#[ 🐚 ] — right below the surface | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deartouya · 2 years ago

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THE NIGHT WE MET — IZUKU MIDORIYA

★ ˛˚ . little mermaid themes, after nearly drowning and being saved by… something, you’re met face to face with your home towns legends, sending your relaxed summer break taking care of your uncle spiraling.

★ pairing: mermaid!deku x marine science student!gn!reader

★ word count: 8.2k

★ content: fluff, modern fantasy?? au, reader is in college/studying marine biology (only briefly mentioned), bestie bkg, reader is from a fishing village, swearing, mild mention of injuries, semi-graphic drowning, mentions of hospitals, eating/food mentions, fruit as a love language.

i realized when writing some of the bestie bakugou parts that i was… showing my bias just a bit :’) so to remedy it i wrote myself in as his off screen partner :) this is the first part of right below the surface mermaid series !!

YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO COME BACK HERE. You always hated this place — it was small and even when you were a child, it was dying — and you quickly find nothing at all has changed. Everything's standing still — stagnant. You hate it. You feared getting stuck, it's why you clawed so hard to get away, being just as stagnant as the rest. You'd promised yourself. You told yourself you'd graduate, get into a good college, and never look back.

But you've always been bad at keeping your promises. And when your uncle broke his leg falling off his fishing boat, forcing him to be house ridden and work less, you couldn't say no.

And so here you are, nestled in overheated sand and letting the same water you spent your whole life resenting lap at the soles of your feet. That fear, the creeping feeling of stagnation—of never being better—haunted you. The idea of standing still terrified you, watching the world grow while you were stuck in your tiny, unchanging hometown.

Though, even then, you can't help but melt in the familiarity.

"You're gonna have a damn heatstroke if you spend the whole day holed up on the rocks."

“Awww, it’s almost like you care about me,” you have to squint up at him, hand a poor shield from the sun. Bakugou scoffs, trapping the notebook he was holding against the back of your head.

“You fuckin’ wish. Just don’t wanna have to haul your ass to the doctor when you pass out in the sand. And I need you to help me run some errands.”

You groan, flopping boneless against the sand, “why me?” He doesn’t entertain the whine, pulling you up by your wrists. “Can’t you get one of your idiot friends to help you?”

“I am getting one of my ‘idiot friends’ to help me- you, dumbass.” You try your best to act as dead weight behind him, dragging your feet through the sand, “and they're errands for your uncle so you're lucky I'm doing them at all. Should make you run the boat while he’s holed up.”

“You know he hates it as much as you do, Katsuki. He’s been driving me crazy trying to take care of himself.” He’d always been that way. Stubborn. Your mother used to tell you that you reminded her of him. It didn’t feel like a compliment.

Katsuki looks back at you, fingers loosening around your wrist, like he knows what you're thinking. “Trust me, I know how stubborn that bastard can be,” his arm is hooked around your neck to drag you into step next to him, “we’re buttin’ heads constantly.”

You flail a bit in surprise before teeth sink into the juncture of his arm and he lets you go with an affronted gasp, “you fuckin’ gremlin.” Bakugou rubs at the indents roughly, “thought the city was supposed to civilize ya.”

The walk into town is longer than you remember, but maybe you just forgot how expansive the town really was. Katsuki was right, it’s uncomfortably hot, air thick and sticky — it feels like every breath takes effort. It gets worse the closer to town you get, the smell of iron and gasoline pressing down on you. The dock is empty, most boats already out for the day, but the smell lingers.

Main street is busy, as busy as the town can get, and you can already hear the cheesy nautical music being played in the little tourist shops. You always found it funny just how many there were. Little brightly coloured shops filled with novelty plates and mermaid-themed mugs and shirts. When you were little you’d always buy something absurd for your uncle, a windchime carved like a giant crab or a snowglobe whose red glitter looked morbidly like blood. He always kept them.

There’s only one grocer on the island, boxed in by countless fishing supply stores and boat shop repairs. It’s always been so overcrowded you were tempted to start up a rival just so you could get your strawberries without shoulder checking a grandmother.

“Gotta stop by the boat shop before we head back,” Katsuki says, nudging you with an elbow, “yer uncle’s needs a new cleat.”

“Aye aye, Captain!”

He rolls his eyes, pushing the door to the grocery open for you. It’s oddly empty, with no one but the distant sounds of shuffling in the back and a very sunburnt teen closely reading the back of a cereal box.

The shops are rather unchanged, sole for a couple of aisles of sugary cereals and chips, you find it easy to navigate the crates of fruits, “he give you a list?”

“Nah- here for pickup.” Katsuki’s moved to the front, flicking the little bell on the counter, “always buys the same shit anyways.”

The shopkeep, a grinning mess of familiar dark hair, pokes himself from the back. Kirishima’s stayed the same, too, you think. The same horrible cut-off novelty Hawaiian shirt he wore during summer breaks and strong arms, hoisting the heavy crate of plums easily.

“Hey!” You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face when you step up beside Bakugou. He gasps audibly, quickly moving around the counter to yank you into a hug, “I forgot you were supposed to be back today!”

