saltwater stars

by celtromere

Summary:

Pooh Krittin Kitjaruwannakul never expected his solo fishing trip would end with him stranded on a broken-down boat in the middle of the open sea. With no signal, no food, and nothing but the sun and water for company, his patience (and sanity) wears thin with each passing day.

But one night, the sea ripples in an unfamiliar way. Something—someone—emerges from the dark water, curious and radiant under the moonlight. Enter Pavel Naret, a mermaid with wide eyes and a restless heart. He's never seen a human up close, and this one is loud, tired, and kind of cute when he's yelling at the air.

At first, Pavel keeps his distance, only visiting at night and watching from afar. But curiosity blooms into routine, and routine becomes comfort. Slowly, they begin to bridge the gap between land and sea, using hand motions, little gestures, and shared silences under the stars. But how long can something so fragile last between a man bound to the sea and a creature who calls it home?

Notes:

poohpavel has been joking about pavel being a mermaid so here😇

The sun had started to melt into the horizon, staining the water in hues of orange and bruised purple, and still—nothing.

No rescue boat.
No radio signal.
No damn food.

Pooh sat slumped against the broken mast of his tiny wooden boat, lips dry and cracked, eyes heavy-lidded from the fourth day under the sun. His hair, usually styled with care, now stuck to his face in sweat-drenched curls. The fishing rod had snapped in half the day before, and the small emergency flare? Used it. Hours ago. Like a fool.

“Stupid. Stupid ocean,” Pooh muttered, voice hoarse. “I came for a peaceful weekend, not a damn death sentence.”

He shifted, the boat groaning beneath him. The water around him was calm—too calm. It was the kind of eerie silence that made you think something was watching.

He didn't like that thought.

He swore he heard something splash a few hours ago, but maybe that was the heat. Or dehydration. Or both. Maybe he was going insane. Wouldn’t be shocking.

Still, as the sky darkened, turning the world into indigo ink, Pooh kept glancing over the edge of the boat, watching the rippling surface. Waiting.

Then—splash.

It wasn’t loud. Not dramatic. Just… enough. Enough to make his heart stutter. Enough to drag his eyes toward the dark water, breath caught in his throat.

“...What the hell was that?”

He scrambled forward, peering over the edge.

There was nothing. Just water and stars.

Pooh leaned back, scoffing. “Right. I’m losing it.”

But then—

A hand. Webbed fingers. Pale blue skin.

It disappeared as soon as he saw it.

Pooh yelped and scrambled back so fast he slammed into the opposite side of the boat. “WHAT THE—NOPE. NOPE. THAT WAS A FISH. A BIG FISH. A MUTANT FISH—"

Another splash.

This time it was closer.

Then something surfaced.

The moonlight hit it perfectly. Hair like silver seafoam slicked back, water gliding down elegant shoulders. Large, black eyes blinked at him curiously, reflecting light like glass marbles. From the waist up, it was human—bare-chested, slender, beautiful even. But under the water…

Pooh could just make out the shimmer of fins.

He blinked. And blinked again.

"...Nope." He stood up on the boat shakily. “No way. That’s not real. You’re not real.”

The creature tilted its head.

Pooh pointed at it. “What the hell are you?”

The creature didn’t respond. It just stared.

And then, like the ocean's own ghost, it vanished into the dark below.

Pooh stood frozen, hand still pointing, heart hammering in his ears.

“…I’m officially dehydrated. Yup. Lost my mind.”

He sat down again, hard, hugging his knees to his chest.

Still, that night, he didn’t sleep.

Because somewhere deep in the sea around him… he felt watched.

And weirdly?

He wasn’t afraid.

 

Pooh spent the whole next day in a state of what-the-actual-hell.

He kept replaying it in his head: the silver hair, those giant, unblinking eyes, the glint of scales just beneath the surface. He wasn’t even sure if it was a dream, or heatstroke, or some messed-up mirage. Maybe he had finally gone overboard mentally—he was talking to the sea by now, so, not a huge leap.

But then the sun sank again.

And the water changed again.

And so did everything.

He sat cross-legged at the center of the boat as dusk deepened, arms resting on his knees, scanning the sea like it owed him answers. “Alright, Fish Boy,” he muttered under his breath, “if you’re real… come out and prove I’m not hallucinating.”

He wasn’t expecting anything.

But the moment the moon rose…

Splash.

Pooh flinched, heart shooting to his throat.

The water rippled a few feet away, and this time—this time—Pooh saw it clearly.

A figure surfaced slowly, hands out of the water like he was trying not to scare a wild animal. Long silver-white hair slicked down his back. Pale skin, speckled faintly with iridescent shimmer. Wide black eyes. And lips parted in open wonder.

Pooh stared.

So did the creature.

It was like a silent standoff.

“…Hi,” Pooh finally muttered, raising a hesitant hand.

The mermaid blinked.

Then slowly… he raised his hand back.

“Okay,” Pooh breathed, stunned. “You’re real. You’re real. What the hell…”

The mermaid inched closer, arms slicing through the water gently, with barely a ripple. Pooh instinctively leaned back—but didn’t move away. He watched as the other boy (was he a boy? Was that right?) floated there, barely a foot from the edge of the boat.

Close enough to see the gills.

Close enough to see the scales start around his ribs.

“…Are you gonna eat me or something?” Pooh asked. Half-joking. Half-serious.

The creature tilted his head, confused.

“Oh right,” Pooh huffed. “Language barrier.”

He pointed at himself. “Pooh.”

The mermaid blinked. Then pointed to himself and slowly mouthed: “Pavel.”

“…Pavel?” Pooh repeated.

A small, satisfied nod.

Pooh exhaled. “Okay. Pavel.”

The mermaid—Pavel—watched him, eyes filled with childlike curiosity. Like he couldn’t believe this creature—this human—was just sitting here. Just… existing.

They sat like that for a while, neither saying a word. Pavel would float a little closer, then shy away, like a kitten testing the edge of trust. Pooh would slowly reach out, then stop halfway.

Until finally, Pavel raised a hand.

And gently mimed a wave motion.

His fingers made a ripple in the air, then pointed to Pooh, then back to the sea.

Pooh squinted. “What… what are you trying to say?”

Pavel made the gesture again, this time slower—wave, point, sea.

“Oh.” Pooh snorted softly. “You want to know if I’m from the sea?”

Pavel nodded once, hopeful.

Pooh shook his head and pointed up. “Land.”

Pavel blinked. Confused again.

Pooh mimed walking with two fingers. “Land. Dirt. Sand. Trees. Internet. Noodles.”

Pavel just stared.

Pooh sighed. “Great. We’re making progress,” he said sarcastically, then added with a small smile, “but you’re cute, so I guess I’ll forgive the confusion.”

Of course, Pavel didn’t understand the words. But something in his eyes warmed anyway.

He stayed with Pooh until the moon was high and the air turned cold. Then—just as silently as he’d come—Pavel dipped underwater and vanished.

Pooh laid back in the boat afterward, hand on his chest, heart still racing.

“…Okay,” he whispered into the sky. “This might be insane. But I think I want to see him again.”

 

Pooh was officially, undeniably losing it.

