Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sea has always taken from Yoo Jaeyi. She never thought it would give back.

The memory comes to her now like the hush between waves: the creak of old wood, the scent of salt and smoke, and her father’s voice weaving magic into the dark. She’s seven again, curled under a threadbare quilt, the faint glow of the lantern painting gold across her father’s weathered face.

“Appa,” she says, eyes wide and sleepy. “Did you see one again? A mermaid?”

Taejoon chuckles, the sound deep and fond. “Ah, you always ask that. Every time I come home, you think I’ve met a creature from your stories.”

“But you said you saw one once!” she insists, sitting up straighter. “By the black rocks, remember? The one with the silver tail!”

He hums, pretending to think, gaze distant as if searching the memory again. “Mm. Maybe I did. Or maybe the sea just wanted to tease me. She does that sometimes.”

“Tell me again,” Jaeyi whispers, tugging at his sleeve. “Pleaseeee.”

Taejoon smiles, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He leans back on his arms, voice softening into story.

“They say the mermaids live deep beneath the cliffs of Haneul’s Edge,” he begins. “Where light never reaches, and the water hums with songs older than the kings. Some say they’re the sea’s daughters, beautiful, dangerous, and lonely. They wait for sailors who venture too far, whispering promises of calm seas…and when the sailors draw near—”

Jaeyi gasps, pressing a hand to her mouth.

“—they vanish beneath the waves,” he finishes, grinning as she lets out a tiny squeak. “But not all of them mean harm. Once, long ago, I saw one at dawn. The sea was quiet that morning, the color of melted glass. She was sitting on a rock, brushing her hair with coral. She looked at me—” His eyes soften. “—and smiled.”

“Did you talk to her?”

He laughs. “What would I say to a creature who belongs to the sea? I just waved. And she…she sang. It sounded like the ocean itself was singing.”

Jaeyi’s voice is small.

“Have you been to their kingdom?”

“Not yet,” he’d wink. “But one day, I’ll find it. I’ll bring back proof so everyone in this stubborn village will believe me.”

The grandmothers at the market would call him reckless, the man who sails further than anyone dares. But to Jaeyi, he is a hero carved from tides and sunlight. She believes every word, because her father’s eyes always look like they’ve seen something the rest of the world never will.

“I want to go too.” Jaeyi says, voice barely a breath.

Taejoon smiles, gaze distant. He reaches out, brushing her hair from her face. “Maybe one day, little fish. One day.”

Morning breaks over Haneul Bay in a blush of gray and gold.

Yoo Jaeyi rises before the sun, as she always does, the air in her cottage sharp with salt and chill. She knots her braid with a strip of silk that once belonged to her mother, then pulls on her fishing coat, the fabric stiff with sea spray. Outside, gulls cry and waves slap against the pilings, an old, familiar rhythm that’s as much heartbeat as sound.

She moves through the small rituals of her day: mending nets by the window where the light hits the floorboards just right; pouring water into the iron kettle; checking the traps she left near the shallows. Her hands work from memory, quick and sure, though her mind drifts.

At the edge of the bay, her father’s boat waits, her boat, now. The Little Fish. Its paint is peeling, the name faded, but Jaeyi runs her palm across the wood like one might over a scar.

“The sea takes care of those who respect her,” her father used to say. “Remember that, Jaeyi-yah.”

Jaeyi snorts softly at that, though her fingers linger on the hull a moment longer before she pushes the boat out. The morning tide is low, and the wind smells of rain.

The village wakes slow, smoke curling from chimneys, roosters crying over the hum of the surf. Jaeyi moves through it with practiced ease, basket in hand, boots sinking into damp sand. The other fishers nod politely, though some glance with that same familiar mix of admiration and worry.

“Out early again, Jaeyi?” one of the grandmothers calls from a porch, shawl tight around her shoulders.

Jaeyi grunts, barely glancing up. “Fish don’t catch themselves, halmeoni.”

The woman clucks her tongue. “You take after your father too much. One day, the sea will swallow you whole, same as him.”

Jaeyi only smirks, adjusting the strap of her basket. “Then at least I’ll know where he went.”

She leaves before the old woman can scold her again.

Her boat waits where the shore meets stone. She pushes it out alone, muscles moving on instinct. The sea is still half-asleep, glassy and pale beneath a bleeding sunrise.

It’s quiet out here. It always is.

The farther she rows, the more the world falls away: the village becomes a blur, the cliffs fade to mist. She hums under her breath, an old song her father used to sing between casts. The rhythm keeps her company as she works, the drag of the net, the pull of the line, the splash of the catch.

Hours pass. The sun climbs. By midmorning, her basket is half-full, her arms aching, her braid damp with spray.

She pauses to rest, gazing out across the open blue. The sea stretches endless before her, the same sea that took her father six years ago. No body. No wreck. Just the whisper of waves and the memory of a promise:

Maybe one day, little fish. One day.

Jaeyi looks away.

On the horizon, something flickers, a glimmer of silver just beneath the surface. It vanishes before she can blink. She frowns, shakes her head. Probably a fish.

Probably.

By the time she rows back to shore, the market’s alive with noise and laughter. She trades her catch for coins, buys a jar of kimchi and rice, and slips through the crowd before anyone can linger too long. Children run past her, chasing a wooden hoop; someone’s singing about a sailor who fell in love with a sea witch.

Jaeyi’s mouth twitches, almost a smile.

When evening comes, she sits by the window with a bowl of rice and dried fish, staring at the darkening water. The air smells like rain. Nets are coiled by the door, ready for morning.

She doesn’t know it yet, but this will be the last night she spends alone.

Tomorrow, the sea will give her something back.

Far below the sunlit skin of the sea, where light bends into ribbons and everything moves slow as dreams, she wakes.

The world here hums, not with sound, but with pulse. The coral breathes in colors, the sand sighs when the current turns. Schools of silverfish flit past like falling stars. And she, the girl of the sea, drifts among them, eyes still heavy with sleep.

The dolphins arrive before she calls. They always do. Three of them, sleek and laughing, circling her in greeting. She smiles, pressing her forehead against one’s snout, her hair floating like sea grass. The dolphin chirps, and she answers in the old tongue, the language of waves and heartbeats, older than any human word.

It’s a soft, round sound, full of vowels and melody. It means: “Good morning, my friends.”

She spends her mornings like this, tending to the reef and the creatures that live there. Among her kind, she’s known for her kindness to the smaller creatures, for how she hums lullabies to frightened seals and wounded fish.

It’s what her mother used to do, long ago, before the fever took her and her father both. Now, their shells rest in the garden of anemones, glimmering pale beneath the drifting light.

She visits them first. Always first.

The coral grave hums with faint bioluminescence, pulsing softly with the tide. She lays a woven chain of pearls at the base, her slender fingers trembling just a little. “The sea keeps you safe,” she whispers in her tongue, voice bubbling through the water. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

Then she works.

She brushes the algae off the coral spires, her tail sweeping slow and elegant through the water. She sings to the seaweed beds so they grow tall and green. She untangles a young turtle caught between rocks, laughing when it kicks away with clumsy thanks.

The dolphins follow, teasing her as she works, tugging at her hair or darting through her hands. When she scolds them, it’s without heat, her giggles echo through the blue like bubbles.

By midday, the light above ripples golden. She rises closer to the surface, squinting up at the blurry shape of the world beyond the waves. The human world.

Her mother used to warn her: Don’t swim too close. They’ll net you, hurt you, sell your scales for gold.

Her father used to laugh: Ah, but she’ll want to see them one day. The ones who walk on land.

Sometimes, she wonders which of them was right.

She’s curious about humans, though she’s never seen one up close. Their ships pass sometimes, dark bellies cutting through the water, loud and strange. Once, she saw a boy leaning over the edge, tossing crumbs to the sea. She had almost surfaced.

Almost.

Today, though, the current feels uneasy.

She’s drifting near the kelp beds when a dolphin’s cry pierces the water, sharp, frantic. She startles, turning just as one of her companions streaks toward her, eyes wide, chirping in alarm.

