom.

“stay here,” dowoon warns, then hurries to the bathroom down the hall to gather some towels and a few extra blankets.

when he gets back, the boy is already fast asleep on dowoon’s bed. his back is turned towards the door, face to the open window. the sweater is bunched up at his knees and dowoon blushes something awful when he goes to straighten it out.

carefully, he drapes the flower-patterned blanket over him. the boy curls up under it, searching for warmth. the thin white curtains flutter in time with the sea breeze and the moon filters in through the dirty window glass, becomes watercolor when it hits the shitty drawings of seaweed and fish dowoon scrawled in rainbow markers when he was younger. the night is quiet except for the boy’s soft breathing.

dowoon kicks his worn shoes off and carefully slides the towel under the boy’s head so the pillow won’t get wet and give him a bad case of the coughs come morning light. he hovers by the bed, tilts his head to look at the boy better. there’s something familiar about him, something dowoon can’t quite place. like a fever dream, or the echoes you hear murmuring inside a conch shell.

he shakes his head. it’s getting late and there’s no skipping market duty tomorrow. dowoon sets the blankets he had brought with him down on the floor, turns his back to the bed, and tries to get comfortable enough to find sleep.

//

there’s something tickling his nose. mind still half-asleep, dowoon sneezes, cracks one eye open and fucking-

“jesus. dowoon scrambles back but the boy is still startlingly close. too close. his arms are caging him in and his hair brushes against dowoon’s cheek when he breathes out. he blinks dowoon’s way with wide eyes, then smiles when he sees him awake. dowoon’s elbow slips on the edge of the blanket at the sight and he goes sliding backwards, head hitting hard against the ground. his vision blurs. for one endless second the boy’s blinding smile is all he can see.

“don’t - don’t scare me like that,” dowoon says, wincing when his fingers touch the back of his head. that’s going to bruise ugly in a few hours. the boy’s eye crinkle and his shoulders shake. he’s laughing, dowoon realises, blinking dumbly. laughing at him.

“hey, stop that.” dowoon goes to swat him over the head then stops mid-motion, caught breathless. the boy is laughing alright, eyes bright and smile toothy. dowoon feels his ears begin to burn. this, he thinks, watching the boy duck away to hide his soundless laughter, is very much not good.

there’s a clatter somewhere down the hall. not a second after, sungjin raps his knuckles against his bedroom door and calls out to him to, “come down, breakfast in five. we have a busy schedule today.”

dowoon scrambles to his feet, almost trips on the blanket again. he digs out an old pair of denim shorts from the back of his closet, what’s hopefully a set of clean underwear, and grabs the boy by the end of his sweater before he can make it out of the door.

“clothes first,” he insists when the boy blinks down in question at the bundle dowoon dumps on his arms. “food second.”

they stumble down the stairs a few minutes later. dowoon’s shorts keep slipping down the boy’s hips and dowoon’s pretty sure he also put them on backwards but dowoon counts his losses and decides to tackle one problem at a time.

the most imminent of them being: “who’s this?” sungjin asks from where’s he’s setting the table when. his hand hovers over the table. there’s a piece of fish sizzling on a pan and the rice cooker’s on. the boy can’t seem to take his eyes away from them. sungjin sets the cutlery down and raises an eyebrow.

“he’s, uh,” dowoon falters, grabs the boy’s hand before he can touch the flame flickering on the stove and burn himself. the boy cocks his head in confusion, looks down at their locked fingers, and desists.

“dowoon-ah.” sungjin coughs, an amused smile starting to curl up his lips. “care to explain?”

dowoon breathes in, takes a seat at the table and pushes the boy down on the chair next to his. sungjin takes out another plate from the cupboard and sets it down in front of him, eyes lingering on the way dowoon’s sweater keeps sliding off the boy’s shoulders. sungjin’s smile grows wider.

“i found him last night,” dowoon says in between bites of rice. he turns, rights the chopsticks the boy had been holding upside-down and goes on, “he can’t talk. i think he hit his head.” there's a clatter. the boy fumbles with his chopsticks, seems to give up, and spears one of them right through the fish. it scratches against the plate. dowoon winces. “or something.”

“or something,” sungjin echoes, eyebrows rising up to his hairline when the boy unceremoniously brings up the fish to his mouth and starts to chew. he turns his gaze towards dowoon, who can’t help but sink lower into his chair. “look, dowoon,” his brother starts. “you know i have no problem with it if you want to bring a boy home-”

dowoon scrambles. “it’s not like that!”