And he didn’t even care.

By the fourth night, his body had adjusted to the rhythm of hunger, dehydration, and heat—but his mind? His mind had latched onto one silver-haired reason to keep staying awake.

Pavel.

The mermaid came every night now.

Always at moonrise, always with that same silent grace, those curious, soft eyes. He never spoke—couldn’t, probably—but he made his thoughts known in gestures, glances, shy little tilts of his head.

Pooh wasn’t used to quiet things being comforting. But Pavel? Somehow… was.

Tonight, though, Pavel came with something new.

He surfaced right on cue, arms breaking through the water—holding something. It sparkled even in the dark.

Pooh sat up straighter, squinting. “What’s that?”

Pavel swam closer, cautiously—he always kept a sliver of space between them—and with both hands, he carefully placed something on the edge of the boat.

It was a shell. Not just any shell—no. It was the most ridiculous, spiraled, iridescent, glittering nonsense Pooh had ever seen. Like a kid’s art project dipped in rainbow oil.

“…You brought me a gift?” Pooh blinked.

Pavel tilted his head, unsure.

Pooh pointed at the shell. “For me?”

Pavel gave a tiny nod, lips quirking up in a little half-smile.

Pooh picked it up, held it gently in his hands. “It’s... pretty. Thanks, I guess.”

Pavel looked delighted.

“Wait—do you always do this?” Pooh asked. “Bring weird sea trinkets to strangers you spy on at night?”

Pavel gave no response, of course. Just the flick of a fin under the surface.

Pooh tried not to smile too much.

Over the next few nights, it became a thing. Pavel would bring a new offering—some coral shaped like a heart, a strange smooth stone, one night even what looked like a broken compass. Every time, he presented it with careful hands and a hopeful look.

Pooh? He started saving them all in the corner of the boat. His Pavel pile, he called it in his head.

Tonight, after handing over a long strand of seaweed with shells tied into little knots, Pavel lingered longer.

Pooh chewed his lower lip. Then tried again.

He pointed to himself. “Pooh.”
Then pointed to Pavel. “Pavel.”

Then pressed his thumb up, nodding like an idiot. “Good.”

Pavel blinked. Confused.

So Pooh exaggerated the thumbs-up motion. “Good. Thumbs-up. Means good. Nice. Okay. Not dead.”

Pavel slowly mirrored him—thumb out, staring at his own hand like it was an alien limb.

Pooh tried not to laugh. “Yes. That. You got it.”

He gave another thumbs-up.

Pavel did the same, then grinned, all teeth and sun-kissed cheeks.

Pooh froze.

God. That smile.

Why did it make him feel like he was the one drowning?

He tore his gaze away, muttering, “Stop looking at me like that. You’re a sea creature. This is illegal.”

Pavel blinked again, then reached up from the water and gently pressed his thumb against Pooh’s.

It was clumsy. Soft. A little wet.

But it was the best damn high-five Pooh had ever received in his life.

—-

 

By now, Pooh had accepted three things.

One: He was 100% stranded.

Two: His only consistent visitor was a beautiful, probably-magical sea boy with shiny hair and no understanding of personal space.

Three: He was kind of okay with it.

Maybe it was the sun messing with his brain—or the fact that Pavel always showed up like clockwork each night—but Pooh had stopped worrying. Mostly. He even found himself waiting for those familiar ripples in the water. For that silent splash and the sudden glint of moonlight on Pavel’s soaked shoulders.

He’d even started talking to him. Well—at him.

Pavel would just float there, blinking, listening, looking like he was absorbing every word Pooh muttered.

It was almost sweet.

Almost.

Except tonight?

Pooh was starving.

His stomach let out a violent growl that echoed across the boat.

Pavel, already leaning halfway on the side of the boat, blinked wide-eyed.

Pooh slapped a hand over his stomach. “That wasn’t a threat, okay?”

Pavel looked at him like he was being dramatic (he was). Then tilted his head.

“…I’m hungry,” Pooh admitted.

Pavel frowned slightly.

“I mean, yeah, I could chew on the boat wood or cry until the sea takes me, but I figured I’d ask first,” Pooh mumbled, trying to mime putting food in his mouth. “Eat. I want food.”

He repeated it slowly. Fingers to mouth. “Eat.”

Pavel watched his hands carefully.

Then—his eyes lit up. Like something clicked.

He gave a sharp little nod.

Pooh sat up straighter. “Wait—you get it?! You’re gonna bring food?!”

Pavel dipped beneath the surface without another word.

“…Okay,” Pooh muttered. “Either I just asked for fish, or I accidentally proposed marriage. Let’s hope it’s the first one.”

A few minutes passed.

Then another splash.

Pavel emerged triumphantly—holding something long, silver, and very much still twitching.

Pooh’s face dropped. “Wait. No. NO. That’s—no way—”

Pavel placed the entire raw fish onto the edge of the boat. Glistening. Eyeballs and all.

He looked so proud. So innocent.

Like he just handed over a five-star gourmet dish.

Pooh stared at it.

The fish stared back.

He looked at Pavel. “I love you, but what the actual hell.”

Pavel blinked, confused.

Pooh sighed. “I’m not eating that! It’s raw! It still has a soul! That’s a Disney side character you just sacrificed!”

Pavel blinked again. Then mimed eating it.

Pooh gagged. “No—absolutely not. You’re insane.”

Pavel frowned. Disappointed.

“I appreciate it, I do,” Pooh muttered, pushing the fish a few inches away. “But I don’t have, you know, a fire. Or a stomach for sushi. Especially the eyeball-on kind.”

Pavel stared at him. Then at the fish. Then Pooh again.

He looked like he was thinking really, really hard.

Pooh sighed again. “I just… I don’t suppose you have, like, a grilled cheese sandwich hiding under the sea, do you?”

Silence.

“…Didn’t think so.”

That night, Pooh ate a few soggy crackers from his emergency kit and dreamt of cheeseburgers.

But when he woke the next morning, he found something left at the edge of the boat:

A new fish.

Cleaned. Scaled.

Still raw, but Pavel was trying.

Pooh didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

 

Pooh had never thought he’d reach a point in his life where he’d become emotionally invested in teaching a mermaid how not to feed him live fish, and yet—here he was.

Floating in the middle of the ocean, sunburnt, cranky, and staring down the fish offering number five.

Pavel, ever the enthusiastic provider, had just resurfaced and slapped the newest fish onto the edge of the boat like it was a prize trophy.

Pooh leaned back with a groan. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Pavel beamed, like a proud boyfriend who just brought home a dozen roses. Except the roses were wet. And squirming.

“Nooo,” Pooh drawled dramatically. “I said food. I didn’t say fish. I mean, I appreciate the thought, really, but my stomach might actually murder me if I eat another eyeball.”

Pavel tilted his head. His expression read: Confusion but make it pretty.

Pooh took a breath, sitting up straight. Time for another round of charades: sea survival edition.

He pointed to the fish and made a face. “No.”

Pavel frowned.

Then Pooh waved his hands frantically and shook his head. “No fish. No eat. Bad tummy.”