He pulls away, still gripping your forearms, to do a once over.

“Kiri, it’s nice to see you again.” And it is.

“I’ll say- feels like you’ve been gone a decade.” A very apparent thought crosses his face, an audible little oh escaping him as he grips you tighter, “you should come to the bonfire with us tomorrow morning!”

You huff a laugh at the enthusiasm, “us?”

“Yeah! Mina, Denki, and hopefully Bakugou planned on going out to look for shells and teeth! It’s supposed to storm tonight, perfect weather!"

It’s sweet that they’ve kept up with that — combing the beach in a futile effort to find whole shark teeth or the decorative shells tourists seem to always leave with. You used to do it for the grocery store, back when Mina’s grandma owned it, and she’d string up the little shells and pieces of sea glass found into windchimes or bracelets.

Katsuki lets out an exaggerated groan, head tossed back, “Kirishima. The groceries?”

“Oh! Right.” Kiri ducks behind the counter and rummages around before remerging with two packed paper bags of meats and vegetables. You can see the tops of a celery stalk leaned against the little homemade cookies your uncle likes so much. When Katsuki reaches for the handles Kirishima pulls them back, “you are coming, too, right?”

“I really don’t have the patience for this right now,” his snarl doesn’t seem to phase Kiri, though, who continues to slide the bags out of his reach.

“Katsuki!” He whines, lip pulling into an exaggerated pout, “please come?” Kirishima looks pointedly at you, his little way of making you feel included, and grins, “you can come too! It’ll be like back in the day!”

He groans, scrubbing at his face roughly, “I don’t know, ‘t’s date night, y’know.” You huff a quiet little laugh, it’s nice to know Katsuki hasn’t learned how to lie since you’ve been gone.

“Date night is on Wednesdays, which means you’re free! So you’ll come, right?” Kirishima leans onto the counter, resting his chin in hand, “unless you want me to ask them? I’m sure she can give me a straight answer.”

“No- don’t! Don’t fuckin’ threaten me with that. Fine, I’ll go. But I’m home by 12.” Kirishima beams, sliding over the prior hostage groceries before turning back to you.

It’s cute how well Kirishima’s threat worked on him. But the closeness sends a little pang of hurt through you. They know each other. Now that you’re back, faced with the lives that moved on without you, you regret never settling. Even if it was just a little: trying to date or befriending more than the people you’d known since birth. Anything but burying yourself in jobs and school and breaking up with the only boyfriend you’d had so you could finally get out. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so… alien in your hometown.

“You too, right?” You’re startled by the attention, meeting Kirishima’s earnest eyes. “You’ll come?”

“Of course!” It’d be a lie to say you didn’t want the company. Or that you’d missed them after you’d left. “You know I love shore hunting.”

“Great!” He beams, revealing a third bag of groceries for you to carry, “Bakugou can give you a ride and everything! Mina will be thrilled to see you again — Denki, too.”

He flashes one last smile before disappearing back behind the shop's little door, avoiding Katsuki’s pointed hey! and leaving you to follow a fuming Bakugou to the boat shop across the street.

Maybe it’d be nice to see everyone again .

“You’re a lot of fuckin’ help, y’know,” Katsuki grunts from the hull, struggling to haul the metal cage over the side of the boat. It hits the water a moment later, sinking below the choppy waves. “I’m so glad I brought you along.”

You snort, head lolling against your shoulder so you can grin at him, “awww, you knew what you were getting into. You’re the one who said it was ‘my damn uncle’s boat’ and I needed to ‘get off my ass’,” his eyes narrow at the impersonation. “Even though, technically, I came to sit on my ass and watch my uncle’s leg heal. Not to run his crab traps.”

It was his job, technically. You'd started going with him to check the traps after your uncle got better at using his crutches. You hated to admit that it was nice to be doing something other than reading old boat manuals and eating the shrimp chips your uncle bought in bulk.

He grumbles, tossing the ropes back to the boat’s deck before making his way to the helm. You had five more traps to set before the storm moved in, stirrs up the smell of the bait and the water stays warm.

But the skies are darker than they should be. The rain wasn’t supposed to start until noon, and the wind wasn’t supposed to pick up until hours later. You had time, but you still found yourself worrying.

“Are you sure we should be out here? Why can’t the traps wait until after the storm,” you grumble, tucking your hands underneath your arms. Katsuki glares at you from where he’s steering and you can hear your uncle’s rant pooling on his tongue.

“Stop fuckin’ complain’,” he barks, tossing another rope onto the hull, “not even makin’ you do shit and you still find something to complain about.”

You huff, sitting up to glance over the edge of the boat. The water’s dark and choppy, waves slapping against the metal and hissing. Bakugou drops another cage, sending more waves against the boat's side.

The cage sinks slowly, pushing against the current as it disappears into the dark. There’s another splash in front of you, louder than the cage, and you jerk upright. Katsuki shouldn’t have dropped another trap already and it sounded too far away.

You pull yourself up, leaning against the rails as you search the churning waves. There’s nothing, any ripple from the movement hidden in the vicious waves caused by the storm.

It’s raining now, your boots squeaking against the metal floor as you chase the noise. There’s a flash of color—green, the green you’d seen on the beach—and you lean to see more.