“What is it?” she asks, though she already feels the fear thrumming through the current.

The dolphin rushes to her, spinning tight circles, voice high with alarm. She understands immediately, the other one, its mate, is in trouble.

“Show me,” she says, and follows.

They cut through the water fast, the cold biting at her skin as they near the surface.

The dolphin’s distress call grows sharper until she sees it: a net, sprawling and heavy, half-sunk in the shallows.

A fisherman’s net.

The second dolphin thrashes helplessly, half-caught in a coarse, unfamiliar net. The ropes bite into its fin, tangling tighter with every movement. She darts closer, ignoring the sting of sand and debris.

“Hold still!” she urges in her tongue, her hands working fast, prying at the knots. The fibers scrape her skin raw.

Her pulse races. She’s never been this close to their traps before. One wrong move and she’ll be pulled up, too. But the dolphin lets out another desperate squeal, and that decides it for her.

She digs her fingers into the knots, pulling, twisting, biting one strand apart with her teeth when her nails fail her. The dolphin thrashes again, then, at last, breaks free.

“There!” she gasps, voice bubbling through the water. “You’re okay!”

She smiles, exhausted.

But then she feels it, the tug. The weight.

She looks down.

The net has caught her tail, wrapped tight around the scales near the fin. She tries to pull away, but pain sears up her spine, sharp and sudden. Bubbles escape her lips in a gasp. The dolphins circle her in panic, chittering, but she forces a small smile.

“Go,” she tells them. “It’s alright. Go.”

They hesitate only a second before darting off into the blue, their shapes vanishing into the deep.

She tries again. Panic floods her veins as she twists, but the motion only makes it worse. Pain flares sharp and hot, her pearlescent scales tearing, her tail bleeding faint streaks of silver into the water.

Above, something tugs. Hard.

The net jerks upward, and she cries out, a muffled sound swallowed by the sea. She grabs at the rope, but it’s useless; she’s being pulled, rising faster than she can think.

Light breaks over her like shattered glass, blinding, burning.

Her heart pounds. She’s never been this close to the surface, never felt the air hum so near her skin.

The water breaks with a violent splash, and the cold air hits her like a blow. For the first time, she breathes air, not with lungs, but with shock. The sky stretches wide and endless above her, pale and heavy with clouds.

She blinks through the spray, trembling, half out of the water and half in, the net biting deep into her tail.

And then—

A shadow leans over the edge of the boat.

A woman, sun-browned and sharp-eyed, hair braided with a silk ribbon that’s darkened with mist. Calloused hands grip the net, pulling. Her gaze locks onto the impossible sight before her.

A creature of myth, caught in her net, and for the briefest moment, both of them forget to breathe.

The wind stills.

The waves hush.

The rope tightens once more, and the mermaid’s small, sharp gasp meets the woman’s quiet, disbelieving whisper.

“…by the gods,” Yoo Jaeyi breathes. “It’s real.”

The mermaid jerks at the sound, flinching hard. The movement makes the net tighten around her tail, and a small cry escapes her lips, high and melodic, not quite human. Silver blood clouds the water, swirling like smoke.

“Ah—hey, no, don’t move!” Jaeyi blurts, panic lacing her tone. “You’ll make it worse—”

The mermaid doesn’t understand. Her hands twist in the cords, desperate to flee. Each tug only deepens the cut. Her breaths come short and fast, chest trembling.

“Stop, please—” Jaeyi drops to her knees, voice softening instantly. “I’m not— I won’t hurt you, I swear it.”

The mermaid blinks up, confused. Her head tilts slightly, the way a dog might when hearing a strange sound. The motion is so small, so curious, it makes Jaeyi’s heart stutter.

“You don’t…understand me, do you?” Jaeyi murmurs.

The mermaid tilts her head again.

Jaeyi swallows, trying to calm the tremor in her hands. The silver sheen spreading in the water makes her stomach twist, it’s beautiful and wrong all at once.

“Damn it,” she mutters, swallowing hard. “I’m not— I won’t hurt you, alright? Just—” she gestures helplessly, “just let me—help.”

Her voice breaks at the last word. The mermaid goes still, not because she understands, but because Jaeyi’s tone is softer than the sea’s.

The ropes creak as Jaeyi pulls the net closer, wincing every time the mermaid flinches. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, again and again, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry— I have to get you out.”

Each tug draws the net toward the side of her small boat. Each tug earns a whimper, a flash of pearly scales, another trail of silver in the water.

“Almost there,” Jaeyi whispers, though her throat feels tight. “Please, just hold on.”

When the net finally reaches the hull, she braces herself, arms shaking, and hauls it halfway out of the water. The mermaid gasps, her upper body now above the surface, tail still trapped below. She blinks rapidly, dazed, and tilts her head in confusion at the human’s hurried apologies.

“You really don’t understand me, do you?” she says softly, a strained laugh slipping out.

The mermaid tilts her head the other way.

“Right,” Jaeyi murmurs, “I’ll take that as a no.”

She reaches for the net, fingers brushing over slick scales as she searches for the knots. The moment her skin meets the mermaid’s, both of them freeze.

The contact is electric, not painful, but alive. Warmth flares between their hands, startling them both. Jaeyi jerks back on instinct; the mermaid gasps, pupils dilating, mouth parting slightly in shock.

“I—sorry—” Jaeyi stammers, voice suddenly too loud in the open sea.

The mermaid stares, breathing fast, her gills fluttering faintly along her ribs. Then, clumsily, she tries to right herself, but without the water to cradle her weight, she slips forward, tail thrashing weakly.

“Careful!” Jaeyi lunges to catch her, arms wrapping around the mermaid’s shoulders before she can fall overboard.

And then, stillness.

Jaeyi’s breath catches. The mermaid is trembling against her, skin cool and impossibly soft beneath her rough hands. Silver blood glistens where the rope cut into her tail. For a long, suspended moment, the only sound is their breathing, the human’s ragged and uncertain, the mermaid’s soft and shivering.

Up close, Jaeyi sees her eyes aren’t gray after all. They’re every color the sea has ever been.

“Hey,” Jaeyi whispers, voice breaking into something almost like wonder. “You’re real.”

The mermaid blinks up at her, still afraid, still not understanding.

But this time, she doesn’t pull away.

A sudden shimmer ripples through the mermaid’s tail, light blooming from within, soft at first, then blinding. Jaeyi flinches back, nearly losing her balance as the glow intensifies, turning the sea around them to molten silver.

“What—what’s happening?” she gasps, throwing up an arm to shield her eyes.

The glow builds until Jaeyi has to turn away. Then, as suddenly as it began, the light dies.

For a moment there’s only the sound of the sea and her own pounding heart.

Then a small, shaky breath.

Jaeyi turns back.

The creature in her net is gone. In her place lies a girl, still tangled in the ropes, drenched, shivering, her hair now a deep brown instead of green. Her tail…gone. In its place are legs, pale and trembling, streaked with the same silvery blood across the calf where the net cut deep. The gills along her ribs have vanished; her chest rises and falls in ragged, human breaths.

Jaeyi’s throat goes dry. “Oh…gods above.”

The girl looks just as horrified, staring at her hands, now bare and unwebbed. She makes a small, frightened sound, half sob, half question.

The realization slams into her a second later, she’s looking at a naked woman.

Her entire face bursts into heat. “Oh—oh no—oh stars—wait—”

Jaeyi reacts on instinct. She grabs the heavy jacket hanging at the bow and kneels beside her, draping it around the trembling figure before she can think too hard about what she’s seeing.

“Here—here, cover yourself,” she says quickly, voice shaking. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The girl’s eyes, no longer silver-gray but a deep, uncertain brown, blink up at her. She doesn’t understand the words, but she clutches the jacket close all the same, breathing unevenly.

They stare at each other, neither moving, the sea around them eerily calm.

The first to break the silence is the girl. A small, uncertain sound leaves her throat, sounding more human now.