He made an exaggerated gurgling motion, complete with tongue out and a dying swan impersonation. “Blehhh. Sick.”

Pavel blinked. Slowly. Then glanced down at the fish like is that offensive to him?

“No offense to your... uhh... dinner traditions,” Pooh added, hands raised. “But I was kinda hoping for, like, bread. Or rice. Something not... twitching.”

Pavel clearly didn’t understand. But he got the gist: Fish = no.

He slowly lowered the fish back into the water and sank out of view.

Pooh flopped back dramatically, hand over his face. “He’s gonna bring another fish. I know it. I just hurt a sea prince’s feelings, and he’s gonna bring me a whole tuna this time.”

But after about ten minutes, another splash broke the silence.

Pooh peeked up.

And immediately sat upright.

Pavel was back.

This time?

He held out… something green.

Something long. Slimy.

“…What is that,” Pooh whispered, terrified.

Pavel smiled proudly and dropped it onto the boat.

Seaweed.

A thick bunch of it. Long strands still dripping, tangled in what looked suspiciously like a small crab.

Pooh stared.

Then at Pavel.

Back at the seaweed.

“…You really said, ‘not fish’? Okay. Here’s ocean salad.”

Pavel gestured with his hands, miming chewing and smiling sweetly.

“You eat this?” Pooh asked, brows raised.

Pavel nodded vigorously and even pulled a strand from the water, chomping on it with delight. Like he was in a cooking show. Like it was gourmet.

Pooh’s stomach gurgled miserably.

He looked back down at the seaweed.

Then up at Pavel again.

“…Fine.”

He picked a (crab-free) strand, sniffed it, made a face, then took a tiny, reluctant nibble.

His face instantly scrunched.

Pavel watched him like a parent watching their kid try vegetables for the first time.

Pooh forced a smile. “It’s… chewy.”

Pavel mimed a double thumbs-up.

Pooh gave him a tired one back. “Yeah, yeah. Good job, sea chef.”

But truth be told?

His heart did a weird little flip anyway.

Because yeah—Pavel didn’t get it.

But he tried.

And that meant more to Pooh than he could ever explain with just hand signs and sarcasm.

 

Pooh had officially hit the point where everything felt surreal.

Day... what? Ten? Eleven? He’d lost track. His boat was still floating, barely. The sun still burned his skin in the daytime. His stomach still growled at odd hours. But every single night, like clockwork, he came.

Pavel.

With more weird sea snacks. With little gifts—shells, stones, one time a starfish (Pooh had gently put it back in the sea, mouthing “I’m sorry, buddy”). But more than the items, Pavel came with... presence.

And tonight? He stayed longer.

The moon was full, casting silver over the rippling waves. Pavel had perched himself on the side of the boat now, chest glistening with saltwater, hair dripping over his shoulder like some cursed Disney prince.

Pooh sat across from him, arms resting on his knees, heart doing backflips for no reason he wanted to admit.

They hadn’t said a word. Well, Pooh talked. Pavel listened. And blinked. And occasionally did that cute, confused head tilt that made Pooh feel like his insides were melting.

“I don’t know if you can understand a single thing I’m saying,” Pooh murmured, fingers trailing lightly over the curve of the boat. “But thank you.”

Pavel looked up.

Pooh nodded, more sincere now. “You kept me sane. You didn’t have to. You could’ve just... left me here. But you keep showing up. With fish. And seaweed. And... and that one sponge thing I really don’t want to think about.”

Pavel smiled, soft and curious.

“And I’m not saying I’m in love with you, because I’m probably sleep-deprived and sun-fried, but you’re kind of—” Pooh stopped himself. Blinked. Coughed into his fist. “—kind of something.”

Pavel inched forward. He leaned his arms on the edge, now almost nose-to-nose with Pooh, their closeness charged with something both fragile and bold.

Pooh could feel the tension in the air—thick and wet, like before a storm.

And then—he moved.

Carefully. Slowly. He reached out.

Fingers hovered over Pavel’s hair, unsure. “Can I...?”

Pavel didn’t speak, but he lowered his eyes and tilted his head forward.

That was all Pooh needed.

He let his hand gently brush through the soaked silver strands, fingertips grazing cool skin just beneath. Pavel’s hair was softer than he expected, tangled from the sea but strangely clean. His hand trembled slightly as he touched him—because what was he even doing?

But Pavel didn’t pull away.

In fact... he leaned in. Just a little.

Eyes fluttering closed.

Pooh's throat tightened. “I shouldn’t be this attached to a literal fish-boy, should I?”

Pavel peeked one eye open. Blinked slowly.

Pooh laughed under his breath, brushing his thumb lightly over the other’s cheekbone, water dripping between them. “God, you’re unreal.”

For a moment, they just stayed like that. Fingers tangled in sea-wet hair. Water rocking the boat gently beneath them.

And somewhere inside Pooh’s ribcage, something cracked open. Something quiet, something warm.

He didn’t know what to call it.
Not yet.
But it was Pavel-shaped.

 

Pooh had fallen into a rhythm.

A weird, watery, sunburnt, emotionally confusing rhythm—but a rhythm nonetheless.

Wake up. Survive. Stare at the endless horizon. Daydream about fried chicken. Wait for the moon to rise.
And then—Pavel.

The boy from the sea who never spoke, but somehow said everything anyway.

Pooh would talk, and Pavel would listen. Pavel would bring something—seaweed, coral, a shell, another fish that Pooh still refused to touch—and Pooh would roll his eyes but secretly beam like an idiot.
They didn’t need words.

But tonight?

No splash.

No Pavel.

Nothing.

Pooh waited, legs swinging over the edge of the boat. He scanned the dark water, biting his lip, fingers tapping anxiously on his knee.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Maybe you’re just late.”

The moon had already risen. Full and high. The sea shimmered. Still no sign of silver hair. No familiar black eyes watching him from the waves.

Pooh stood, pacing the length of his tiny boat. “Maybe you’re busy. Maybe something came up. Maybe there’s, like, a sea emergency? A jellyfish protest? A kraken reunion—hell, I don’t know your life.”

He laughed, weakly.

Waited.

And waited.

His voice cracked into the silence. “Pavel?”

Nothing. Not even a ripple.

The longer the night dragged on, the more it clawed at Pooh’s chest. He tried to rationalize it. Tried to convince himself it was normal. That maybe he was the weird one for expecting a mermaid to be consistent.

But still.

The space beside the boat felt too empty.

And it hit him like a punch to the gut:
He missed him.

More than he should.

More than made any sense.

He missed the quiet presence. The way Pavel would tilt his head when Pooh said something dumb. The way he always floated just a little closer each night. The way his smile lit up his entire stupid sea-boy face.

Pooh sat back down at the edge of the boat, knees drawn to his chest, staring down at the unmoving water.

“…You better be okay,” he muttered, voice soft. “Because if I waited around all night for some magical twink with gills who just ghosted me, I swear to god I’m gonna scream into this ocean until whales file a noise complaint.”

Still no splash.

No hair. No shell gift. No seaweed with extra love.

Just Pooh. Alone. Again.

But this time... it hurt.

And god, he didn’t realize how badly he’d gotten used to that face. That silence. That connection.