“-but you can’t forget about your chores, okay? don’t think i didn’t notice there were no fish in the boat.” sungjin sends him a wry smile over his cup of tea. dowoon burns in shame. “just because mom’s not around doesn’t mean you get to skip work.”

“hyung,” dowoon tries. “it really isn’t like that.”

“you don’t have to lie to me, kid.” sungjin ruffles his hair, grabbing his plate and walking towards the sink. “i’m gonna head out and see if i can catch something before the market hits rush hour. you’ll have to take care of selling what we have ‘till then.”

“okay,” dowoon agrees readily. “sorry.”

“it’s fine.” sungjin chuckles. “i was your age once too, you know.”

“you’re not that old.”

“sure feels like it,” sungjin says, making a show of cracking his back. dowoon chortles, and the boy at his side looks up at the sound. he smiles brightly at dowoon, then steals a piece of fish right off his plate.

when dowoon turns to look back at sungjin, there’s an expression not unlike fondness on his face as he watches the exchange. it’s gone soon enough, but it still leaves dowoon feeling a bit hot around the collar. very much not good.

“i’m gonna head out,” his brother calls out, already slipping his shoes on. “i left you a bit of money on the counter, so go buy yourself clothes that fit after the market closes, yeah?”

“hyung, it’s really not necessary,” dowoon protests because he can deal with old hand-me-downs just fine. it’s not like they’re scraping by, but money is still tight from time to time. they’re a family of fishermen after all, and even though sungjin’s job at the carpenter’s has been helping lately dowoon still doesn’t like spending more than he absolutely has to. “i don’t need new clothes. mine are fine.”

sungjin makes the trek back to the table just so he can flick dowoon on the forehead. “just do as i say, kid. it’s alright. i wouldn’t give you the money if i thought we couldn’t afford it. besides, i don't want you going around looking like a toddler playing dress up.”

“hey!” dowoon cries out but sungjin’s belly-deep laugh drowns out whatever complaints he had left.

“go now before the market opens, you have to set up shop,” sungjin calls out from the foyer. “i’ll be there around twelve!”

dowoon sighs, setting his chopsticks down and letting his head hit the table. next to him, the boy pokes him on the cheek with a finger.

“c’mon,” dowoon says, mustering up what determination he has left and getting to his feet. “we have things to do.”

the boy smiles. dowoon wonders if he knows how much trouble there is hidden in the curve of his lips.

//

dowoon makes a list. he’s not the most organized person (he cleans his room maybe once every two weeks, forgets his homework constantly and stays up too late out at sea, which makes sungjin fret in the worst of ways) but he guesses his brother must have rubbed off on him somewhere along the way.

so he makes a list, and it goes something like this:

1. find out sea boy’s name.
2. find sea boy some clothes
3. get sea boy home.

then, scratched out furiously at the bottom of the page he ripped out from his notebook, it reads: 4. maybe stop staring at sea boy’s lips.

it looks simple enough. considering dowoon is still stuck on point number 1 and failing at number 4 rather spectacularly, he thinks he may have been too hopeful.

“can’t you write it down?” dowoon asks, trying to fend off a toddler with grabby hands and sea boy’s wandering ones at the same time. the market is bustling, spilling over the borders of the town plaza and out into the cobblestone streets. dowoon can barely keep up with the flow of people, never mind keep sea boy and his apparently limitless curiosity in check.

sea boy looks at dowoon and smiles. he’s twirling the pencil dowoon gave him in his hands, playful. the piece of paper sitting in front of him is full of kid-like drawings, no trace of anything that resembles a name. just a chicken scratch ocean and what dowoon thinks might he his own face.

“how’s your mother, dear?” dowoon snaps his attention away from sea boy and turns towards the mayor’s wife. she’s smiling kindly back at him, bags full of groceries hanging from her arms. behind her, brian, her son, waves at him and offers a warm, “hi, dowoonie.”

“hi,” dowoon says back, swatting away sea boy’s hands before he can touch the fish he’s cleaning for the woman. “she’s alright, just out of town visiting my aunt. will that be all?”

“yes.” brian’s mother pulls out her wallet, a bit surprised at dowoon cutting her off, and dowoon feels his ears burn. sungjin is so much better at making small talk with their customers than he is. dowoon is only really comfortable out at sea, where there’s no one to talk to, just the waves and the ocean’s voice for company.

brian shoots him an amused smile, used to dowoon’s fumbling awkwardness after ten years of sharing the same classroom, and shrugs. dowoon kind of wants to sink into the floor.

he feels a soft touch on his hand. when he looks down, sea boy is drumming his fingers on top of his hand. tap tap, it goes, like the neverending push and pull of the ocean’s waves. dowoon feels himself relax.