“What’re you doin’ dumbass? Get away from the sides!” Katsuki drops the rope he was holding, gripping the railing, “gonna get yourself swept over.”

You ignore him, heart beating out of your chest as you see another flash of fins, “did you-” lightning cracks over you, and you feel the boat start to tip with the waves. It happens so quick, a wave beats against the side and spills over. Your feet, already slipping on the slick metal, are swept out from under you.

You’re too shocked to react, hands clawing at the railing but too slick to get traction as the waves drag you back. The water’s cold, shocking a gasp out as you're pushed under—even though you tell yourself you shouldn’t- that you know how to handle this.

But you don’t. You’ve never drowned and the tightness in your lungs feels ready to burst, your head hits the ground again and your ears begin to ring. You can feel yourself being pushed further to sea by the currents, further away from the boat.

Something moves above you, quick and shadowed and for a moment you think you’ve seen a shark, of all times, but it looks too big. Your vision darkens, blurred green as you feel your hands, too cold, press into your sides, something rough wrap around a leg. Eyes find yours, more green swimming against pale color and the hands start to yank, pulling you up through the water.

You want to see more, to figure out what has you — who saved you, but your vision finally darks, ringing worsening.

You're thirsty when you wake up.

They must have the window open, the saltiness of the air sheening your skin. The room’s silent when you wake up, deathly quiet. As if everyone had established an understood quiet game once you’d been situated into a bed. Your uncle is next to you, propped awkwardly in a chair and gripping at your hand.

Katsuki is behind him, leaned against the wall holding a box with a bow, one that looks suspiciously unlike anything he’d do. He’s the first to notice, straightening in his seat and nudging Kirisihma awake, with much more force than necessary — nearly pushing him from his chair, before moving to the bedside.

“You’re awake,” your uncle sounds out of breath, like he’d spent the entire morning pacing the floor. You wouldn’t have been surprised. Normally, you’d laugh at the observation — obvious — but your throat still aches and breathing hurts.

His palm finds your back when you sit up, coughs raking your lungs. It’s comforting, even if it does little to help, and you find yourself curling in on yourself. “You’re okay, everyone’s okay.”

Your hands fist into the back of his sweater, soft and loosely knitted. The iv aches at the movement and you finally look down at yourself. The skin of your arms seems greyer, as if the water had sucked the very warmth from you, and dry.

You recognize the hospital, you think, from the view. It’s a tiny little clinic downtown which can house a max ten patients at once. The room itself doesn’t feel much like a clinic, walls painted a warm green and gauzy curtains blowing over the opened window. Even the bedding, though spread over your usual hospital bed, comprises soft sheets topped with a worn patchwork quilt. It feels like you’ve fallen asleep on a friend's couch.

“Uh, I brought you flowers,” Kirishima was standing, now, though he looked incredibly out of place. He was wearing another cut off Hawaiian shirt, this time covered in pink and purple turtles, cradling a wilting bouquet of asters like a newborn. “It’s, uh,” he’s shuffling slightly as he stares down at the blooms, “they’re not really in season.”

You laugh a little, despite yourself, which he seems to take great pride in. Your uncle takes the bouquet from him and lets you dunk them in the little pitcher by your bed. “Thank you, Kiri. I love them.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

The little bit of laughter dies with the words. It’s as if something cold has slipped down your spine — you almost died. It’s a grim thought and your shoulders tighten at the memory.

You could’ve died.

Katsuki hasn’t looked at you yet, eyes locked on the little wrapped box in his hands. He rubs a thumb over the corner once more before finally handing it to you, “it’s, uh, brownies. I didn’t make ‘em but they’re still pretty good, I guess.”

That’s high praise, you think and if it didn’t hurt so much you’d laugh. “Tell them thank you, then.” He nods slightly, still picking at the beds of his nail. And you know what he’s thinking.

“Can I — uh, why don’t you and Kiri get me a new thing of water?” Both of them understand, you think, glancing between you and Katsuki, “since I’ve used mine as a vase.”

Katsuki doesn’t look at you until they’re gone, eyes red-rimmed and glossy, “real subtle, dumbass.”

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”

It’s quiet. Not that you expected him to talk first, but you’re still a little annoyed that he’s making you strain your throat this much, “Katsuki — ”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” He’s staring at the floor again, voice so quiet you’re almost sure you missed it, “why? It’s not your fault.”

Bakugou stands suddenly, pushing himself from the rickety lawn chair, and you can see his jaw clench. “I was the one who made you come with me. I could have done it alone — I could have set those damn traps without you. But I made you come.”

“You didn’t make me do anything, Katsuki. And if I hadn’t gone, it could’ve been you that got swept off and then what? Who would’ve been able to get you out?” That was half the reason you’d gone to begin with. You never liked when your uncle went out by himself, let alone a less experienced sailor. “The storm came in quicker than it was supposed to, the sea got rougher than we expected. It’s not your fault, Katsuki, you can’t control the weather.”

He huffs, lifting a hand to scrub through his hair, and you realize you’ve won.