He stayed up until dawn.

Watching. Hoping.

But Pavel didn’t come.

 

The next night, Pooh didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t anxious.

He was pacing now. Talking to himself. Rubbing his arms like he was cold, even though the air was warm and humid.

The sea stretched endlessly around him—calm, taunting. Moonlight rippled across its surface, but there were no splashes. No flashes of silver hair. No wide black eyes peeking over the edge.

Not again.
Not two nights in a row.

“Come on, Pavel,” he whispered. “Please don’t be gone.”

His voice cracked. It shouldn’t have. He wasn’t even sure why he cared this much. It wasn’t like they’d had deep conversations or confessions. They barely even understood each other.

But there was something about the way Pavel looked at him—like he saw him. All of him. Like he mattered.
And now he was just… gone.

Pooh sat down, burying his face in his hands.

And then—
SPLASH.
But not the usual one.

This was fast. Sharp. Desperate.

Pooh’s head shot up. “Pavel?”

There—just off the side of the boat—silver hair, shimmering wet and tangled, broke the surface. Pavel gasped, struggling to stay upright. His arms flailed, face contorted in pain.

Pooh’s stomach dropped. “Pavel?!”

He scrambled toward the edge and saw it immediately—blood in the water. Dark, inky red swirling around Pavel’s shoulder. His arm was limp. A jagged gash split the skin from shoulder to elbow. Scales were ripped.

Pavel’s breathing was shallow. His lips trembled.

Pooh didn’t hesitate. “Come here—shit, come here—”

He reached down and grabbed him under the arms, hauling him up with a strength he didn’t know he had. Pavel was heavier than he looked—muscle and water-soaked limbs dragging—but Pooh managed to get him halfway into the boat.

His long tail still hung over the edge, shimmering faintly under the moonlight.

Pooh cupped Pavel’s cheek. “Hey—hey. Stay with me, okay? What happened to you?”

Pavel’s eyes fluttered open. He whimpered softly, voice weak and garbled.
Pooh's chest ached. “Oh god. You do make sounds.”

Pavel blinked, dazed, clearly trying to stay conscious.

Pooh ripped the bottom hem of his own shirt and pressed it tightly against the wound. Pavel flinched, hissing through clenched teeth.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Pooh muttered, his hands trembling. “I’m not a doctor, I barely passed first aid, but I’m not gonna let you bleed out on this stupid boat.”

He glanced around. There was no clean water, no medicine, nothing useful. Just rags and salt.

“Please don’t die. I can’t—I can’t handle that. Not after all this. Not after you... you.”

Pooh looked down at him. Pavel was pale, shivering, his brows furrowed in pain. But even then… even then… he looked beautiful.

Pooh brushed wet strands of hair off his forehead gently. “You came back.”

Pavel opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Just the softest, pained breath.

But then—he raised his good hand. Slowly. Weakly.

And touched Pooh’s cheek.

Just a brush of his fingers. Barely there. But it stopped Pooh’s heart.

“You idiot,” Pooh whispered, holding his palm over Pavel’s. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

Pavel blinked slowly. A soft, almost apologetic smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

And then, exhausted, he slumped forward—resting his head against Pooh’s chest.

Pooh froze.

Then wrapped his arms around him. Carefully. Protectively.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into damp hair. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

The ocean rocked the boat gently. And for once, Pooh didn’t feel alone.

He felt anchored.

 

Pavel didn’t wake for a long time.

At least, not fully.

He stirred a little through the night—whimpering in pain, occasionally flinching like he was back wherever he got hurt—but he never really opened his eyes. He just curled closer against Pooh, trembling, the gash on his arm still raw and red under the pressure of Pooh’s torn shirt.

Pooh barely slept.

He kept one hand pressed gently to Pavel’s wound, the other stroking his damp hair to soothe him. He whispered soft nothings, over and over—“You’re okay,” and “I’ve got you,” and “Don’t die on me, sea boy.”

When the sun rose, Pooh flinched at how pale Pavel looked.

There was no medicine. No disinfectant. No fresh water.

But—the clouds were gray. Heavy. Bruised.

And that meant hope.

Rain.

Pooh scrambled to set up the emergency tarp from under the seat, angling it as best he could to catch the water. He used an empty container (originally meant for bait) to catch the drips. Clean, cool, blessed rain.

And when the clouds finally burst open, Pooh held the little cup like it was holy.

He rushed back to Pavel, who was still limp, breathing slow and shallow.

“Hey,” Pooh said softly, cupping a hand behind his head. “I got you something.”

He tilted the cup toward Pavel’s lips. The merboy stirred, eyelids fluttering.

Pooh gently tapped his cheek. “Come on, sweet boy. You need to drink.”

Pavel blinked slowly, confused—but when Pooh pressed the rim of the cup against his mouth, he sipped instinctively. Only a little. But enough.

Pooh exhaled with relief. “That’s it. Good.”

He set the cup aside and reached under the seat again. His fingers brushed over the last two sad-looking cracker packs in his emergency box.

“Not exactly a feast,” he muttered, tearing one open. “But it’s better than seaweed, right?”

He crushed the crackers gently and poured some of the crumbs into his palm. He wasn’t even sure if Pavel could eat it—wasn’t even sure if mermaids had the stomach for human food—but he tried anyway.

“Open,” he whispered, like he was feeding a toddler.

Pavel blinked. Weakly parted his lips.

Pooh placed a small crumb on his tongue.

Pavel blinked again. Chewed.

Paused.

Made a weird face.

“Okay, rude,” Pooh said with a laugh. “It’s not that bad.”

Pavel gave the faintest eye-roll. But he accepted another bit anyway.

Pooh grinned. “You’re the most dramatic fish I’ve ever met, and I watched Finding Nemo twice.”

The rain kept falling. Gently now. Soothing. Cooling the boat and washing some of the blood from Pavel’s arm.

Pooh took the damp rag he’d soaked earlier and started gently wiping the wound, careful not to reopen anything.

Pavel winced, hissing softly.

“I know,” Pooh whispered. “I know, I’m sorry. Almost done.”

He worked slowly, quietly. Humming under his breath. A random song he didn’t remember the name of—just soft, tuneless, comforting.

Then—he felt it.

Pavel’s hand, trembling, curling weakly into the front of Pooh’s shirt.

Not pulling him closer. Just... holding on.

Like he was anchoring himself.

Pooh looked down and met his eyes. “Hey.”

Pavel blinked, fever-glazed. His lips moved. No sound.

Pooh brushed his fingers through Pavel’s hair again. “You don’t have to say anything. Just rest.”

And then—because it felt right, and because his chest ached with too much affection—Pooh leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Pavel’s forehead.

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” he whispered.

Pavel didn’t respond. But his fingers didn’t let go.

 

Pooh was half-asleep when he felt the shift.

The weight on his chest stirred.

A breath—shaky, uneven. Then movement. Fingers twitching, brushing lightly against his shirt.

He blinked himself awake, heart lurching.

“Pavel?”

The merboy lay half-curled beside him, still pale but more alert. His dark eyes fluttered open fully this time—glassy, exhausted, but awake. Focused.