“and who’s this?” the woman asks, her eyes curious as she looks at sea boy, who blinks back at her and smiles brightly. “i don’t think i’ve seen him around before.”

“uh,” dowoon fumbles. “he’s uh, my cousin,” he settles for. he’s not good at lying. “his name is, um,” his gaze settles on the wad of bills brian’s mother is handing out to him. he grabs them, says, “his name’s won - uh wonpil.” and prays his voice sounds more certain than he feels.

“well, it’s nice to meet you wonpil,” she greets warmly, then pats dowoon on the arm once before saying her goodbyes and disappearing into the bustle of the market.

dowoon slumps down. out of the corner of his eyes, he sees sea boy - now wonpil, he guesses - carefully mouthing along to the syllables of his new name, lips twisting around like the word is less of a sound and more of a puzzle.

“so your cousin, huh?” dowoon glaces up. brian is looking at wonpil curiously, arms crossed over his chest. “you didn’t tell me you were having him over.”

“yeah, it was kind of a last minute thing.” dowoon winces. he hates lying, and he considers brian a friend, so the lie tastes bitter on his tongue. the older boy is always kind to him, and dowoon likes to think they get along well. brian always makes an effort to include him in conversations, even when dowoon fumbles his words, and he saves him a seat in the cafeteria because he knows dowoon hasn’t got that many friends.

they’re not really all that close (brian can usually be found with jaehyung stuck to his hip and dowoon knows there’s no space left for anyone else to fit between those two - friends since childhood who always choose each other because they’re always the best choice even if they’re not always the right one) but dowoon can’t exactly say he accidentally fished himself a boy out of the ocean either.

“well,” brian says, rocking on the balls of his feet. wonpil is playing with the edge of dowoon’s tank, apparently more interested in the patterns of the shirt than in brian, who looks unsure of all a sudden. “i guess i’ll go now,” he says, a tad awkwardly, and waves before following his mother.

dowoon lets his head loll to the side. his eyes meet wonpil’s, who seems like he has a lot to say but no idea how.

“wonpil,” dowoon mumbles and the boy’s lips part in a smile. “do you like it? your name, i mean.”

wonpil brings a hand up to dowoon’s chest, lets it rest there where dowoon feels his heart beating wildly. dowoon, he mouths at him, two syllables but no sound. then he catches dowoon’s hand in his and brings it to his own chest. dowoon swallows, feels the tap tap of wonpil’s heart like waves crashing against the shore of wonpil’s ribcage.

wonpil, he mouths, like his name was a gift. dowoon feels blood rush to his face and the pit of his stomach roll. it feels a lot like riding the cusp of a wave before it goes crashing down. at least, he thinks, he can scratch point number 1 out of the list.

//

dowoon ends up using the money sungjin left him to buy wonpil some clothes that actually fit. sungjin comes around sometime after noon, sees dowoon trying (and failing) to handle the customers and promptly kicks him out of their market spot with an exasperated smile.

“just go,” he says, waving a hand and sighing. he smells like salt and fish, smells like home. if he’s surprised to see wonpil hanging around, he doesn’t say it. “i’ll take care of it.”

“thanks, hyung,” dowoon says gratefully and makes his escape.

wonpil seems to like color. he chooses a few shirts from one of the vendors, all of them bright and loose. he also picks up a sweater because apparently he likes the one dowoon gave him a bit too much. it’s kind of ugly, hot pink and checkered, but wonpil looks happy when dowoon buys it for him and he doesn’t let go of it after. dowoon doesn’t have the heart to protest.

he and wonpil drift for a while. it’s lunch hour, so the market isn’t as crowded as it was before, but the plaza is still full enough for dowoon to feel entitled to hold wonpil’s hand. just so he won’t get lost, he tells himself, and pretends he doesn’t taste the beginnings of another bitter lie on his tongue.

it’s a good thing though, the hand-holding. wonpil seems fascinated by the world around him and he can’t seem to stand still. he drags dowoon to all the market stands that catch his eyes (which is to say, all of them) and dowoon is sure he would have lost him if he weren’t holding onto him to tightly. wonpil spends minutes on end trailing lean fingers over the trinkets the old grandmas sell. bracelets made of knotted string and seaglass, dream-catchers with fluttering feathers and dangling plastic beads.

something in particular seems to catch his attention. he hands dowoon the hotteok dowoon had bought them from a vendor a few streets ago and all but runs to a stand down the block, as if gravity itself was pulling at his strings. dowoon stumbles after him and finds him staring down at a tiny wooden music box, eyes wide and fixed on the mermaid figurine dancing along to a soft melody dowoon can barely hear over the market chatter.