“Now, I do expect ice cream. And I don’t expect to pay for it.”

Katsuki barks a little laugh, “fine. But ya gotta promise not to try and drown yourself anymore.”

You hate that you need looking after, now. It’s minimal, really, considering you nearly died. But you were supposed to be looking after your uncle. Supposed to be making his recovery easier, not sitting on his couch with an icepack tucked against your ribs and earning sympathetic glances whenever he hobbled by the living room.

You hated it. You understood your resemblance, now.

Even though you’ve been cleared, now, your head still aches and your lungs sting with every intake of breath. It’s miserable, feeling so helpless.

The walk to the beach is easy, second nature by now, and you let your feet drag through the sand. The little rock path to the cove isn’t covered, letting the full force of the sun beat down on your neck and you can feel yourself already sweating. The glossy cover of the hardback book you brought along sticks to the underside of your arm and the oranges you’d picked up the week before were already sweating.

Summer hasn’t quite taken over the town, yet. Still too early to be peak tourist season but you can’t help thinking the beach does look a little picturesque — like something you’d see on a cheap motel postcard.

Finding a tree nestled between the rocks, you settle into the plushness of towels and cool sand. The ocean’s slow today, waves lapping against the rocks and pulling at the shore.

This is what your summer break was supposed to be — easy, slow, boring. You were supposed to be able to lounge on the warm sand you hate, read your novel, one about runaway lovers, and peel your oversized oranges Kiri’d made you take.

It’s odd to hear the ocean be natural background noise. You’d been so used to hearing it over a speaker, distorted, then the easy hiss of waves crashing melts comfortably against your skin.

The sound nearly lulls you to sleep, head lolling to rest against the tree's smooth trunk, until you hear a splash — heavy and loud and too close.

You sit up, a book falling from your lap, and see a flash of green — a fish? But it sounded large, larger than anything should be so close to the rocks. Pompano’s are green, but those are deepwater game fish and they weren’t that big.

You’re beginning to wish you’d stayed on the mainland and hadn’t ventured out into the cove. You eye the place where the shores connect, now totally submerged by the tide. Dumb.

“Maybe it’s friendly,” you don’t sound convinced, “most fish are skittish, anyways.”

And so you let yourself relax, settling back against the sand. You can’t keep fearing the ocean, you’ve built your whole future around the sea and you can’t let it be ripped away now.

You're not sure why the noise — a soft little blurb, like a buoy had surfaced quietly, made you look up but it did. At first you see only seaweed — dark green and soft floating amongst the waves — but then you recognize bright eyes and damp curls, clinging to sun-kissed cheeks and nose bridge.

“Hey,” the word comes out fumbled, unsure and a little dumb. You don’t remember anyone being out here or seeing a pile of someone’s belongings on your walk over. So… where did he come from? “I -”

Whatever you were planning on saying frizzles up and dies in your throat when you see it, a tail — at least five feet, maybe more, long curls over the water. It’s the same green you’d seen, paler than his hair but richer than any fish you’d ever seen. The fins, spindly stalks ending in a wide lobe, remind you of a glauert's seadragon.

You scuttle back a step when he moves further out of the water, pulling up onto one of the exposed rocks. “I’m glad you’re okay,” his voice is softer than you’d expected and he looks incredibly non-threatening with his chin perched on his own folded arms, “I was worried you’d gotten too deep.”

“So it was you, then.” His head tilts, and you clarify, “in the water, that pulled me up.”

His tail whips through the water, like he’s pleased, “of course! I was worried, your boat was the only one out on the water.”

You move a little closer, butt-shuffling until the water starts to lap at your skin again. His eyes follow you, zeroing in on everywhere the waves hit before finding your face again. He seems like he’s looking for something, checking for a sign of… something hidden in your expression.

“So… you’re… a mermaid?”

He smiles, then, all sunny and dimpled and cheeks rounding up, “yeah! But Izuku’s my name, please.”

It’s pretty, you think. Suits him. He’s still looking at you, this time brows raised expectantly. You’re about to question it when it hits you, a soft little oh before giving him your own name.

He smiles again, warmth spreading over the apples of his cheeks, and he tests the name on his tongue. The sound tightens your chest and spreads warmth to the very tips of your fingers. You like it.

His — Izuku’s — brows pinch as he spots something behind you. Looking over your shoulder you notice it. The unpeeled oranges.

“Oh, are you hungry?”

“Hm, oh! No, I just… I’ve never seen anything that looked like that before,” he lifts himself off his arms and you notice his hands for the first time, dark and short claws curling into the rock. “What’s it taste like?”

You turn, dragging the little knapsack to you and carefully peeling the fruit. Izuku watches you the entire time, wide green eyes rapt. Like he’s never seen something so interesting.

“Here!” Izuku takes the slice delicately with his knuckles, claws tucked into his palm and his nose scrunches cutely.

“It’s… squishy.”

“It’s supposed to be, it’s fruit — most of it’s squishy.”

When he finally eats it, after some overly thorough sniffing, his eyebrows pinch together. It’s almost humorous how you can see the flurry of emotions which overtake him — disgust, confusion, then interest — before his face softens back out, “I… I like it. I think.”