Pooh nearly cried.

“Oh, thank god—thank god,” he whispered, reaching up and cupping Pavel’s cheek. “You’re awake. You’re really—oh my god, you’re okay.”

Pavel’s brow furrowed slightly, like he was processing all the noise, the light, the heat—himself. He moved to sit up but winced immediately, falling back against Pooh with a pained breath.

“Hey, hey—no, don’t move.” Pooh gently eased him down, one hand hovering just above the bandaged wound. “You’re still healing. You bled like hell, you dumb sea boy.”

Pavel blinked slowly, eyes searching Pooh’s face.

Then—very slowly—he raised his hand and made a vague gesture, like a flick downward. Then another—this one sharper. A sweep to the side.

Pooh frowned. “You… swam down?”

Pavel nodded weakly.

“And then something… cut you?”

Another nod.

Pooh’s chest tightened. “What was it?”

Pavel paused. Then raised both hands, forming something big. Huge, even. He widened them more, then mimed sharp teeth—fingers curled like claws.

Pooh’s stomach dropped.

“A predator?”

Pavel nodded again.

“Like—a shark?” Pooh made a toothy snapping motion.

Pavel shook his head. Firmly.

“Not a shark,” Pooh muttered, trying to follow the strange miming. “Something... bigger?”

Pavel nodded again. His hands moved swiftly—he made a circling motion, then something low, dragging, like something slithering beneath.

Pooh shivered. “Something from deeper.”

Pavel’s eyes met his. And even though he didn’t speak a word, Pooh understood it.

Something old. Something deep.
Something that didn’t like him being near the surface.

“You came up to see me,” Pooh whispered, realization sinking in. “And it punished you for it.”

Pavel looked down.

Pooh’s hands curled into fists. “So that thing hurt you... because of me?”

Pavel blinked, then immediately reached up with his good hand—grabbing Pooh’s wrist. Shaking his head. No.

Pooh stared at him. “But if you hadn’t been near me—”

Pavel gently placed his hand over Pooh’s chest.

And held it there.

Right over his heart.

Pooh stopped breathing.

“…What are you trying to say?” he whispered.

Pavel gave him a look—gentle, warm, a little tired—but real. Present. Intentional.

And then he mouthed a word. Slowly.

“Stay.”

Pooh froze. His lips parted. “You… you just said—”

Pavel pointed at him. Then made a small motion—flat palm pressing down—like anchoring. Holding. Keeping.

“Stay.” Pooh whispered again.

Pavel nodded. Just once.

Then dropped his head back against Pooh’s shoulder. Like it took everything out of him.

Pooh held him, arms wrapping around his waist, careful not to touch the wound.

Something in his chest cracked open all over again.

And this time? He let it.

Because Pavel wasn’t just a sea creature.
Not to him.
Not anymore.

 

The first time it happened, Pooh thought he was hallucinating.

He was humming again—something soft, something repetitive, just to fill the silence. Pavel had gotten stronger over the past few days, enough to sit up now, to lean over the edge of the boat and soak his tail in the sea while Pooh wrapped his arm with cleaner fabric strips.

And he was watching Pooh like always.

Except this time... his lips moved.

Pooh glanced up. “What?”

Pavel hesitated. Then mouthed something again. A little awkward. Slower this time.
Still no voice, but—

“...‘Pooh’?”

Pavel blinked. Then smiled softly.

Pooh blinked back. “You just said—oh my god, you said my name.”

Pavel gave a tiny nod, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

“You’ve been listening to me talk this whole time and now you’re copying me?” Pooh stared, then laughed. “Holy shit, I’m your language teacher. This is terrifying.”

He grinned and pointed to himself. “Pooh.”

Then pointed to Pavel.

Pavel nodded. “Poo...”

He frowned, then tried again. “Poh.”

Pooh nearly snorted. “Close enough.”

Then Pooh tapped his own chest. “Pooh.”

He tapped Pavel’s shoulder. “Pavel.”

Pavel watched him. Then repeated, very softly, “...Pavel.”

Pooh’s heart gave an embarrassingly loud thump.

“Okay, that’s—” He exhaled. “Okay. This is happening. We’re doing the language thing. Yes. Cool.”

Over the next hour, they made a game out of it.

Pooh would point to something—his hand, his eye, his knee—and say the word. Pavel would repeat it back, sometimes a little off, sometimes wildly wrong, and Pooh would lose it laughing every time.

“Eye,” Pooh said, pointing.

“Ehh,” Pavel mumbled.

“No, no—eye.”

“Ahhye?”

“Perfect. You’ve got it. I’m putting that on your report card. A+.”

Pavel just grinned, bright and proud.

Later that night, when the stars were out and the waves had gone still, Pooh leaned back in the boat, arms behind his head, watching the sky. Pavel was floating nearby again, head resting on the edge, silver hair fanned out like moonlight over water.

They were quiet.

But then—softly—Pavel whispered, “...Pooh.”
Pooh looked over.

Pavel pointed to him. “Stay.”

Pooh swallowed.

Then reached out—touched Pavel’s fingers. Laced them with his own.

And whispered, “Always.”

 

It started with a look.

Pooh was sprawled across the boat again, feet dangling over the edge, hand lazily trailing through the warm water. Pavel had healed a lot since the night he almost bled out—his wound now just a pale scar along his shoulder. His strength had returned, and so had that quiet, curious fire in his eyes.

But tonight?

Tonight his gaze was different.

Intent. Focused.

“Pavel?” Pooh sat up, brows lifting. “What?”

Pavel didn’t answer. Just floated closer.

Then—he held out his hand.

Palm up.

Inviting.

Pooh blinked. “Uh. You okay?”

Pavel didn’t break eye contact. He only repeated the gesture—slow, steady.

Pooh hesitated. “What are you doing?”

Pavel glanced toward the water. Then back at Pooh.

“Come,” he said softly. “See.”

Pooh’s heart skipped. “…You want to show me something?”

A nod.

He looked into those black, endless eyes—dark as the deep sea—and somehow, trusted them.

Pooh exhaled shakily. “Okay.”

He gripped Pavel’s hand.

The water was warmer than he expected when he slid in. His clothes clung instantly to his body, the cool weight of the sea surrounding him like a second skin. Pavel held him steady, one hand around his waist, the other holding Pooh’s hand against his chest.

“You sure this is safe?” Pooh whispered.

Pavel gave a tiny smirk.

Then pulled him under.

Not deep. Just far enough.

Pooh had expected murky darkness.

Instead, the world below exploded into light.

The moon reflected off rippling coral. Vines of glowing seaweed drifted between strange, soft creatures with bell-shaped bodies that shimmered blue and pink. Fish with translucent fins danced around them, swirling in elegant loops like underwater ribbons.

Pooh’s eyes widened behind his lashes.

Pavel glanced back at him, as if to say, See?

Pooh could only nod, dumbstruck.

They drifted further—Pavel guiding him gently, always keeping one arm steady around his waist. They passed a small cave, smooth like polished stone, where something flickered from inside. Tiny jellyfish floated lazily along coral shelves, their bioluminescent glow lighting the dark.

Pooh wanted to say something. Anything.