“it’s pretty,” dowoon says awkwardly because it is pretty, but the way wonpil is looking at the trinket - pinprick attention and something not unlike longing in the wistful, downward curve of his smile - makes dowoon feel like he’s missing something.

wonpil nods, reaches out to touch the dancing figurine, and the softness, the almost tenderness of the touch, it makes it seems like the mermaid were made of glass instead of plastic. wonpil’s breath hitches, then he turns to dowoon and points at himself, right at his heart.

“what?” dowoon’s gaze flickers uncertainly from the music box to wonpil and back to the box. there’s something lodged high in his throat. he can hear the lilting melody getting clearer as everything else fades into white noise. “you-?”

wonpil nods, looks back at little mermaid, at its green tail and glittering scales. dowoon swallows, feels it click inside his head. something must show on his face because wonpil laughs, a soundless storm, and dowoon feels like he’s standing right in the eye of it.

so dowoon says, “shit.”

then he takes wonpil’s hands and runs.

//

a month ago, dowoon met a mermaid.

at least he thinks he did. when he told sungjin this after he was done coughing the water out of his lungs, his brother blinked tear-red eyes his way and said, “i think you left your brain back in the water.” then he pulled dowoon close to his chest and hugged him so tightly dowoon felt like was drowning again.

it was supposed to be a calm night. the sea had been lazy all morning and the summer floods had long since left their town and gone westward. dowoon had been alone out at sea (some kid at school had made a mean remark about his worn sneakers, the holes in his uniform shirt, and shame had fast caught up to him), his boat rocking slowly as the sun sank behind the horizon edge and the sky stained like blue ink.

the storm came with no warning. dowoon remembers little of it, and what he does he’d like to forget. there was the wind, angry and howling. the waves, too. rising up like hands reaching into the sky and ripping it open at the seams, letting the rain pour down. dowoon remembers his boat splintering, remembers the sea being blacker than the night and colder than ice. remembers asking for oxygen and finding nothing but salt and water inside his lungs.

dowoon remembers drowning and then - not.

he dreams about it sometimes. the careful touch of two hands heaving him up from the water. the roar of the storm in his ears but even louder still the beating of someone's heart against his chest. if he tries hard enough, he can dredge up the puzzle-piece memory of a smile. the flash of a tail. bright brown eyes. or maybe those had been the stars. dowoon doesn’t know.

what he does know is this: he woke up on the beach, aching and sputtering for breath but miraculously, wonderfully alive. sungjin had been beside him, crying and shouting and relieved enough to put all that aside in favor of holding dowoon close and letting him breathe in the smell of home.

when dowoon asked him how he saved him, how he found him and pulled him out of the storm, sungjin had shaken his head and said simply, “i didn’t.”

now, dowoon sits on his bedroom floor, wonpil in front of him, and remembers a pair of bright eyes. thinks he finally knows who to thank.

“so,” he starts. “you’re a mermaid.”

wonpil pauses, seems to think it over, then he nods. like it’s that simple, like he hasn’t just tilted dowoon’s world on its side. told him his fever dreams had some truth to them, after all.

“okay,” dowoon breathes out. “then how are you - here? like, don’t you, uh, breathe water?”

wonpil snorts, lips pulling up into a smile before it falters, falls. the sky is beginning to darken but there’s still enough light for dowoon to see the sadness creeping slowly over his features. without thinking, he reaches out, crosses lines and the small distance between them and lays a hand on wonpil’s knee, where he sits cross-legged on the floor.

“sorry,” dowoon says. wonpil shrugs. “do you miss it?” he asks and doesn’t know how he expects wonpil to answer. but wonpil nods, longing pulling at the corners of his mouth and dowoon forgets about words like impossibilities and how. he scuttles forward so his knees knock against wonpil’s and does his best to offer comfort the only way he knows how, the way sungjin taught him through example, by being there.

“i’ll get you home,” dowoon says in the quiet of his bedroom. tries to sound sure, firm like rocks standing strong against an overpowering current. “don’t worry.”

and wonpil - smiles, squeezes dowoon’s hand in his. a wordless thank you, and dowoon feels the current pull him under.