You snort, which makes his attention snap back to you and his smile returns tenfold. “It’s spicy but like… in a sweet way.” A laugh breaks free before you can stop it. Sour would be better, you think, but you also suppose you don’t know what anything in the ocean tastes like.

You gasp. He does.

“Wait! You’re a mermaid, right?”

“Uh, yes- yeah, I am.”

It’s like it only just hit you, that you’re only just able to connect the dots, “That’s! Oh my god, what’s it like? The ocean?” You barely give Izuku the time to breathe, “what do you eat? Is there… is there a government? Do you migrate — oh, oh, how deep can you swim?”

Izuku looks startled, completely lifted off his arms and staring at you with parted lips, “I… it’s warm and incredibly full of life.” You scoot towards him, nodding quickly, “I usually eat fish, stuff that’s already in the ocean. I like crab a lot, which is why I’m usually so close to crabbing boats.” His flush has worsened a little and he’s staring determinedly down at the rock, like he’s reading from a script. “I can’t swim all that deep down, the pressure gets really bad and it’s too cold for me.”

“We have a King, but it’s not really decided by blood, it's just whoever is the most capable!” Izuku’s looking at you know, propped up on his elbows, “which is a really good system, I think! Helps keep corruption out of power and the King right now is so good! You’d love him, I bet. He’s the coolest.” He seems to realize the rambling, but you only urge him to continue, “some of us migrate, but it’s more a personal choice! I had a friend that moved further south last year, but we’re not like turtles or anything.”

“That’s so cool,” you're not really talking to him anymore — voice so quiet only you can really hear yourself, “it’s like a mini-society.” You scoot closer to the ocean, “is there, like, species of mermaid? Like freshwater, saltwater, deep water ones?”

He nods and you notice his hair has dried, green curls bouncing with the movement, “mhm, the deep-sea ones barely ever get spotted though! They have their own little world down there, I bet.”

The idea conjures a, arguably, fantastical image in your mind. The haunting appearance of all those deep-sea fish science has captured projected onto human forms. Bioluminescent mermaids whose skin is so light it’s nearly see-through, showcasing glowing veins and bones. Mermaids with dangerous teeth and long claws dug into the wreckage they call home.

You haven’t noticed the tide rising, water now gently lapping at your hips instead of your thighs until Izuku says something, “you probably shouldn’t be in the water — it’s late.”

Something odd is lurking in his eyes as he watches the water lap at your clothes and you nod, “yeah — yeah I should check on my uncle. Make sure he hasn’t strained himself.”

You feel his eyes on your back the entire time you're packing up, tracking your every move, until you’ve crossed the quickly vanishing bridge from the mainland to the cove. Izuku’s still perched on the rock, chin resting on his arms in a deceptively lax position. You can tell he’s alert.

“I’ll — I’m gonna come back, okay?” He seems to shake whatever had bothered him earlier off, grinning brightly.

The walk back to your Uncle’s house is quiet. You can’t help but think about Izuku and the look on his face. It was like he was… worried about the water touching you, like he didn’t like you sitting in it. And the way he’d watched you until you were back on dry land. Like he wanted to shelter you.

You see Izuku practically every day after that. After getting your uncle situated for the day and running whatever errands Katsuki needed help with, you’d make your trek down to the cove.

He tells you more about the ocean and starts bringing you gifts. Little things, usually, broken shark teeth and full sand dollars. You start bringing him different foods, mostly sweet fruits or fluffy breads.

Izuku asks a lot of questions, you learn. You also learn he’s not the biggest fan of citrus, preferring the muted sweetness of a mango or peach. Though you also quickly learn to remove the pits before he gets ahold of them so he doesn’t attempt to split them on his molars.

The little walk to the cove has become routine, by now, despite being thwarted by thickets and grass, you find it easy to navigate. Your bag has a combination of kiwis — which you don’t expect Izuku to like — and mangoes, covered by a soft beach towel from when you were young.

Izuku’s there when you arrive, perched on top of a large smooth rock close to the water's edge and fiddling with something in his hands. It looks large, from where you are, and pale.

He jumps when you settle beside him, fingers tightening around the object — a shell — before he relaxes. Izuku says your name like a laugh, “you startled me.” His grip on the shell loosens and you can make out the details. It’s a conch, a beautiful swirl of pink and burnt orange and nearly half the length of his forearm. It’s beautiful.

Izuku notices your stare and holds the shell up, nodding to you, “I found this the other day and I thought you might like it.” He barely lets you process the words before his breath stutters, “you, um, you don’t have to keep it or anything! You could give it to one of your friends or sell it or anything! It just made me think of you. Not that I. Not that I think of you.”

“Izuku,” you breathe, voice heavy with mirth and adoration, “I love it. It’s so pretty.” The fins on his tail shiver against the rocks when you take it and the blush coating his cheeks deepens. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond, not verbally, but his tail curls up against your thigh and the fins protruding from soft curls flatten against his head. Izuku’s eyes alight and he preens under the attention, shuffling even closer. He mumbles something under his breath and you have to lean in to catch even a word of it.