But he couldn’t speak underwater.

So instead, he just looked at Pavel.

And Pavel looked back—his hair floating like silk, his mouth parted slightly, and god, he was beautiful in a way that wasn’t human. Something wild and ancient and quiet.

Pooh reached forward and touched his cheek underwater.

Pavel leaned into it.

For a moment, everything stilled.

The sea cradled them. The light shimmered around them.

And their foreheads pressed together gently, eyes closed, breath held—not in panic, but in peace.

Pooh could feel it in his chest:
This wasn’t just survival anymore.
This was something else.
Something more.

Eventually, Pavel pulled them gently toward the surface, breaking through with a splash.

Pooh gasped for air, blinking against the light breeze—and immediately burst into laughter.

“I just saw a glowing fish do a backflip,” he said breathlessly. “I’m not okay.”

Pavel grinned.

Pooh looked at him, still panting, wet hair clinging to his forehead. “You just—you live there. You live down there like it’s normal. Do you understand how illegal that is?”

Pavel just smiled wider. Then whispered, “Beautiful.”

Pooh froze. “What?”

Pavel pointed—not at the reef.
At him.

Then repeated, “You. Beautiful.”

Pooh felt his face flush so fast it nearly steamed off the ocean.

“I—uh—” He cleared his throat. “Okay. Now I am drowning.”

Pavel tilted his head, confused.

Pooh laughed, covering his face. “Never mind. Just—shut up. And swim me back.”

But he didn’t let go of Pavel’s hand.

And Pavel didn’t let go either.

 

It started with thunder.

Pooh should’ve known it was coming. The air had been thick all day, sticky and too still. Even the gulls had stopped crying overhead. The sun had vanished behind layers of heavy clouds—and yet, for some dumb reason, he’d stayed on the boat.

Why?
Because Pavel always came at night.
And if he didn’t show up again, Pooh knew he’d go insane waiting.

The first lightning bolt cracked across the horizon like the sky itself was being torn open.

Pooh flinched, pulling the emergency tarp tighter over his head. “Okay. No big deal. Just a little storm. A tiny—AH!”

The boat rocked violently as a wave slammed into the side.

Water sprayed everywhere. His flashlight rolled away and clattered into the sea.

“God—seriously?!”

And then the wind howled. A vicious, snarling gust that made his tiny boat spin.

Another wave hit.

The boat tilted.

Pooh slipped.

One moment he was scrambling for balance—
The next, he was underwater.

It was cold.
Immediate.
All-consuming.

He thrashed, panic burning his lungs. The ocean pulled him down, swallowing him whole. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. The rain above churned the surface into chaos.

This is it, he thought. I’m going to drown. Alone.

But then—

Arms.

Strong. Familiar. Warm, even in the freezing dark.

Pooh was yanked upward—faster than he thought possible.

They broke the surface with a gasp, water streaming from his face, Pavel’s arms wrapped tight around his chest.

Pooh coughed violently, choking on salt. “Jesus—”

“Pooh,” Pavel whispered, hoarse, desperate.

He was shaking. Face pale, frantic. He kept one arm around Pooh, the other holding the side of the boat as the wind slammed into them again.

“You—you came,” Pooh wheezed.

Pavel nodded quickly. “Saw. Heard—storm. You—gone.”

Pooh blinked. “You were watching? The whole time?”

Another nod.

Pooh grabbed him by the shoulders. “You saved me.”

The boat tilted again, but Pavel didn’t let go. He held Pooh against him like letting go wasn’t an option.

They clung to each other, the waves crashing around them. Lightning lit up the sky again, flashing Pavel’s face in stark silver—his soaked hair sticking to his cheeks, his eyes wide, filled with terror.

Not from the storm.

From losing him.

Pooh couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t breathe—not from the waves this time, but from the way Pavel was looking at him like he meant everything.

And before he could overthink it—

He leaned in.

So did Pavel.

Their foreheads touched first. Then noses.

Then—

Almost.

Just inches.
Lips barely brushing.
Breaths shared in the space between chaos and calm.

Pooh whispered, “I thought I lost you.”

Pavel’s fingers curled into his shirt. “No. Never.”

And then the boat rocked violently again, snapping them apart before the kiss could land.

Both gasped.

But even as they climbed back into the boat, soaked and panting, still wrapped in one another’s arms...

The moment remained.
Suspended.
Waiting.

 

The storm passed by morning.

The sea had calmed, glassy and quiet like nothing had ever happened. The sun was shy, peeking through leftover clouds, and the air smelled like wet salt and second chances.

But for Pooh?
The only thing he could feel was the almost.

The almost kiss.

The heat that had bloomed between them right before the wave crashed. The way Pavel held onto him like he was the only thing that mattered. The way his lips had brushed so close, so gently, that Pooh could still feel it.

It had been a mistake, right? Just adrenaline. Fear. Chaos. That’s all.

Except…

Pavel hadn’t let go of his hand since.

Even now—curled up on the side of the boat, his tail lazily swishing in the water—he held Pooh’s hand lightly in his lap, like it was normal. Like they did this all the time.

And it was getting harder for Pooh to pretend that it didn’t mean something.

“…So,” Pooh said, staring up at the sky. “About last night.”

Pavel tilted his head. “Last night?”

“You know.” Pooh cleared his throat, face heating. “The part where we, uh—almost—did something. With our faces.”

Pavel blinked. Confused.

Pooh groaned and sat up. “God, this is what I get for falling for someone who doesn’t speak the same language.”

Pavel gave a tiny pout. “Pooh… mad?”

“What? No! No, no, I’m not mad.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just. You know. Don’t want to mess anything up.”

There was a pause.

Then Pavel slowly leaned forward, eyes serious.

He pointed to Pooh.

Then softly tapped two fingers to his own lips.

Then raised his brows. Questioning.

Pooh blinked. “Wait.”

Pavel repeated it. Slower.
Pointed to Pooh.
Tapped his lips.

“Are you asking if I… wanted to kiss you?”

Pavel nodded, unsure. “Kiss…?”

Pooh's heart exploded. “Where the hell did you learn that word?”

Pavel smiled—that smile—and mimicked Pooh’s voice in a playful tone:
“Kiss. Soft. Pretty. Goodnight. Sweet. Kiss.”

Pooh turned bright red. “Oh my god. You’ve been memorizing my bedtime rambles??!”

Pavel gave the tiniest shrug. “You talk… lot.”

Pooh covered his face. “I’m going to melt.”

But Pavel just moved closer—close enough that their knees brushed, close enough that Pooh could smell salt and sea on his skin.

Then, Pavel pointed to himself. “Pavel.”

Pointed to Pooh. “Pooh.”

Paused.
Touched his own chest.
Then whispered, “Want… kiss.”

Pooh forgot how to breathe.

“You—you do?”

Pavel nodded slowly. “Scared. But want.”

Pooh leaned forward without thinking. “Me too.”

They stayed there. Inches apart.

Hearts pounding.

Both of them smiling.

But this time—neither moved.

Not yet.

The moment wasn’t for rushing.
Because this time?

It wasn’t about almost.
It was about waiting.