Jaeyi swallows hard, forcing her voice to steady. “It’s…alright. You’re safe. I don’t— I don’t know what just happened, but…you’re safe.”

The girl tilts her head again, that same puzzled motion as before, but softer now, like she’s trying to understand the words by watching Jaeyi’s mouth form them.

Thunder cracks overhead.

A sound so sharp, so sudden, it feels like the sky has split open.

Seulgi flinches violently, her hands flying to her ears. The air tastes strange up here, too thin, too dry. The water rocks her, cold and heavy, and every sound feels too loud.

The human in front of her, the one with the dark eyes and trembling hands, jumps too, muttering something that Seulgi doesn’t understand.

Then she’s moving, fast. Pulling on ropes, turning the long wooden thing (a boat, Seulgi remembers from whispered stories) toward the distant cliffs. The sky is bruising over, waves rising with the wind.

Lightning flashes. The world becomes white for a breath.

Seulgi curls tighter into herself, clutching the strange cloth around her body. Her new legs ache, heavy and wrong, the wound on one burning fiercely. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do now. Swim away? Sink back down? Can she even swim like this anymore?

She’s still staring at her feet, at the unfamiliar shape of them, when the human returns. The movement startles her; she jerks back, eyes wide.

The human stops immediately, palms raised. Her voice softens, the rhythm of it careful, almost like a song. “Hey, it’s alright. I just—your leg—” She gestures gently to the wound. “You’re bleeding. I need to help.”

Her voice means nothing to Seulgi at first. The sounds are strange and clumsy, heavy in her ears. Human words. The language of danger, her mother used to say.

Stay away from them. They bring death.

There’s something in her tone that reminds Seulgi of whale songs, the soft rise and fall, the way meaning hides in melody.

She hesitates. Then, slowly, nods.

Jaeyi exhales, a shaky sound of relief, and moves closer. Her touch is tentative, the tips of her fingers brushing Seulgi’s skin as if afraid she’ll vanish. Seulgi tenses when the cloth tightens around her wound, a sting of pain biting up her leg, but she doesn’t pull away.

Seulgi doesn’t understand Jaeyi’s words at first, they’re a strange, harsh jumble, like shells clattering on coral.

Jaeyi keeps speaking softly, every syllable low and careful, her brow furrowed in focus. And as Seulgi listens, really listens, something strange begins to happen.

The human’s words are starting to make sense, not clear, but less like gibberish. Hurt. Stop. Bleeding. Bits and pieces click, and she wonders why.

Because she’s human now too?

Her pod never spoke of this, of understanding humans, of tails turning to legs. She was terrified when her tail shimmered and glowed, splitting into legs beneath her. All she knows is to avoid humans, their nets, their ships.

But this one, with her sharp voice and soft hands, doesn’t seem like the monsters in the songs. Jaeyi’s different. Kind, maybe. Seulgi’s not sure, she’s got no choice but to trust her for now.

Jaeyi finishes wrapping the wound and pulls back. “There. That should stop the bleeding for now.”

Seulgi catches the words and understands all of it.

The storm grumbles closer, waves slapping the sides of the boat. Jaeyi glances at the sky, then back at her. “I need to get us to shore.”

Shore. The edge of the world. The place mermaids must never go.

But Jaeyi looks worried, her movements hurried, her face turned toward the horizon like she’s fighting the storm itself. And Seulgi realizes, with quiet astonishment, that this human isn’t afraid of her. She’s afraid for her.

So Seulgi decides to trust her.

She nods once, holding Jaeyi’s jacket tighter around her, and watches silently as the human rows them toward land, toward the forbidden edge where the sea meets sky.

The rain begins to fall.

And for the first time in Seulgi’s life, she wonders what it means when the sea gives you away to the land.

The rain comes down in sheets.

It batters the sea, the sail, Jaeyi’s face, sharp as needles, cold as guilt. Jaeyi grips the tiller so hard her knuckles ache, jaw clenched against the wind’s howl.

“Bloody perfect,” she mutters between her teeth as another wave slaps the hull. “No catch, no coin, and an injured—” she glances back, “…whatever you are.”

The woman, mermaid, goddess, hallucination, take your pick, sits huddled where Jaeyi left her, wrapped in Jaeyi’s old jacket. It’s far too big on her, slipping down one bare shoulder, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes, bright, unblinking, roam everywhere.

Every flash of lightning draws a tiny gasp from her. The creak of wood, the flick of the oars, the shifting color of the sky, everything earns that same wide-eyed wonder. She leans too far over the edge once, peering at the rain striking the water, and Jaeyi’s heart leaps into her throat.

“Hey! Sit—sit down!” she yells over the wind, motioning frantically. “You’ll fall over!”

The mermaid tilts her head, blinking. Doesn’t understand a word, of course. Jaeyi thought. But the mermaid flinches at her tone, then obediently folds herself back down, gripping the edge of the boat with small, uncertain hands.

Jaeyi sighs. “Right. Great. Shout at her. Nice work, genius.”

The next wave sends the boat lurching. Jaeyi curses, adjusting the sail to catch what little wind she can control. The shoreline of Haeun is a ghostly smudge ahead, pale cliffs flashing in the lightning. Still too far.

The mermaid’s presence feels unreal, like a fever dream born from salt and exhaustion. Every time Jaeyi risks a glance back, part of her expects the girl to vanish, leaving only empty planks and the storm’s laughter.

But she’s still there. Quiet. Breathing. Watching.

Her gaze meets Jaeyi’s once, briefly, and something about it makes Jaeyi’s chest tighten. There’s no malice in those eyes. Just…confusion. Curiosity. And trust, fragile as a seashell.

She looks away quickly. “You had to be real, didn’t you?” she murmurs to the storm. “Appa you were right.”

Her father’s stories ring louder than the thunder now, mermaids at dawn, silver tails, smiles that sound like songs. The whole village used to laugh about it. She’d laughed too, once.

And yet, here she is, hauling one home like a fool, heart hammering, mind spinning.

The sea roars, the oars groan, and somewhere between the flash of lightning and the crash of waves, Jaeyi realizes—

Taejoon was right.

Mermaids are real.

And somehow, she’s just caught one.

⸻

Chapter Text

Jaeyi

By the time they reach the docks, the storm has swallowed the sky whole.

Rain hammers against the planks, wind snapping through the empty market stalls. Most of the village has taken shelter, but a few fishermen remain, men tying down their boats, shouting over the wind.

Jaeyi’s boat scrapes against the dock with a dull thud. She throws a rope around the post, breath ragged, rainwater streaming down her face. She jumps out first, boots splashing into the cold surf, then turns to the figure still curled inside her boat.

Now comes the real problem.

She turns toward the girl, her mermaid, her mystery, her headache.

The woman is still huddled beneath Jaeyi’s jacket, dripping wet and shivering, her hair plastered against her cheeks. The glow is gone from her skin, her tail replaced by pale, trembling legs streaked with silver-turned-red blood.

Jaeyi rubs the back of her neck, cheeks hot despite the cold.

“How the hell am I supposed to—” she mutters. She could carry her. She’s done heavier loads, nets full of mackerel, barrels of brine. But this isn’t a barrel. This is…

She glances again. Soft brown hair. Bare shoulders. Eyes wide like a startled fawn.

Jaeyi groans under her breath. “Saints save me.”

Before she can figure out what to do, a shout cuts through the rain.

“Yoo Jaeyi! That you?”

She looks up to see two men from the docks jogging over, cloaks pulled tight against the storm. One of them, old Hwang, squints into her boat. “What in the world—who’s that you’ve got there?”

Jaeyi’s pulse jumps.

“I—uh—found her!” she says quickly, waving a hand. “Floating by the southern rocks. Must’ve fallen from a wreck or something.”

The men trade looks. “She survived?”

“Seems so,” Jaeyi says, trying to sound casual. “Got a nasty cut on her leg. Probably drifted here from a ship.”

Old Hwang leans closer, frowning at the blood. “Looks bad. You need help carrying her?”