//

things fall into place after that. it’s strange, but wonpil fits easily into dowoon’s life. not so much like a puzzle piece making a picture whole but more like the next note in a song, somewhat unexpected but still right. always right.

it’s a good thing his mother is out of town. there are no complaints or threats of a fight. sure, there's a few raised eyebrows from sungjin when wonpil starts to show up at breakfast every morning and dowoon knows sungjin is aware of the mess of blankets that have become dowoon’s bed since wonpil started sleeping on his own but his brother keeps his mouth shut about it. he goes the extra mile even; starts to buy more watermelon when he notices it’s wonpil’s favorite and sings them songs on his old guitar when he finds the time to spare. welcomes wonpil with open arms because that’s what he’s always done.

it’s fun and familiar and time seems to tick slower. summer becomes endless and painted in shades of honey.

dowoon spends his time on the beach with wonpil. they’ll sit, or they’ll lay down, and then wonpil will draw shapes in the sand for dowoon to guess what story he’s trying to tell. wonpil draws him a castle, draws mermaids and a crown. dowoon points at them and says home. he draws a full moon, a boat battling against too-tall waves and a boy made of seashells and dowoon says me. then dowoon reaches down and scratches a boy with a tail, draws two hands coming together and says, you.

wonpil adds a smiley face next to his drawing and fits his fingers into the spaces between dowoon’s own.

it’s not like dowoon forgets about the list, but it does becomes less of a priority. it’s just - wonpil seems happy. sure, sometimes when dowoon takes him out on his boat wonpil will stare at the water with an expression not unlike yearning twisting across his face and yes, sometimes dowoon finds him sitting on the porch at night, looking at the sea and the growing moon like they’re holding the answers to his questions. but then he’ll look at dowoon, or he’ll laugh that soundless burst of joy and take dowoon’s hand in his and there’s a happiness there, too.

so dowoon forgets. there’s a knot of feeling inside his chest that grows with each day that passes by and it overshadows everything else because maybe it was wonpil who got caught up inside dowoon’s net, but dowoon’s the one that’s trapped, and he doesn't really want to find a way out.

and then, wonpil starts to die.

//

they’re laying on dowoon’s bed. the moon is a half-shadow, barely visible through the window, and wonpil is gesturing with his hands, sprawling shapes dowoon can’t make sense of. he’s trying to tell him something and dowoon likes to think he’s getting better at their guessing game, but right now he can’t even start to figure out what wonpil is trying to say.

“the moon?” dowoon tries when wonpil sits up and points out of the window. “what’s with it?”

wonpil huffs, seems to give up. he opens his mouth like he wants to tell dowoon off for being so goddamn dense but he coughs instead, and the sound rasps against his throat like sandpaper.

“you okay?” dowoon asks when the coughing stops. wonpil sends him the beginnings of a strained smile and then doubles over, coughing again. it rattles his whole body, makes him shake, and dowoon scrambles forward to keep him from falling off the bed.

“wonpil,” he calls out, hands flitting around. he doesn't know what to do. wonpil is clearly in pain. he’s heaving for breath, face pale, and when dowoon smoothes a hand down his back he feels a layer of cold sweat. “tell me what to do. what do you need? what can i -”

wonpil’s body shakes with one last cough, then he straightens up. he reaches for dowoon with a shaky hand and presses his palm against the curve of dowoon’s cheek. dowoon closes his eyes, breathes away the remnants of panic, and holds wonpil close.

//

after that, wonpil starts to get worse. the pale tone of his skin becomes the norm and he’s weaker than before - even getting out of bed in the morning seems to take effort. his smiles are dimming, eyes tired, and no matter how many times dowoon takes him out into the sea whatever sickness took a hold of him just seem to cling tighter, twisting like seaweed around his neck and pulling tight.

dowoon frets, and dowoon worries. most of all he tries to find a solution. it’s no use asking wonpil, who barely manages to croak out half-sounds and weary smiles, so dowoon does what he can and looks elsewhere.

he types in what to do when your mermaid is dying in the only computer the public library has and hopes for the best. google supplies him with an endless list of online folklore forums and conspiracy theory blogs. any variations of his question just offer up the same results.

dowoon stares at a picture of what looks like a mermaid, only the fish part is on top and the legs are human. he sighs, logs out, and tries not to feel like he’s drowning all over again.

//

it’s wonpil who finds the answer in the end. actually, it’s more like he finally figures out how to tell dowoon what’s wrong with him and dowoon manages to break out of his stupor to hear him.

he comes home a week after wonpil first got sick to find wonpil sitting on the floor in his room, a frown on his face and about half of dowoon’s meager library scattered all around him.