You make a quiet hm? in an attempt to have him repeat it, occupying your hands with running over the notches of the shell in your lap. He jumps again when he glances at you, like he’s surprised that you’re still perched on the rock next to him.

“I,” clawed fingers flex against your calf as he stares, lip caught between his teeth, “I wanna show you something. Next time you come.”

“Oh,” you’re not really sure why you’re surprised, “like underwater?” He nods earnestly, lip still caught between sharp teeth. Your hand curls over his own, fingers slotting together, “I’d love to, Izuku. I’ll dig my old snorkeling equipment out tonight.”

He lets out a breath, shoulders sagging as he melts into your side, “thank you.” Izuku makes a soft noise, low and rough like a purr, when your thumb rubs against his knuckles.

“I have more fruit.” You say it more as a distraction, a way to ignore the puffs of air against your throat, “mangoes and kiwi’s this time.”

“Kiwi?” His head lolls against your shoulder until he can look up at you.

“It’s kinda like… an apple and an orange mixed together,” you fumble. How are you supposed to describe the taste of something to someone whose pallet is so narrow? “Like, the same texture as an apple but a little softer and a little more citrusy.”

His nose scrunches up and you laugh, “I didn’t think you’d like them all too much. But I figured you could eat the mangoes.”

You take to digging through your bag, his chin still balanced on your shoulder. The three fruits you’d brought are still cool from the grocer, sweating slightly in the sun. You’ve gotten good at cubing the fruits without anything to cut against, prying the pits from the cloying flesh. Though you suppose you’re entertaining any easy audience since Izuku usually eats fish straight from the sea.

It’s easy to melt into the familiarity, no matter how odd the situation really is, of being around Izuku. You should probably still be weirded out by him — you’ve only known him for a couple weeks — but it feels right. Spending your day laid out on sun-baked rocks eating cooled fruit feels somewhat… inevitable.

The moment’s interrupted by a noise, heavy footfalls which sends Izuku shooting up and pushing himself halfway into the water. His hand curls against your ankles and a sound, low and crackly — a hiss — you realize, erupts from the back of his throat.

Then a head of blonde hair, spiky and soft, emerges from the trees. “Katsuki?”

“Kacchan?” You don’t have time to question why Bakugou’s here, too focused on the recognition in Izuku’s voice. The nickname, you assume, sounds too personal and you’re so confused.

Katsuki ignores him, staring pointedly at you, “your uncle needs ya. Now.”

Izuku’s still halfway in the water, fins pressed flat against his temples and claws dug deep within the rock. You apologize quietly as you gather your things, eyeing Katsuki over your shoulder.

The walk back into town was quiet again. Unnervingly so as Katsuki was determined to keep his eyes locked on the ground in front of him. You do the same, just to avoid the question, and interestingly sand looks the same in every single spot you check. Cool.

“So,” you start to regret the words before you even speak them, “you, uh, you already knew about mermaids, then?”

He grunts in a way you take to mean ‘yes’ and you continue, “so did you know that’s what happened that night, then? Why I ended up close enough to the boat for you to be able to get to me?”

Another grumble.

“So… how’d you… how’d you meet?” Katsuki would’ve been the last person on the island you thought knew about mermaids. Denki maybe, who’d tried to convince you that every minor problem the town faced was aliens. Or even Eijirou who was so open-minded sometimes you worried about him catching flies.

He sighs heavily. It was a fair question all things considered. “You’re not the first one in town to get swept off a fuckin’ boat.” A muscle in his jaw spasms, “and you’re not the first one that dumbass has rescued.”

Katsuki stops talking after that, like he answered your question in any way satisfactorily. Then, he scrubs a hand over his face — pressing so hard against his eyes you think he’s trying to dig them out — before scoffing, “Just. Just don’t leave the fuckin’ beach without him around, alright?”

“Katsuki, I can swim, you know? I’m not a child.”

He pointedly ignores you, “alright?”

“Fine.”

“Planning on snorkeling later?” Your uncle’s gotten better, only needing a walking stick to be able to move around the house. You worry less about him now, too. “Didn’t know you still had those.”

“Yeah, I saw something at the cove yesterday,” you smile. It’s not a total lie, at least.

He chuffs a laugh, turning the heat down on his bacon, “you remember how much you’d begged for us to finally take you? You hated being under. Had to hold you above the surface so you could just put the mask in.”

You do. You’d always had a weird relationship with the ocean — you loved the idea of it, what it held, but were terrified of the power. The destruction you’d seen it cause to not only the village itself but the people within.

“Didn’t stop coming, though. You’re stubborn,” he turns to wink, “get that from me.”

The flippers don’t fit into your bag, bright green ends pressing against your arm and squishing the plums you’d bought yesterday. It’s earlier in the day than normal — sun not as bright and the sand cool beneath your feet.

Izuku’s waiting for you when you, his tail cutting impatiently through the water, when you finally arrive at the little cove. He schools his expression when he sees you, lifting out of the water with a bright smile and calling your name. “You came!”

“Of course I did! I promised, didn’t I?” He makes room for you on the rock, watching as you work the bright rubber flippers onto your feet. They’re uncomfortable and you can feel sand clinging to the sides of your feet.