Jaeyi hesitates, glancing back just as he steps closer.

The girl’s eyes go wide, then she lets out a soft, terrified whimper. Her fingers clutch the edge of the boat, trembling.

When Old Hwang reaches out, she suddenly cries out, voice small but sharp. “No!”

Everything stops.

The storm, the waves, Jaeyi’s heartbeat.

“She…speaks?” Jaeyi breathes, eyes wide.

The men freeze. Old Hwang blinks in surprise. “Oh—hey, it’s alright, miss, no one’s gonna hurt you—”

He steps toward the boat.

The girl shakes her head wildly, pressing herself against the side of the boat, eyes wet and terrified.

Old Hwang lifts his hands in surrender, trying to soothe her, but she just lets out another whimper, clutching Jaeyi’s soaked jacket tighter around herself.

And then, hesitantly, like it’s instinct, she reaches for Jaeyi.

Jaeyi freezes. For a second, all she can do is stare at that outstretched hand, trembling in the rain.

She moves before she can think, stepping between them. “It’s fine, Old Hwang,” she says quickly. “She’s scared. I’ll take care of her.”

He frowns, uncertain. “You sure? Looks like a nasty wound—”

“I’ll manage.”

After a beat, he nods and steps back. “Alright then. Take her home, get her warm. I’ll let the others know you’re safe.”

“Thanks,” Jaeyi says, voice softer now.

When they’re gone, she turns back to the girl, crouching beside the boat. The mermaid’s breathing slows as soon as their eyes meet.

“There,” Jaeyi murmurs. “They’re gone.”

The girl blinks, gaze darting over Jaeyi’s face as if trying to read her.

“You can…speak?” Jaeyi asks gently. “You said ‘no’—earlier. Do you…understand me?”

The mermaid tilts her head, water dripping from her hair. Then, slowly, she nods.

Jaeyi’s mouth parts in surprise. “You do?”

Another small nod.

“Were you understanding me earlier?”

A pause. A small shake of the head.

“But now you can?”

Hesitant nod.

Jaeyi lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re full of surprises, huh?”

The mermaid blinks at her, brow furrowing as if trying to figure out what that means.

Jaeyi scratches her cheek awkwardly. “Alright, listen. I need to get you home, and you can’t walk on that. So…”

She gestures awkwardly toward her back. “I’ll carry you. Like this. Okay?”

The mermaid glances at the wet dock, then back at Jaeyi, then nods again, trust flickering in her eyes like the last bit of light before nightfall.

Jaeyi swallows. “Okay, then.”

She climbs into the boat, turning around and crouching low. “On my back,” she murmurs. “Here, arms around my shoulders.”

The girl hesitates before looping her arms around Jaeyi’s shoulders. Her touch is soft, careful, but warm, even through the rain.

Jaeyi steadies herself, muttering under her breath, “You’d better not bite me or something.”

The woman only presses closer, resting her cheek against Jaeyi’s shoulder.

By the time they reach her cabin, Jaeyi’s legs ache from the climb and the mud clings heavy to her boots. The path is slick from the storm, and the weight on her back is light but…distracting. Every stumble earns a small, startled breath from the girl, warm against the back of Jaeyi’s neck, and every touch sends another flush up her ears.

“Steady,” Jaeyi mutters, mostly to herself. “Don’t drop the mermaid.”

The mermaid hums softly, probably not understanding a word, but the sound is sweet, like the echo of waves inside a shell. Jaeyi grips her thighs a little tighter to keep her from slipping, forcing her mind to stay on the trail, not the way the jacket she’d thrown over her has half come loose, or how impossibly warm she feels even through the rain.

Finally, her cabin comes into view, a small, crooked thing built near the cliffs, light flickering weakly through the paper window. Jaeyi exhales in relief.

“Almost there,” she says. “Just hang on a bit longer.”

When she reaches the door, she realizes her mistake. Her hands are full. “Of course,” she mutters, groaning. “Because why would anything be easy today?”

She bends, letting the girl slide carefully down her back so she can reach for the latch. The mermaid’s bare feet touch the ground and immediately, she stumbles with a cry.

“Hey—wait—!”

Jaeyi catches her just in time, one arm slipping around her waist, steadying her. The girl clings instinctively, trembling against her. Jaeyi looks down, heart hammering, and sees fresh blood trickling down her calf, mingling red with the rain.

“Damn it,” Jaeyi breathes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have set you down.”

The mermaid’s brows knit in pain, eyes glassy with confusion, but she doesn’t pull away. Her fingers curl weakly into Jaeyi’s sleeve. Something about that quiet trust knocks the breath right out of Jaeyi’s chest.

“Alright, no more of this,” she mutters, fumbling the latch open with one hand. “You’re bleeding all over my doorstep.”

Without thinking, she bends again, but this time, instead of hoisting the girl onto her back, she scoops her into her arms.

The movement earns a soft gasp from the mermaid. She goes rigid for a moment, startled, then slowly relaxes against Jaeyi’s shoulder, arms looping hesitantly around her neck.

“See?” Jaeyi says, trying for a gruff tone that doesn’t quite hide the shake in her voice. “Faster this way.”

She kicks the door open with her foot, carrying the girl inside. The cabin is dim, the air thick with the scent of salt and herbs. The fire’s out, but it’s still warmer than the storm outside.

She lowers the girl gently onto the couch by the wall, her own bed, and steps back, rubbing her arms nervously as she takes in the sight of her.

The mermaid looks utterly lost. Her hair clings to her shoulders, her skin still shimmering faintly with something not quite human. She glances around with wide, wondering eyes, and Jaeyi feels that strange pull again, the same one that started the moment she saw her through the net.

Jaeyi clears her throat. “Alright. Let’s fix that leg before you bleed out and I’d have to bury a dead mermaid.”

The mermaid tilts her head, that small curious gesture that somehow makes Jaeyi both smile and ache at the same time.

She moves through her cabin on autopilot, boots squelching against the floorboards, mind still reeling from everything that’s just happened.

The storm rages outside, rain hammering against the windows, but in here the air is thick with the smell of salt, damp wood, and smoke. The faint crackle of the dying fire fills the silence as she rummages for supplies: clean cloth, salve, the jar of spirits she uses for cuts and scrapes.

“Alright,” she mutters, half to herself as she digs through a crate by the wall. “Think, Jaeyi. You’ve stitched yourself up more times than you can count, how different can a mermaid be?”

The words sound ridiculous the moment they leave her mouth. She sighs and shoots a glance over her shoulder.

The girl is sitting where Jaeyi left her, small and still on the edge of the couch. Jaeyi’s jacket swallows her frame, but it can’t hide the way she’s trembling, hair dripping down her shoulders, eyes darting between the fire and Jaeyi like she’s unsure which is more dangerous.

“Hey,” Jaeyi says softly, crouching down to light the hearth again. The fire catches with a sputter, orange warmth spilling into the room. “You’re freezing.”

No answer, of course.

“Alright,” Jaeyi says to herself, glancing back at the girl. “Let’s see what I can do without a proper healer.”

Jaeyi sets the bowl on the table and fills it with water from the kettle, dipping the cloth in to soak. “You know,” she says absently, wringing it out, “this would be a lot easier if you speak.”

“I mean—silver blood, fins one moment, legs the next?” She gestures vaguely with the cloth. “And now you’re bleeding red. Like a human.” She pauses, frowning. “Do you just…decide that halfway through?”

The girl watches her with those wide, sea-gray eyes, silent as Jaeyi gently presses the cloth to her calf.

Jaeyi frowns, studying the cut. “It’s red now,” she mutters. “Earlier, it was…silver. Like moonlight. How does that even…”

She trails off, shaking her head. “Do you just…change color when you get on land? That’s not fair. Humans don’t get to do that.”

The girl’s lips tremble from the cold. And Jaeyi realizes her jacket is soaked through.

“Oh. Right,” Jaeyi mutters. “Okay, hold on. I’ll—uh—” She gestures vaguely again, cheeks heating. “I’m just going to…take this off so you don’t catch cold, alright? Not—nothing weird, I promise.”