 

The air was still that night.

No storm, no wind, no crashing waves—just a calm sea and the steady rhythm of their hearts beating in sync. The moonlight draped across the boat like silk, and the ocean reflected it perfectly, like the world had stopped spinning just for this moment.

Pooh sat across from Pavel again, knees drawn up, hands restless in his lap. He couldn’t stop glancing at him—at the way the moon caught in Pavel’s damp silver hair, at the softness in his black eyes, at the curve of his lips.

He looked too human sometimes.
Too soft to be born of the sea.
Too dangerous to belong to Pooh.

And yet—

Pavel slowly reached across the space between them. His fingers brushed Pooh’s wrist—just barely.

Pooh looked up. Met his eyes.

“I…” Pavel’s voice was low, uncertain. “Kiss?”

That single word nearly unraveled Pooh’s brain.

“You want—again?”

Pavel nodded.

But this time, he didn’t ask with his hands.
He leaned in.

Pooh met him halfway.

No overthinking.
No panic.
No almost.

Just yes.

Their lips met gently—tentative, warm, and trembling. Pavel’s mouth was soft, the kiss clumsy at first, as if he didn’t quite know how—but Pooh didn’t care. He melted into it anyway. One of his hands found Pavel’s cheek. Pavel made a small, breathless sound that sent shivers down Pooh’s spine.

It was sweet.
And then deeper.
And then real.

They broke apart slowly, breath catching between them. Foreheads pressed together again, lips parted, eyes wide.

Pooh didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

“I…” he whispered, heart pounding in his throat, “I think I’d drown for you.”

Pavel blinked.

Then, softly, smiled.

“Me?” he whispered back, voice still shaky. “Save you. Always.”

Pooh choked on a laugh. “That’s not the point, sea boy.”

Pavel leaned forward again, brushing their noses. “Still true.”

Pooh laughed into his mouth. Kissed him again—longer this time.

And when they pulled apart, they just sat there, wrapped in salt and stars and something that felt too big for the tiny boat.

Pooh knew the ocean was dangerous.

But right now?

The most dangerous thing was how fast he was falling.

 

Pooh woke to the sound of a buzzing—distant at first, then louder.

Not waves.
Not birds.
Not Pavel’s soft, sleepy hums.

It was mechanical. Harsh. Unnatural.

Helicopter.

He sat up fast, nearly slipping off the edge of the boat. His heartbeat spiked as he looked toward the sky. There—far off but approaching—a white and red speck moving low across the horizon, blades chopping the air with that familiar whup-whup-whup that shook Pooh’s chest.

It was the sound of rescue.
The sound of reality.

And it terrified him.

“Pavel,” Pooh whispered, scrambling to the side of the boat. “Pavel—where are you?”

The water was calm. Empty.

Panic bloomed in his chest. “Don’t disappear now—please.”

Then—

A ripple.

A glimmer of silver.

Pavel emerged slowly from the water, blinking up at Pooh, his eyes bright but concerned.

Pooh reached down and gripped his hands. “Someone’s here. I think—I think someone finally found me.”

Pavel blinked. His grip tightened.

He looked up—toward the approaching shape in the sky—and frowned.

Pooh followed his gaze.

The helicopter was lower now. Close. The thumping blades were louder. And soon, they’d be directly overhead.

“You could go back,” Pavel said, voice quiet.

Pooh froze.

“You could… go home,” Pavel added.

Pooh looked down at him, stunned. “You… you understand what’s happening?”

Pavel’s face was unreadable. But his voice stayed soft. “You miss your world. I see.”

Pooh shook his head. “I—No. I mean, yes. I miss food. I miss a bed. I miss coffee. I miss socks, for god’s sake.”

Pavel gave the faintest smile.

“But you?” Pooh whispered. “I never expected you.”

The wind from the helicopter kicked up now, louder, harsher. A rope ladder dropped slowly from the side, swinging above the boat. Someone shouted Pooh’s name through a megaphone.

They’d spotted him.

Pavel’s hand started to slip.

“Don’t,” Pooh whispered.

He caught Pavel’s hand tighter, held it to his chest. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.”

Pavel looked at him, silent, waiting.

Pooh stared at the ladder.
Then at the boy who wasn’t supposed to exist.
The boy who had saved his life.
Healed him.
Taught him a new kind of language.
Loved him.

And then he laughed—a broken, breathless sound.

“Do you know how stupid I am?”

Pavel blinked.

Pooh leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Stupid enough to follow a merman into the deep.”

Pavel’s eyes widened.

Pooh pulled off his shirt, threw it onto the boat, and without another word—

Jumped.

The water swallowed him whole.

And waiting below was Pavel, arms open, smiling like the sun finally rose in the ocean.

They didn’t look back.

Above them, the ladder swayed in the wind.
Below, the sea shimmered—ready to welcome them home.

 

The sea cradled Pooh in silence.

Pavel’s arms wrapped around his waist as they floated just beneath the surface, weightless, heartbeats pressed together. Above them, the helicopter still circled, but neither of them looked back.

Not until something splashed loudly into the water above.

Pooh flinched, startled.

Pavel looked up.

So did Pooh.

From the boat, several objects now floated in the sea—gently sinking like tiny, practical gifts from a world he had just left behind.

A plastic container of food. His bag. His worn-out shirt. A bottle of half-used shampoo. A travel toothbrush.

And… his phone.

Wrapped neatly in a plastic ziplock bag, like someone had lovingly packed it before hurling it into the sea.

Pooh broke the surface and gasped. Saltwater streaming from his face, eyes wide with disbelief. The helicopter still hovered above, engine roaring, and on the edge of the open side, a man waved lazily at him.

Just waved.

As if to say: Good luck, idiot.

Then the helicopter rose higher—no rescue, no pressure, no ropes.
Just one last flyover.

And then it was gone.

Just like that.

Pooh stared as the noise faded. The sky reclaimed its silence.

He looked back at the bobbing contents in the water. His phone floated toward him. The screen flickered briefly—battery clinging to life. One notification from his mom, three weeks ago:
“Come home soon, okay? Miss you.”

Pooh wiped his face, even though it didn’t stop the sting in his eyes. Then he let the phone drop.

He turned to Pavel, who hovered in the water beside him, head just above the surface, eyes full of worry.

“They left,” Pooh said softly. “They saw me… and they let me stay.”

Pavel frowned. “Is… good?”

Pooh laughed breathlessly. “I mean, I guess it’s better than dragging me off in handcuffs. Or calling a marine biologist.”

Pavel tilted his head. “Marine… what?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Pooh sighed and reached for Pavel’s hand again. “You sure about this? About taking me down there?”

Pavel didn’t answer.
He just smiled.

And pulled Pooh under again.

This time, Pooh didn’t resist.

They swam deeper than before. Past the reefs. Past the dancing ribbons of fish. Into shadowy blues and glowing greens. Pavel slowed only when they reached a wide cavern framed by silver stones—his home.

Pooh’s lungs screamed, but Pavel placed two fingers gently over his lips—then leaned in, brushing their mouths in a brief kiss.

Suddenly—like magic—air filled Pooh’s chest.
He breathed.
Underwater.