“I was just… worried.” There’s an underlying tone that makes you think he’s not talking about you showing up. That he’s talking about this is—the water—what he’s worried about. “It’s not too far, promise.”

You’re not convinced he’s really telling you, more a reassurance for himself. But all the same, you smile down at him, “I trust you, Izuku.”

He seems to relax at that, hands coming to brace your shins as you scoot closer to the stone’s edge. It is a little unnerving, being in the water again, but not so bad with him there. His palm slides up your leg, clawed hand curving over your hip—bracing you—as you finally shimmy down the rock.

Izuku’s hand moves to the back of your head when you start to sink, cradling your skull as a wave pushes you back against the rock. “Careful,” he murmurs. He doesn’t let you go once you’re fully in the water, tucking you easily in the crook of his arm and helps you slip the mask over your face.

The water’s colder than you’d hoped, shudders racking you and you press closer into his side, “thank you.”

He swallows, visibly, and you can feel the anxious squirm of his tail against your leg before he settles. You float there, your back still pressed against the rock, for a moment before he grins again. Izuku’s grip tightens minutely before he lowers himself in the water, “ready?”

The flippers make it easier to keep up with him—a feat made even easier as Izuku refuses to let go of your hand, pulling you close to his side—and it doesn’t take much to reach what Izuku had wanted to show you.

There’s a reef, bright and colorful, just beyond the cove. The water’s colder there and bluer. The floor is covered in life, thickets of seaweed and bright clusters of pink and orange coral. The fish are smaller, but colorful and they don’t seem to fear Izuku when he pulls you in.

He still never lets go of your hand, following close behind you whenever you need to breathe. Izuku’s smile hasn’t left either—dimpled even as he watches you bob with the waves, wiping at the air slicking against your forehead.

You take to following him, cutting languidly through the water as he shows off his tiny world: bright pink plates of encrusting and fish no bigger than your palm. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it, of course, but it feels like you’re seeing it differently.

You’re grinning when you break the surface, pulling your mask up your forehead and hands gripping at Izuku’s forearms, “that’s so cool, ‘zuku.” The taste of salt is heavy on your tongue, clinging to your teeth but you don’t mind.

Izuku grins, the fins buried in green curls twist forwards, “good?”

“So good! I forgot how pretty the reefs out here are. I’m so glad you brought me,” he preens under the attention and you can feel his tail brush against your calf. You think he’s going to say something when he stops, staring at something over your shoulder, and gasps.

“One more,” his hands curl around your wrists and tug you forwards, following whatever he’d seen in the water. You have half a mind to try and slip the snorkel over your face but you don’t. You trust him.

He stops a little ways away, pulling you against him and staring down in the water, “look.”

Your grip on his arms tighten when you do—a large manta ray is below you. It’s moving slowly, wings cutting lazily through the water barely a foot beneath when you’re floating. There’s a few more of them, deeper in the water, below it and you watch as they glide easily through the waves.

You laugh, quiet and startled, as you watch the creatures disappear from sight. The sound draws Izuku’s eyes to yours and he watches you for a moment. His hands move on your back, readjusting their grip and he knocks his head against your own, “ready?”

Your legs are screaming by the time Izuku’s leading you back to the cove. He seemed to have noticed you slowing, insisting you wrap your arms around his neck to let him pull you along.

The air feels colder after being submerged for so long, and you shiver against his back. Izuku’s breathing is odd. You’ve always noticed it, it’s so much slower than your own, but the feeling’s soothing. You start to count them in your mind, letting your cheek rest against his shoulder as he moves.

You barely notice that you’ve gotten back to the cover or that he’s started to move you. You follow him sleepily, letting him tuck your head under his chin and legs into the crook of his arm.

He hoists you up onto the same rock you’d sat on before, slipping the rubber flippers off you. You don’t expect him to follow after you, arms on either side of you and hips framed by your knees, “did you like it?”

“I did,” you hum and tuck a drying curl behind his ear, “it was beautiful.”

Izuku grins again, so bright your chest tightens, and leans to press his forehead against yours. You feel his lips skim your cheek when he finally parts from you and slips back into the cove.

You wish you’d thought about this more—the inevitable—before you forced yourself to confront it. You’d always been meant to stay for just the summer. Help your uncle get back on his feet, enjoy the break before your semester started, and maybe figure out what you were going to study long term. You never planned on staying.

Izuku’s words replayed, the seemingly insignificant fact from when you’d first met. Most mermaids never left home. He’d spent his entire life here. You didn’t expect him to want to leave.

And how would that work, anyway? You didn’t think he’d enjoy living in your bathtub nor do you think you’d be able to get him back home without more than a few questions.

So the conversation had to happen. You just wish you’d prepared better. Or at least not keep avoiding it.

Izuku had started sunning with you. You’d spread out your plush towels by the water’s edge and he’d flop next to you, squinting at the sun and pressing himself into your side. It was easy, nice. And incredibly hard to think about leaving.

You’re sunning now, Izuku’s face tucked against your collarbone and curls dried against your jaw. His breath warms your neck, spreading across your chest.