The mermaid just blinks at her.

Jaeyi shuts her eyes tight, muttering a prayer to whatever gods are laughing at her right now, and carefully slips the wet jacket away, eyes firmly closed. She works quickly, awkward, fumbling, all thumbs, and tosses the soaked fabric aside.

“There. All done,” she says too fast. She grabs the nearest blanket, a thick, worn one smelling faintly of pine, and wraps it around the mermaid’s shoulders before she dares open her eyes again.

When she does, the girl’s already clutching the blanket close, shivering still but calmer now.

Jaeyi kneels down again, takes the girl’s injured leg carefully in her hands. “I’m gonna put something to help this heal, alright? It’ll sting.”

The girl doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t move either. Her breath catches when the salve touches her skin, a soft sound escaping her throat, a sound that makes Jaeyi glance up without meaning to.

“Sorry,” Jaeyi murmurs, gentler now. “I’ll be quick.”

For a long moment, neither speaks. Only the rain and the crackle of fire fill the silence.

When Jaeyi finally finishes binding the wound, she sits back on her heels, staring at the strange girl wrapped in her blanket, looking impossibly small against the rough wooden bed.

“Alright,” she says softly, as if admitting it to herself. “You’re real. Appa wasn’t mad after all.”

The girl tilts her head again, that same curious, faintly puzzled gesture.

Jaeyi huffs a small laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. You showing up doesn’t mean I understand any of this.”

She stands, rubbing her arms. “Just…don’t die on me, yeah? I’ve had enough trouble with the sea for one lifetime.”

Her stomach growls. Of course. She hasn’t eaten since morning.

Her gaze flicks toward the girl, still perched awkwardly on the couch, half-buried in the blanket, blinking sleepily at the fire.

“You must be hungry too,” Jaeyi mutters, more to herself than to her guest. “Assuming mermaids even eat.” Do they sleep too? She thought.

The girl tilts her head, as if trying to follow the words, but doesn’t answer.

Jaeyi sighs, moving toward the small counter that serves as her kitchen. She pulls out a bucket, lifts the lid, and grabs one of the fish she’d caught last night. The motion is familiar, automatic, knife in hand, blade glinting in the firelight as she cleans it.

Then—

A sharp gasp.

Jaeyi looks up.

The mermaid’s face has gone pale. Her eyes are wide in horror, fixed on the fish in Jaeyi’s hands.

For a heartbeat, neither moves. Then realization slams into Jaeyi.

“Oh, hell,” she blurts out, dropping the fish back into the bucket. “Oh no, no, no—” She wipes her hands on her apron, rushing to close the lid, muttering, “Right. Stupid. Of course. You—fish—right. I’m sorry.”

When she looks back, the mermaid is still glaring, or trying to. Her lips are pursed in the tiniest pout, cheeks puffed slightly, looking for all the world like a drenched kitten trying to look fierce.

Jaeyi stares at her for a second, torn between guilt and the overwhelming urge to laugh.

“Okay,” she says, hands raised in surrender. “No fish. Promise. I’ll make something else.”

The mermaid gives a small huff, an honest-to-god huff, and looks away, chin tilted up in the most petulant little gesture Jaeyi’s ever seen.

Jaeyi can’t help the smile tugging at her lips as she turns back to her shelves. “Vegetables, then. Kimchi soup, maybe. That’ll do.”

She gets to work, knife now chopping cabbage and scallions instead of scales. The smell of garlic and spice soon fills the small cabin, blending with the faint salt still clinging to the air. The fire crackles, warm and alive again, and for a while, the only sounds are the simmering pot and the rain.

When the soup’s finally done, Jaeyi sets out two bowls on the small table and glances over her shoulder.

“Hey,” she starts, then stops.

The mermaid’s curled up on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket, her wet hair spilling over the armrest. Her eyes are closed now, breathing soft and even.

Jaeyi blinks. “Guess that answers one question,” she murmurs, half-smiling. “Mermaids do sleep.”

She places one bowl across from her, then sits quietly with her own, spoon stirring absentmindedly.

Outside, the rain keeps falling. Inside, it’s warm and quiet, just the crackle of the fire, the soft sound of waves beyond the cliff, and the sleeping girl who shouldn’t exist.

Jaeyi takes a slow breath and leans back in her chair, watching her guest from across the room.

“Mermaids,” she whispers, shaking her head. “Appa, you’d never believe this.”

When Jaeyi finishes scooping her second batch of soup, she decides it’s time to learn whether mermaids also eat.

So she wipes her hands on a towel and walks over.

“Hey,” she says softly, crouching beside her. “You should eat something.”

No response.

She reaches out, resting a tentative hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Come on, you—”

The mermaid’s eyes snap open.

Jaeyi startles, her breath catching in her throat.

They’re blue. Not just blue, glowing, like the ocean catching sunlight beneath the surface. Deep and endless and strange. For a heartbeat, Jaeyi forgets how to breathe. Then, as suddenly as it came, the glow fades, leaving sea grey behind.

The girl blinks slowly, confused. Jaeyi clears her throat, forcing her voice steady. “I, uh…I made food.”

She gestures toward the table where two bowls of soup now wait.

The girl’s gaze drifts there, then down to her legs, still foreign to her, still trembling slightly under the blanket, and then up at Jaeyi again, eyes questioning.

Jaeyi exhales, understanding. “Right. You…need help getting there?”

A small nod.

“Okay.”

Jaeyi slips an arm around her back, another beneath her knees, and lifts. The mermaid’s skin is warm and soft against her own, still damp in places, but lighter than Jaeyi expected. The girl clings instinctively, one hand clutching at Jaeyi’s shoulder as Jaeyi carries her the few steps to the table.

Once she sets her down on the chair, the mermaid sways a little, steadying herself with both hands. Jaeyi huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Could’ve just brought the bowl over to you,” she mutters under her breath. “That would’ve made a lot more sense.”

The mermaid tilts her head, curious, not understanding the words but recognizing the tone. Jaeyi can’t help but smile.

“Alright,” she says, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down. “Here. Like this.”

She picks up her spoon, dips it into the soup, and gestures for the mermaid to do the same. The girl mimics her clumsily, holding the spoon too tightly, spilling half the broth before it reaches her lips.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Jaeyi warns, but too late, the mermaid flinches, tongue darting out, eyes wide.

Jaeyi laughs softly, the sound warm and unguarded. “Yeah, like that. Blow on it first.”

The mermaid frowns at the spoon, then copies her exactly, pursing her lips and blowing a tiny puff of air before sipping again. This time, her eyes light up.

“Good?” Jaeyi asks.

The mermaid nods eagerly, cheeks flushing from the heat and the effort of eating.

For a moment, Jaeyi just watches her, the way she concentrates so seriously on every motion, the way her hair catches the light. And then Jaeyi looks down at her own bowl, feeling something quiet but unmistakable unfurl in her chest.

Outside, the storm fades into the rhythm of waves against the shore. Inside, a fisherwoman and a mermaid share soup for the first time.

They eat in companionable silence for a while, save for the occasional clink of spoons and the low hiss of rain outside. The mermaid eats slowly, pausing often to mimic whatever Jaeyi does, blowing on her spoon, wiping her mouth with the corner of the towel Jaeyi had handed her, tilting her head whenever Jaeyi mutters something under her breath.

When both bowls are nearly empty, Jaeyi leans back in her chair and studies her guest.

“So,” she says, tapping her spoon against the rim of her bowl. “I can’t keep calling you ‘hey, you.’ Do you…have a name?”

The mermaid blinks, chewing the inside of her cheek as if searching for a word she doesn’t have. Then she slowly shakes her head.

“No name?” Jaeyi repeats, eyebrows lifting. “None at all?”

Another shake of the head.

Jaeyi hums thoughtfully. “Alright, can’t have that. Everyone needs a name.” She leans her chin into her hand, thinking. “Let’s see…something simple. Something that fits.”