“um,” dowoon starts, one foot inside his bedroom. “what are you doing?”

wonpil twists around at the sound of his voice. he looks tired and still scarily pale but his eyes are bright. he’s holding a book by the edges high enough to cover the smile dowoon knows is making his eyes crinkle up, and he’s beaming.

he pats the space on the floor beside him and dowoon complies, sitting down next to him. wonpil dumps the book on his lap and hastily leafs through the pages until he finds the one he’s looking for. it’s a fairy tale book, the kind dowoon hasn't opened since he was five and stopped believing in things like magic, at least until wonpil came along.

wonpil hasn't shown much interest in anything like this before. considering he doesn’t know how to read dowoon wasn't really expecting him to, so the eager smile on wonpil’s face comes as a surprise. this particular book is full of pictures, though, so maybe that’s why.

wonpil taps the book once and dowoon looks down. there’s a picture of snow white and her prince staring up at him. they’re kissing, and wonpil puts his finger right there where their lips meets. tap tap, he goes and dowoon feels his heart drop.

“so you need to kiss a prince,” he says.

wonpil pauses. his lips pull into a shallow line, holding back soundless words. it looks like there’s more to the matter but no way to say it. in the end, wonpil settles for a sharp nod.

“alright,” dowoon says. he slams the book shut with more force than necessary. his stomach rolls unpleasantly. he doesn’t think he can stare at the picture any longer. “only problem is, we don’t have a prince for you to kiss.”

wonpil frowns. he rises to his feet quickly and shuffles around until he finds a stray piece of paper. dowoon hands him a red pen when he realizes what he wants and watches wonpil plop back down and start to draw.

it takes him a few minutes, but eventually wonpil sets the pen down and hands dowoon the paper. there’s a crude drawing of the moon circle, a crescent turning into a half turning into a whole. the full moon is crossed over three times and the paper is ripped there where wonpil dug he tip of the pen too deep. it looks like the moon is bleeding.

“what happens on the full moon? dowoon asks, tapping his finger against it.

wonpil makes a croaking sound, then brings his finger up to his neck and maks a slicing motion that’s all too familiar. he collapses in dowoon’s lap, fakes convulsing, then lays still as a statue. dowoon swallows back a knot of fear and drops his hand to curl on wonpil’s hair, who cracks one eye open and stares up at him, left hand clutching at the hem of dowoon’s shirt.

“you die,” dowoon says, his voice breaking like shells. “if you aren’t back in the sea by the full moon, you die.”

wonpil nods, straightening up. he sits on his knees, hands settling on dowoon’s thighs, and leans in closer until dowoon feels his breath across his lips.

“we better find you a prince soon then,” dowoon stutters out, drawing back. the words leave such a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. he feels nauseous. “there’s only a week until the full moon.”

wonpil seems to sighs, the quietest of sounds, and rocks back on his heels. puts distance between them. dowoon swallows, and starts to count.

//

it comes to him two days before the full moon. dowoon is dragging that day’s catch from the beach up towards his house when he hears the sound of footsteps. he twists around, sees two figures kicking up a storm of sand as they rush across the beach, and it’s only when they’re a few feet away that dowoon recognizes them.

“hey, dowoon,” brian greets him. he’s breathless from running, voice barely more than a wheeze. his shirt is wet around the collar, but he’s grinning so widely dowoon thinks it must hurt.

“yo,” jae pipes up from behind him, catching up to brian and putting his hands over his knees. he takes a minute to breathe, then gives dowoon a small wave. “how’s it going.”

“it’s going,” dowoon answers, fiddling awkwardly with the net full of fish by his side. jae shoots him a weird look but all dowoon can do is shrug. that’s the best answer he can give, honestly. wonpil is sleeping in the house, tired and worn down, and he’s all dowoon’s been thinking about. like the sea and its moonmade gravity. “what are you guys doing?”

“ditching,” jae answers, throwing a hand over brian’s shoulder and pulling him into a headlock. “bri’s old man is having some of his colleagues over. old people stuff, insanely boring. we bailed as soon as they started talking about tax increases.”

“oh,” dowoon says. then, like it’s been punched out of him, “oh.” brian’s father, who’s the major. who’s in charge of the town, a ruler in a sense. a king. which means,

“brian hyung,” dowoon starts, fighting to get the words out of his throat. “could you - could you do me a favor?”

“uh, sure, dowoonie,” brian says, exchanging a look with jae, who shrugs at him. “what do you need?”