“Izuku?” He hums, fins twitching minutely, “do you think about the future?” You can feel his brow crinkle and have to fight yourself from smoothing it out with your thumb. “Like… what-”

You’re not sure how to ask. How do you tell him you’re leaving, that you were never here for long and your time has more than run out.

“Are you okay?” He’s propped himself up on flat palms, peering down at you, lip caught between his teeth, “what’s wrong?”

You regret bringing it up, wishing you could sink into the very sand and never emerge. But you can’t. And you can’t keep putting off this conversation. “Summer’s almost over,” you sigh.

Izuku’s head tilts, confusion washing over him before it hits. Oh. You’re leaving. His bottom lip escapes his teeth, wobbling slightly, and he pushes himself further away, “you’re leaving?” You don’t say anything—afraid the burning in your eyes will spill over—but you nod. “When?”

Your breath is shaking when you answer, “in the morning.”

You can see the words hit him, his shoulders sloping and tears bubbling to the surface. Izuku stares at you for a moment and you can feel his slow breathing speed, tears finally spilling over freckled cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, thumbing the tears from his face and pressing your forehead to his, “I have to go back to school and my uncle’s healed but I, I’ll visit.” You’re crying, too now. “I’ll come back every break if you want me too, I promise.”

Your throat burns as you look at him, he looks so distraught. You want to fix it, but there’s nothing you can do.

“I’m sorry, Izuku.” Your thumbs continue to wipe at his cheeks, ignoring your own tears, “I wish there was a way—but I can’t. There’s nothing I can do, I can’t stay here and—”

“And I can’t leave.” Izuku’s voice is brittle when he speaks, waterlogged. You hate it.

Your forehead knocks against his, nose nudging his own, and your arms drag him down against you, “I’ll come back, I promise, anytime you want me to.” The words come out weaker than you’d hope and you hope your actions are stronger, fingers tangling in his hair. “I wish I could take you with me.”

He tenses, breathing evening out suddenly. Your phone buzzes from the beach and you glance at it, “it’s probably my uncle.” You smooth a hand over his cheek, “I’ll figure something out.” Something odd has overtaken his expression, the sureness he had before he’d given you the shell or asked to show you something new—determination.

You gather your towels quickly, avoiding the water and Izuku’s heavy eyes. You know you’ll stay if you look.

You almost leave the shell. It’s the very last thing you pack, sitting on your windowsill beside a vase of dried flowers. It’d be easier to leave everything, you think. Bury it in your childhood chest of drawers and forget this break ever happened.

But you can’t. So you wrap the shell in a soft sweater and tuck it into a corner of your suitcase.

The bags a lot fuller leaving than it was when you first arrived. Stuffed with all the little shells Izuku’d given you and the small crate of creamy chocolate bars Kiri had insisted you keep to “remember him” by. He and Sero had also surprised you with an armful of hawaiian shirts, every single one already had their sleeves cut off for you. “Saving you time!” Sero had declared when you’d sighed heavily.

You still pack them.

You’ve cleared out everything but the tiny closet when you hear your uncle talking to someone. He sounds pleased, someone he knows then, and you only recognize the second voice when they’re at your door. Katsuki.

The door is pushed open, revealing a disarrayed Katsuki whose comically out of breath, gripping your doorknob and grabbing at your forearm.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

He ignores you, pulling you out the door and down the stairs. Yanking at his fingers accomplishes very little, and complaining about your incomplete packing seems to make his grip tighten.

“Katsuki! What’s wrong?” You dig your heels into the ground, finally becoming a big enough resistance for him to huff and turn to you.

“The cove.” Izuku.

Your breath catches and you let him pull you quicker, mind racing. Is he hurt? Did something happen? You’d seen him a few hours ago, how’d it happen that quickly?

The water’s empty and still when you finally breach the trees. And you fist at Katsuki’s sleeve. Then, you see him. He’s bundled up in a towel near the shore, curls damp and dark against his forehead. “Izuku,” you gasp. You notice the lack of fins first, nothing but achingly human ears protruding from his hair, then the fact that the beach towel ends in feet, pruned from the water.

He smiles when he sees you, pained but still achingly bright and you choke on a sob, scrambling to kneel in front of him. He catches you easily, melting into your arms as soon as they find their way around him.

Your heart is still beating against your ribs as you cup his face, running your thumb over the curve of his cheek to collect the tears and saltwater. The absence of his tail becomes glaringly obvious when he shuffles closer to you, knees knocking against your own. “Izuku…why did you… what did you do?”

He shakes his head softly, curls dragging against your cheek as his nose presses into yours, “doesn’t matter.”

You laugh, bright and relieved, and he pulls you further against his chest. His lips skate across the curve of your cheek before his mouth meets yours, chaste and sweet. His arms wrap around your waist as blunt hands curl into the back of your shirt. You can feel his heart beating beneath your palm, skin warm and sticky with the sea.

He noses at your temple when you part, sighing softly, “I, uh, I can go with you, now.” He says it a little hopefully, like you’d ever say no and you nod hurriedly.

“Of course you can, ‘zuku,” nuzzling into his palms, “you’re gonna be hard-pressed to get rid of me.”

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