The girl tilts her head, watching Jaeyi’s face with quiet curiosity, as if waiting for her to conjure magic.

“Hmm.” Jaeyi’s eyes wander to the faint silver traces that still gleam at the edge of the girl’s wound. “Silver…shiny…maybe Eunha? No, that sounds too poetic. You don’t look like an Eunha.”

The mermaid frowns faintly, not understanding the words but seeming to sense Jaeyi’s indecision.

“Or maybe…Haneul?” Jaeyi tries again, then chuckles. “No, that one’s taken. I knew a Haneul once, she could talk circles around anyone. You look quieter than that.”

She glances at the girl again, at the soft curve of her cheek, the way her brown hair falls over her shoulders, the ocean still reflected faintly in her gaze.

“What about…” Jaeyi pauses, the name tasting strange and right on her tongue. “Seulgi.”

The mermaid blinks.

Jaeyi smiles faintly. “Seulgi. It means ‘wisdom.’ Seems fitting for someone who came out of the sea, doesn’t it?”

For a moment, the girl only stares at her. Then, slowly, she nods, just once, shy but sure.

Jaeyi’s heart stumbles.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “That’s right. You look like a Seulgi.”

Outside, thunder murmurs far away, and the waves crash softly against the shore. Inside, Jaeyi leans back and watches Seulgi trace her name against the table’s worn wood, lips forming a soft smile.

Jaeyi exhales, glancing at the sleepy girl blinking slowly across the table. The storm outside is showing no sign of stopping, and the wind howls through the cracks of the cabin’s shutters. She sighs, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Alright,” she mutters, standing up. “You need to rest.”

The girl tilts her head as Jaeyi moves about the small cabin, shaking out her blanket, patting the pillow, and brushing off the wood chips from her bed. It isn’t much: a narrow cot tucked beside the window, patched blankets, and a pillow that’s lost most of its fluff. Still, it’s warm, dry, and the only place fit for someone who looks this fragile.

When she’s done, Jaeyi looks over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you comfortable.”

She walks over and bends down in front of the mermaid, no, Seulgi, she reminds herself, and slips an arm behind her back, another beneath her knees. “Up we go.”

Seulgi blinks at her, eyes wide and trusting, arms looping around Jaeyi’s neck as Jaeyi carries her again. She’s lighter than she looks, all soft skin and warmth. Jaeyi tries not to notice how close their faces are, how Seulgi’s breath fans faintly against her jaw.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jaeyi murmurs, trying for gruffness as she sets Seulgi gently down on the bed. “You’ll make me drop you.”

Seulgi only blinks, the faintest smile curving her lips.

Jaeyi clears her throat and steps back, rummaging through an old chest. “You can’t sleep like that,” she mutters, pulling out a few folded pieces of clothing, her old ones, from when she was younger. “These should fit…somewhat.”

When she turns back, Seulgi’s already sinking under the blanket up to her nose, watching her warily.

Jaeyi chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking. Just hold still, alright?”

She pulls the blanket up to cover Seulgi’s shoulders, shielding as much skin as possible while fumbling to slip the shirt onto her. It takes a few tries, Seulgi’s hands keep going into the wrong holes, her fingers clumsy, fascinated by the buttons.

“Arm here—no, other arm. Right, like that.”

The pants are trickier, Seulgi can’t stand properly, not with her wound and her unfamiliar legs, so Jaeyi has to guide her carefully, coaxing her to lift one leg, then the other.

“There,” Jaeyi murmurs, tying the waistband loosely. “Not exactly the warmest clothes but it’ll do.”

Seulgi looks down at herself, then up at Jaeyi, expression soft and grateful.

Jaeyi swallows, forcing herself to focus on tucking the blanket properly around Seulgi.

“You should sleep,” she says, brushing a damp strand of hair from Seulgi’s forehead. “I’ll be right over there if you need anything.”

She nods toward the couch across the room and gives a small, reassuring smile before turning away.

It’s lumpy and too short, but it’ll do. She throws herself down with a sigh, one arm draped over her eyes.

Outside, the rain taps gently against the windows. Inside, Jaeyi listens to the soft rhythm of another heartbeat in her home for the first time in years.

Chapter Text

The rain drizzles softly against the cabin roof, a gentle rhythm that lulls the world into gray and quiet. Seulgi stirs under the blankets, eyelids heavy, the warmth of the fire from last night long since faded. She shifts slightly, and a dull ache shoots up her leg.

Her eyes flutter open. The ceiling is wooden, low, and strange. The air smells of smoke and wood, different from the briny scent of the sea, and for a moment she lies very still, unsure where she is, until memory comes in pieces: nets, pain, a human’s voice, hands that were careful and trembling.

The wound on her leg throbs, a sharp reminder of the net, and panic flutters in her chest. Why isn’t it healing? In the sea, injuries mend almost instantly, silver blood merging back into her scales. But here, on land, nothing. Perhaps her healing only works with seawater.

She frowns and shifts slightly, peeling the blanket away from her legs. Legs.

For a long moment, she simply stares at them. The strange shape of them. The way they divide and bend. Strange, heavy, unfamiliar. She lifts a foot gingerly, toes wiggling. A small giggle escapes her lips. Weird. She wiggles the other. Also weird.

After a moment of fascination, a new urge rises, thirst. Hunger. Her skin feels dry. Her body feels heavy, like she’s sinking.

Cautiously, she peeks over the edge of the bed. Across the room, someone is sleeping, curled on the couch, chest rising slowly. She recognizes her from last night: the human, the one who carried her and tended her wound. The one she thinks she has to trust.

Seulgi tilts her head. Humans look softer when they’re not speaking. She remembers this human’s voice from last night, low, warm, careful, carrying strange music in its rhythm.

She doesn’t know this human’s name, but she tries softly, “Hei—yoo?”

No response.

She tries again, a little louder. “Hey?”

Still nothing, just the sound of rain.

Her throat feels dry. She swallows, her fingers clutching the blanket nervously. She’s used to calling dolphins, used to the easy echo of her voice beneath the waves, but here, her words feel trapped in the air.

Finally, she whispers, louder, “Hey… you…”

The human groans, turning slightly, eyes still closed. “What?”

Seulgi tilts her head, eyes wide, hope flickering like sunlight on water. The human murmurs something else again, a word she doesn’t understand.

A pause. Then, suddenly, eyes snap open. Wide. Brown, sharp, and blazing with panic. The human jumps from the couch, body tense, and swears loudly, “Shibal!”

Seulgi jumps back against the blankets, her heart hammering.

The human freezes mid-step, gaze darting around wildly, chest heaving. For a moment, she looks like she’s hallucinating. Then her eyes settle on Seulgi, on her.

The room is still for a heartbeat. Rain patters outside. Firelight flickers across both of them.

Seulgi’s small mouth opens, trembling: she doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what she’s done wrong, but she knows fear. And in that instant, the human realizes she isn’t dreaming.

⸻

Jaeyi’s chest heaves as she sways in place, eyes wide and scanning the room as if the mermaid might vanish at any second. Then it clicks, no, this isn’t a dream. The mermaid, the impossibly real, impossibly alive mermaid is still here, in her cabin, right in front of her.

“Oh…oh,” Jaeyi mutters, running a hand over her face. Her voice shakes just slightly, caught between disbelief and relief. “It’s…it’s you. You’re really…you’re really here. Okay, okay, calm—”

Seulgi flinches, eyes still wide, unsure what to do. Her brown hair is sweaty and clings to her cheeks. She hugs the blanket closer around herself.

“It’s fine,” Jaeyi says, taking a cautious step forward, hands raised in an attempt to show she means no harm. “I just…I didn’t expect to wake up and see…you. That’s all. I—” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “You’re safe. Everything’s fine.”

Seulgi tilts her head slightly, still trembling, but the tension in her shoulders eases a fraction. Jaeyi exhales, realizing she’s probably babbling.

“I…I’m not going to hurt you,” she says quickly, almost pleading. “I promise. Just…you startled me, that’s all. Okay?”