“would you take wonpil out on a date?” dowoon asks, a tad desperately. the words feel wrong on his tongue, stilted and sour, but dowoon forces himself to push through. “please, hyung. he’s leaving soon, tomorrow actually, and he - he really likes you. so could you maybe? it would mean a lot to him.”

brian’s face is twisted in shock, jaw open and caught off guard. dowoon hates to do this to him, because he knows brian well enough to know he’ll say yes, if only because dowoon’s asking. he’s nice like that. to his side, jae’s mouth is pursed tight. he tightens his grip on brian’s shoulders.

“um,” brian says. he hesitates, but he must see something in dowoon’s face - the misery maybe, the very real fear of wonpil dying if he doesn’t pull this off - because he says, “okay, yeah. i can do that.” he chances a glance at jae, who stands stiffly and takes his arm off brian’s shoulder. “but it’s just a date, like a favor. nothing more, yeah?”

“of course,” dowoon breathes out, nods eagerly in reassurance. “nothing more.” at least he hopes so.

“i think i’ll go home now,” jae says then. he shoots dowoon a strained smile and then walks away in the direction of the town. brian watches him disappear, hands twitching at his sides, shuffling on his feet like the sand is hot, like he wants to run away. he says, “i’ll uh, pick your cousin up tomorrow then? at noon?” and barely waits for dowoon to nod his assent before he takes off after jae.

dowoon watches them go, heaves his bag over one shoulder and starts the trek back home.

//

“but you have to!” dowoon pushes at wonpil’s shoulders. the boy is deceptively strong, and pretty stubborn too. he digs his heels in, refuses to move a single inch away from the bedroom. “you’ll die if you don’t go. come on, you have to.”

wonpil slumps down at that, seems to give up all pretense of a fight. dowoon goes careening forward at the sudden lack of resistance and crashes right into wonpil, who trips on air and sends them both sprawling across the floor.

it’s silent as dowoon picks himself up, trying not to stare at wonpil’s lips because the thought of them just brings forth the image of the picture book, the drawing of snow white and her prince, which then inevitably warps into wonpil and brian. dowoon sighs and stops his thought right there.

“look,” he starts when wonpil just keeps on glaring at the floor, lips pursed and forehead creased. “the full moon is tonight and brian hyung is the closest thing this town has to a prince, so you have to try. or else you're going to die and i can’t - you can’t-”

dowoon doesn’t realize he's starting to tear up until wonpil wraps his arms around him and squeezes tight. he smells like the ocean, dowoon thinks, burrowing his face against the fabric of his own sweater, which wonpil insisted on wearing. he smells like summer. the comfort of open space made into a beating heart.

when wonpil draws back to look at him, there’s a sad smile stretched thinly across his face but he nods once, climbs up to his feet and reaches out a hand for dowoon to take. the sound of the doorbell ringing reaches them from downstairs and then sungjin’s calling out a slightly confused “uh, dowoon? brian’s here!” and dowoon is ushering wonpil out of his bedroom and down the stairs to meet him.

“just go,” dowoon says when wonpil turns to shoot him one last look. “go get your kiss.” wonpil opens his mouth, visibly growing frustrated when nothing comes out, only silence. then he sighs and steps out of the door, greeting brian with a polite nod.

sungjin watches from the kitchen as the door slams shut. he turns towards dowoon, who slumps down on the kitchen table and fights the urge to run straight out of the door. he can’t be that selfish. he just wants wonpil to be okay, if that means him having to kiss someone else, then so be it.

still, he can’t deny it aches, seeing him walk away.

“so,” sungjin starts, settling down on the chair in front of his. he has his hands wrapped around a mug of tea and a confused frown on his face. “want to tell me what that was about?”

“they’re going on a date,” dowoon says, shrugging helplessly. “wonpil and brian hyung, i mean.”

sungjin chokes on his tea. “what,” he says. “weren’t you two together though?”

“yes,” dowoon says because it sure felt like it. then his words catch up to him and he hurries to explain. “i mean, no. maybe, i-” he sighs. “it’s complicated.”

“then uncomplicate it,” sungjin says firmly, setting his mug down and reaching for dowoon’s hand. “because i think you’re making a mistake. letting him go like that.”

dowoon turns to look at his brother, asks, “hyung, do you believe in mermaids?”

sungjin’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. he looks down at his mug and takes in a breath. “i think i’m gonna need some more tea.”