The mermaid blinks, unsure what to make of the strange, rapid words, but her chest rises and falls a little more evenly now. Jaeyi notices, softening.

She shakes her head, muttering to herself, a laugh barely restrained: “Gods, Jaeyi, you really are a mess.”

Then she freezes mid-step, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Wait…did you just…‘hey you’ me?”

Seulgi nods once, shyly, head tilted.

Jaeyi freezes, staring, then bursts out laughing, loud, unrestrained, a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Of course,” she says, wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks. “Of course! That’s because I never…introduced myself, didn’t I?”

Seulgi blinks, listening.

Jaeyi kneels down to be at eye level, smiling more gently now. “I’m Jaeyi. Yoo Jaeyi. Okay? That’s…that’s my name. And, uh…yeah. You can call me that.”

Seulgi repeats the name softly, “Jaeyi…” sounding it out, curious.

Jaeyi’s smile softens further as she watches the tiny attempts, marveling at how quickly this strange, wonderful creature is beginning to adapt.

Then, after a moment, she mutters, almost to herself, “I swear, Seulgi…you’ve got to stop making me jump out of my skin before my morning coffee.”

Seulgi tilts her head curiously, lips twitching with the ghost of a smile. Jaeyi can’t help but grin back, tension easing slightly as they settle into the strange rhythm of human and mermaid coexisting in a tiny cabin, storm and sea outside, warmth and chaos inside.

⸻

Seulgi shifts in the blankets, then freezes, a faint pink blooming across her cheeks. A small, embarrassed squeak escapes her lips.

Jaeyi’s sharp ears catch it immediately. “What now?” she asks, narrowing her eyes, only to realize almost instantly from the way Seulgi fidgets that…her stomach is growling.

Jaeyi’s eyes widen, and then she can’t help but laugh softly. “Ah. Hungry, huh? Alright, alright. I’ll get you something to eat.”

Before she can step away, a small, tentative voice drifts through the quiet cabin. “Jaeyi…”

Jaeyi freezes, glancing back. “Yes?”

Seulgi is looking down at her legs now, fidgeting with them awkwardly. Her small hands press against the blanket draped around her shoulders, as if gathering courage.

“Do…you want to try standing up?” Jaeyi asks, kneeling down beside her. The question is soft, careful.

Seulgi’s eyes lift slowly to meet hers, wide and trusting. She nods once, barely daring to breathe.

Jaeyi glances at her wound first, gently lifting the edge of the blanket. The bandage is holding, just enough to keep the bleeding at bay, but she knows it will need changing later. She tucks a strand of hair behind Seulgi’s ear, a small, involuntary motion, then extends a hand.

“Okay,” Jaeyi says softly. “We’ll go slow. Lean on me.”

Seulgi shifts, letting Jaeyi’s hand settle around her waist. Another hand comes to Jaeyi’s shoulder for support. Together, they rise, awkward, tentative, a little wobbly.

Seulgi’s legs shake, every step a marvel and a terror. She can’t put pressure on her wound, and her feet barely understand how to balance. Jaeyi moves beside her, close enough to feel the faint warmth of her skin through the clothes, guiding her step by step.

“Left foot first,” Jaeyi murmurs, voice low, almost drowned by the soft rain still falling outside. “Good…now right. Tiny steps, okay? Don’t rush.”

Seulgi leans heavily on her, weight pressing into Jaeyi’s side. Her hair brushes against Jaeyi’s cheek; the faint saltiness of her skin rises to Jaeyi’s nose, mixed with something subtle, something else she can’t name. Her chest flutters and heat blooms across her cheeks.

“Steady…there, good,” Jaeyi says, forcing her voice calm even as her pulse races. Her hands rest lightly on Seulgi’s waist and forearm, holding her close enough to guide but not crush, trying to ignore the way her fingers graze soft skin and the faint scent of the sea clinging to her.

Seulgi giggles softly at the wobble, eyes bright and trusting. Each tiny movement, each awkward step is a marvel, a revelation to her, and to Jaeyi, who feels both protective and something else she’s only just beginning to understand.

Step by careful step, Jaeyi helps Seulgi toward the table, holding her steady, encouraging her. And with every heartbeat, every brush of warmth against her own, Jaeyi realizes how dangerously close she’s getting to a part of herself she thought had long been locked away: drawn to this strange, sea-born girl who shouldn’t even exist…but does, right here in her cabin.

Seulgi tilts her head, catching Jaeyi’s blush, sensing it without knowing what it means, and giggles again, a soft, musical sound that makes Jaeyi’s heart stutter.

“Almost there…just a little further…” Jaeyi murmurs, guiding her gently. And with that, the first tentative steps in the human world are taken, held close, protected, and utterly unforgettable.

⸻

Seulgi perches at the table, legs dangling slightly, eyes wide and curious. Her hands rest on the edge of the wood, fingers tracing the grain as she looks around the small cabin. She watches Jaeyi bustle in the kitchen, tilting her head every now and then, fascinated by the strange motions humans make when cooking.

Jaeyi surveys her options. A sigh escapes her lips. Well…this is embarrassing.

All she has is a modest stockpile of dried fish, a couple of freshly caught ones, some fermented fish packed in clay jars, and a few limp onions. She imagines, just like last night, the horrified expression Seulgi’s face would make if she offered any of this.

The mermaid watches patiently, tilting her head in curiosity, completely unaware of the culinary dilemma unfolding in front of her. Jaeyi scratches her head and mutters under her breath.

“Fish…fish…fermented fish…onions… oh gods, she’s going to think I’m trying to scare her.”

Her gaze sweeps the cabin. Neighboring cabins. Bread. Flour. Anything that isn’t fish. Her jaw tightens. Yeah. That’s it. I’ll just…ask for some bread.

Jaeyi leans toward Seulgi, crouching slightly to meet her eyes. “Hey…uh…stay here, okay? Don’t fall. Don’t break anything. And don’t starve on me before I even get back.”

Seulgi tilts her head, a frown knitting her brow, worry flickering in her gaze. Her small hand twitches as if to reach out for Jaeyi, but then, her stomach growls again. The sound is soft but unmistakable.

Jaeyi’s lips twitch into a small, exasperated smile. “Yeah, okay, I get it. You’re hungry. Just…wait a little, alright?”

Seulgi hesitates, then nods once, obediently. Her trust is quiet but firm, and Jaeyi feels a pang in her chest. She gives a gentle smile, ruffling Seulgi’s hair lightly, then heads for the door.

Outside, the rain has slowed to a drizzle, the ground still muddy from yesterday’s storm. Jaeyi walks briskly toward Ajumma Jeon’s cabin, thinking furiously about how she’ll explain her request without mentioning a mermaid.

Bread. Something simple. Nothing fishy.

Her mind wanders, though, as she trudges through the mud. Wait…what do mermaids even eat?She pauses, staring down at her boots, then mutters under her breath, half to herself, half to the storm-darkened sky:

“If fish are friends, then…what? Seaweed? Shells? Magical sea stuff?”

She shakes her head. “No, don’t think about it now. Just get the bread.”

Meanwhile, back at the cabin, Seulgi watches the door, small fingers gripping the edge of the table. Her stomach grumbles again, and she presses a hand against it, tilting her head in silent wonder at this strange, new world where humans sit on chairs, eat from bowls, and vanish behind doors.

⸻

Jaeyi ducks under the porch eave of Ajumma Jeon’s cabin, shaking off stray droplets of rain. She can already hear the warm hum of the fire inside and the faint aroma of something baking, bread, hopefully. Her stomach twists nervously.

She knocks lightly.

“Jaeyi-ah!” Ajumma Jeon’s voice calls out cheerfully before she even opens the door fully. “Come in, come in! You look soaked to the bone!”

Jaeyi steps inside, grateful for the warmth. “Ah, yes…um…I need…I need some bread, ma’am. Or anything edible that isn’t…fish.”

Ajumma Jeon’s eyes widen, and then a mischievous smile curls across her lips. “Ah! So that’s what this is about!”

Jaeyi frowns, confused. “What’s…what’s what about?”

Ajumma Jeon gestures knowingly, leaning on her doorframe. “You have a guest over huh? of course! You’ve found a wife, haven’t you?”

Jaeyi freezes mid-step, jaw slack. “W-what?!”

Ajumma Jeon cackles. “Oh, don’t look so shocked! You’ve never asked for any food before, always so content to just eat fish…and now you need bread? Clearly, you can’t feed your wife with fish alone!”

Jaeyi groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ma’am…no! It’s…it’s not…I mean, I do have a guest, sort of, but—actually it’s complicated!”

Ajumma Jeon laughs, cutting her off. “Complicated, huh? Of course it’s complicated when a woman finally catches your attention! Well, don’t worry. I have bread, and I have some porridge if she’s…delicate. But you’d better bring her over here one of these days so I can see if she’s a perfect fit for you!”

Jaeyi’s cheeks flare red, and she waves frantically. “No! She’s…it’s not like that at all!”

Ajumma Jeon only laughs louder. “Whatever you say, child. Here, take this bread. Make sure she eats something proper. And hurry back before the rain gets worse.”

Jaeyi snatches the bread, muttering under her breath as she bolts back through the drizzle. Perfect fit for me?! I—no! She’s not…I can’t…just get back to the cabin!

Inside the cabin, Seulgi shifts nervously on the chair, watching the door. Jaeyi bursts in a moment later, puffing slightly, holding the warm bread triumphantly.

“See?” she says, setting it on the table. “Bread. Not fish. Safe. Eat it before I…before it gets cold.”

Seulgi’s eyes widen, curiosity and relief mingling. She reaches for the bread tentatively, glancing up at Jaeyi as if asking permission.

Jaeyi grins, brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “Go on. Try it.”

Seulgi takes a small bite, and the cautious look melts into delight. Her brown eyes widen slightly with each bite, and a soft hum of contentment escapes her lips.

Jaeyi tries a piece herself, chewing thoughtfully. Her brow furrows. “Huh…yeah, it’s… really plain.” She glances around the cabin, eyes landing on her small cupboard. Cheese! Maybe that’ll make it better.

She digs through the cupboard and finds a small wedge, wrapped in wax paper. Relief floods her, thankfully, she still has something to make this better for Seulgi.

“Okay,” Jaeyi says, sitting beside Seulgi at the table. “We’re going to try something new. Cheese. You eat it with the bread. Watch me first.”

She slices a small piece and holds it out. Seulgi tilts her head, eyes wide and sparkling with curiosity. Jaeyi passes a slice of bread, spreads the cheese carefully, and holds it toward her.

Seulgi takes a tentative bite. Her eyes widen in delight, and she hums softly, a sound somewhere between a giggle and a sigh of pleasure. She takes another small bite, then another, clearly enchanted by the flavor.

Jaeyi watches, completely captivated. “Is it good?” she asks, leaning forward, voice soft and full of warmth.

Seulgi looks up, crumbs dotting her lips, and nods emphatically. “Good!” she says, her voice full and sure.

Jaeyi can’t help but laugh softly, her heart fluttering at the sight. She grabs a knife and slices another piece of cheese for herself, though she mostly eats to keep pace with Seulgi, watching her delight like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.

Seulgi tilts her head, trying to imitate the way Jaeyi spreads the cheese, frowning slightly in concentration. Jaeyi reaches out, guiding her small fingers gently. Every time their hands brush, warmth pools in Jaeyi’s chest, and she has to look away, cheeks tinged with pink.

“See? Like this,” Jaeyi murmurs, holding Seulgi’s hand steady.

Seulgi tries again and succeeds, eyes lighting up at the tiny triumph. Another bite, another hum of delight. Jaeyi leans back, smiling softly, thinking, She’s just…so adorable.

Jaeyi stands and stretches, rain drumming softly against the roof. She heads to the small counter and brews herself a cup of coffee, savoring the rich, bitter aroma. Once it’s ready, she carries the steaming mug back to the table and sits down beside Seulgi, the warmth radiating between them.

Outside, the sea stretches wide and gray, waves restless beneath the clouds. No fishing today,she thinks, tracing her fingers along the mug, lost in thought. The usual hum of the water against the hull is absent today, replaced by quiet and introspection.

Seulgi shifts beside her, noticing Jaeyi’s faraway gaze. Without hesitation, she reaches out with a small hand and offers a piece of bread to Jaeyi.

“Thank you,” Jaeyi murmurs, smiling softly. She takes the bread, accepting the quiet gesture with warmth.

Seulgi’s eyes wander over to the steaming cup beside Jaeyi. She tilts her head, fingers pointing. “What…is that?”

Jaeyi chuckles lightly, the sound low and amused. “Coffee. Wanna try?”

Seulgi tilts her head, hesitating, then nods once. Jaeyi hands her the mug carefully. The mermaid-turned-girl stares at the dark liquid, sniffing it with wide, curious eyes.

She takes a tiny sip. Her face immediately contorts, eyebrows knitting, lips puckering, and a squeak of dismay escapes her.

“Eh!?” she exclaims, eyes watering slightly, and she scrambles to put the mug down on the table.

Jaeyi bursts out laughing, clutching her own chest to stifle it. “Yeah…I figured. It’s…strong. Bitter. Definitely an acquired taste.”

Seulgi frowns, sticking out her small tongue in disgust, then points at the water pitcher on the table. Jaeyi nods, understanding instantly. “Ah, right. Water. Let’s try that instead.”

Seulgi eagerly takes a sip, sighing in contentment as the cool liquid slides down her throat. Jaeyi watches, amused, feeling the soft, steady rhythm of the girl beside her.

“Maybe stick to bread and cheese for now. Coffee’s an acquired taste…one you might not acquire for a very long time.”

Seulgi tilts her head, listening, then offers another piece of bread to Jaeyi, smiling shyly. Jaeyi takes it, shaking her head with a grin. Her Appa never told her mermaids can be this adorable.

Jaeyi’s eyes flick to the small bowl of porridge Ajhumma Jeon had slipped her along with the bread. A little idea sparks. “Ah…almost forgot about this,” she mutters to herself, spooning the thick, warm porridge into a clean bowl and placing it in front of Seulgi.

Seulgi eyes it warily, her little brows furrowed. After the coffee incident, she’s understandably cautious about anything Jaeyi offers. Her fingers hover above the bowl, trembling slightly, unsure.

Jaeyi catches her hesitation and smiles gently. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “I’ll try it first.” She scoops a small spoonful and blows on it before tasting, nodding with approval. “See? Tasty.”

Then, holding the spoon out to Seulgi, she murmurs, “Here…want to try?”

Seulgi leans forward cautiously, brown eyes wide and glimmering with trust. She tilts her head slightly, opening her mouth just enough to take the small spoonful. The warm, comforting flavor hits her tongue, and her eyes widen in delight. A small giggle escapes, soft and musical.

Jaeyi’s chest warms at the sight. “See? Not bitter at all, huh?”

Seulgi leans closer, tilting her head as Jaeyi scoops another spoonful. She eats carefully, then eagerly, until the bowl slowly empties. Each bite makes her eyes shine brighter, and she hums softly in contentment, so different from the cautious, bewildered creature Jaeyi had first encountered.

When the last spoonful is gone, Seulgi leans back, rubbing her small belly, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. She glances up at Jaeyi, “that’s good!” 

Jaeyi can’t help but grin, reaching out to ruffle Seulgi’s hair gently. “Glad you like it,” she murmurs, voice soft and warm. She leans back, letting Seulgi bask in the quiet satisfaction of a proper meal, one more small victory in a day full of new, strange, and wonderful experiences.

The rain taps gently against the window, the sea beyond muted and gray, and in that quiet moment, the cabin feels like a tiny sanctuary, a bridge between two worlds that weren’t meant to meet…and yet, somehow, now have.