//

it takes them four cups of tea and most of the afternoon light, but dowoon manages to get through the whole story without choking up (much).

the sky is beginning to darken when sungjin finally sets his mug down and says, “so you’re in love with a merman.”

dowoon huffs out a breath of air. “is that all you took from the whole story? seriously.”

“i mean,” sungjin waves a hand around. “it’s not everyday your little brother tells you he’s in love with a fish you know?” he laughs, and it sounds disbelieving. “what will mom say. she wanted grandkids, dowoon-ah. and i wanted at least one niece to spoil. or a nephew. i’m not picky.”

“stop,” dowoon pleads, burying his head in the cradle of his arms. “please.”

“okay, yeah sorry, you're right. there’s always adoption.”

“hyung,” dowoon whines. then he sighs. “it’s not like it matters anyways. wonpil’ll end up with brian. that’s what always happens. the prince gets the boy.”

sungjin hums. “see, i don’t think that’s true.”

“don’t joke around,” dowoon huffs. “it’s meant to be. he’s literally going to save his life, hyung. with a kiss. it’s like, destiny.”

“but it isn’t the prince that make the kiss work.” sungjin reaches out, ruffles dowoon’s hair a bit harder than he normally would. “it’s the love.”

“gross,” dowoon grits out, ready to protest, but then there’s a muted shout and someone starts banging on their door. dowoon scrambles up, accidentally knocks sungjin’s mug to the ground with an elbow. it shatters on impact. dowoon rushes to open the door.

it’s brian, looking lost and panic-stricken. his chest is heaving and he barely has enough breath to get out a strained “wonpil’s hurt” and point towards the beach.

dowoon is running before he knows it. bare feet against the sand, dowoon sees a figure hunched down by the shore, waist deep into the water. he thinks he hears sungjin and brian shouting after him to stop, but dowoon wades into the water and then there’s only the moon, full and bright hanging above him, and the boy dying in between the waves.

“hey,” dowoon croaks out, grabbing wonpil by the forearms and feeling the current kicking at his legs. wonpil looks up at the sound of his voice, eyes hazy and grip weak where he reached out to hold dowoon by the shoulders.

dowoon thinks he sees him smile, thinks he sees him mouth the two syllables of his name. wonpil clutches at his shirt like it’s an anchor and follows dowoon’s voice like it’s a lifeline. dowoon thinks about sungjin’s words and then thinks maybe and then he thinks nothing more because he’s kissing wonpil and all words become the same, become finally.

wonpil tastes like the sea because he is the sea. the wind is rushing all around them and there’s salt on dowoon’s lips. his heart beats that tap tap sound of waves crashing on the shore and the current pulls at him, asks him to move and make way but dowoon stands still in wonpil’s arms, anchored and ocean-bound, because if wonpil’s the sea then dowoon is drowning and there’s no amount, no promise of air that could make him want to come up for breath.

when they part there’s the sound of the sea, the frantic screaming of his brother and brian on the shore, and then there’s a voice saying, “took you long enough,” and wonpil is - wonpil is -

he’s smiling. soft, content, bright as the moon above them and the feeling tugging at dowoon’s chest. he says, “thank you,” and his voice is the sea when it’s calm and steady but it still rattles up a storm inside dowoon, who blinks at him and asks, “what for?”

“saving me,” wonpil answers simply and tugs dowoon closer by the edge of his shirt.

the waves crash against them. dowoon says, “i’m just returning the favor,” and kisses him again.

//

wonpil explains it to him afterwards, with his own voice and his own words. how he broke the rules when he pulled dowoon out of the storm that night. the ocean had to right the balance, he says, a life for a life. it took wonpil’s voice and wonpil’s tail and banished him to the shore, where he got caught in dowoon’s net.

“but now it’s okay?” dowoon asks, tightening his hold on wonpil’s hand. he hasn’t let him go since sungjin pulled them both away from the sea and brian very carefully said, “so you’re not really cousins right?”

“yes,” wonpil says, a little bit sad, a little bit earthbound. but as a whole? happy, and entirely so. “i can’t go back, not as i used to but. that’s fine. there’s more for me here anyways.”

“yeah?” dowoon grins. “and what’s that?”

“oh, i don’t know.” wonpil laughs and dowoon thinks he’ll never get tired of hearing the sound. thinks he’ll ask sungjin to build him a music box, maybe, so he can keep it safe. “cooked food. fruit. sungjin’s tea.”

“me,” dowoon asks, leaning forward to press a kiss on wonpil’s cheek.

“you,” wonpil agrees and this time their kiss tastes like summer.

//