Pooh gasped, pulling back. “What did you just—how—”

Pavel smiled, proud and soft. “Gift. My kind. For you.”

“You gave me—what, gills? Sea lungs? Mermaid hacks?!”

Pavel tilted his head again. “Love.”

Pooh’s brain short-circuited.

They floated at the edge of the glowing cove, watching fish dart through coral windows, light pulsing from jelly-lamps along the walls.

Pooh had barely begun to take it all in when movement flickered at the edge of his vision.

Others.

Merfolk. Watching from a distance.

Not all looked friendly.

Some glared. Some looked startled. One swam forward with narrowed eyes and a long trident glinting faintly in the dark.

Pavel tensed. His hand found Pooh’s and squeezed.

Pooh whispered, “…This is the part where they eat me, isn’t it?”

Pavel didn’t laugh.

But he pulled Pooh close, protectively, and said firmly:
“Mine.”

Pooh blinked. “Excuse me??”

Pavel turned to the figures in the dark. His voice echoed through the water, low and commanding now.

“He stays. He’s mine.”

The one with the trident paused. Then slowly, reluctantly… backed away.

Pooh gulped. “Okay. That’s terrifyingly hot.”

Pavel looked at him with a soft smile. “Safe now.”

Pooh exhaled. Floated beside him. Then grinned.

“Looks like I just moved in.”

 

Pooh always thought underwater life would be chill.

Like, lazy floats in blue water, fish friends that sing, maybe a mermaid dance number every other hour. You know. Vibes.

But reality?

Underwater life was... weird.

For starters, he had to learn how to sleep while floating—which resulted in him flipping over in his sleep and slamming face-first into a rock wall.

Then there was the whole “eating without choking on seawater” problem. Pavel tried to hand him some sort of glowing jellyfruit one morning—bright blue, squishy like a stress ball—and Pooh bit into it too fast, only for it to explode down his throat.

He choked dramatically. Flailing. Dying.

Pavel panicked and slapped him on the back like he was a sea turtle with a concussion.

“…I hate this place,” Pooh gasped, eyes watering.

Pavel handed him another one.

“I hate you,” Pooh hissed—then bit it more carefully.

It was sweet.
Okay, fine. It was delicious.
Still hated it.

The weirdest part, though?

Kissing.

Yeah. They were dating now. Or something. They didn’t exactly have “the talk,” but there had been at least six soft kisses, five borderline ones, and one very unholy forehead kiss that left Pooh floating in stunned silence for thirty minutes.

But kissing underwater?

Impossible.

You think you’re leaning in. The moment feels right—his hand brushes Pavel’s cheek, Pavel tilts his chin, their noses touch, lips part—and then—

Pooh floats straight past him like a drifting balloon.

“Stop LAUGHING,” Pooh groaned, flailing to paddle back.

Pavel giggled behind his hand. “You float too much.”

“You float too much.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Pooh groaned again. “We need kissing lessons.”

Pavel tilted his head. “I’m best teacher.”

That got Pooh blushing instantly.

“You’re so cocky for a sea boy who can’t even say ‘cereal.’”

“Cereal.”

“Nope. That’s ‘serial killer.’”

“Same.”

“…Okay you need to stop watching me sleep.”

—

Later that night, after most of the merfolk had retreated deeper into the caves (still whispering things about “the human” and “he’s still here?”), Pavel and Pooh floated together in a quieter cove—dark blue all around, little glowing fish drifting like stars.

Pavel was leaning against a smooth coral wall, eyes soft. Pooh was curled beside him, trying not to float off again.

“Okay,” Pooh whispered. “I’m serious this time. I wanna kiss you and not drift into someone’s clamshell bed again.”

Pavel smiled. “Try.”

Pooh floated forward slowly, eyes locked on Pavel’s. He braced one hand on Pavel’s chest, used the other to hook around his waist—

Steady.

He leaned in.

Pavel met him halfway.

Their lips touched—finally—without chaos. Without bobbing. Just a soft, quiet kiss under ten feet of sea.

It was warm.

Weightless.

Perfect.

Pooh let out a dreamy sigh.

Then immediately snorted a small stream of bubbles into Pavel’s mouth.

They pulled apart, coughing and laughing.

“I hate kissing underwater!” Pooh wheezed.

“Try again?” Pavel offered, smiling like a devil.

Pooh groaned. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Pavel kissed him again anyway.

And again.

And again.

(Practice makes perfect.)

 

Pooh popped his head above the surface like a startled sea otter. His hair was a wreck. His fingers were pruney. His stomach? Growling like a demon trapped in his gut.

It had been days—days—since he ate anything that wasn’t weirdly glowing or jiggly.

He paddled his way over to the boat and hoisted himself up, grunting like a man returning from war. “Land. Sweet, salty, bobbing land.”

Pavel followed behind, peeking over the boat’s edge like a curious puppy. “You okay?”

“No,” Pooh muttered dramatically. “I’m dying. I need processed food. I need trash food. I need preservatives and chemical cheese.”

Pavel blinked. “Cheese?”

Pooh crawled to the corner of the boat—his old “supply pile,” now soggy but intact. Left behind by the coolest helicopter crew in the world, who basically accepted his sea elopement like, “Eh, let him go.”

And there it was.

The holy grail.

A ziplock bag.

Inside:

A protein bar.

A small container of rice and fried fish.

A bag of dried mango.

A half-full bottle of water.

…His phone.

 

“OH MY GOD,” Pooh gasped, hugging it like a newborn baby. “Food. Glorious, human food. Come to Papa.”

He cracked the rice container open and nearly cried. Steam still clung to it. The fish was lukewarm and maybe slightly rubbery, but it smelled like home.

He took one bite—one glorious, greasy, soy-slick bite—and moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “Mmmgghhhhhh. Food. Real food. Sex is cancelled. This is the love of my life.”

Pavel frowned. “What is sex?”

Pooh choked.

“Nothing! Later!”

—

After scarfing half the container, Pooh wiped his mouth, sighed dramatically, and finally—finally—picked up his phone.

Still sealed in the ziplock. Still alive.

The battery was at 13%.

“God bless you, Samsung.”

He turned it on. A moment passed. The screen glowed.

Notifications: 207.

“Jesus Christ.”

He scrolled through texts from friends, coworkers, his mom. Most of them started with:

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?”

“Are you alive?”

“Is this because of that horoscope that said ‘you’ll find love in water’?”

 

One said:
“I swear to god, Pooh, if you joined a cult I will fly there myself.”

He laughed. Heart hurting and full at the same time.

But signal was nonexistent this far out.

No messages would go through.

No calls either.

The only thing that worked?

His camera.

He opened it.

Turned to Pavel—who was still floating beside the boat, watching curiously.

“You’ve never had a selfie before, have you?”

Pavel blinked. “What’s self?”

“Come here.”

He reached down, tugged Pavel halfway up the boat so their heads were side-by-side. Pavel blinked into the camera like a confused cat.

Pooh snapped the photo.

Click.

It was blurry. Pavel’s hair was wild. Pooh had sea salt crusted on his lashes.
It was perfect.

“This,” Pooh said softly, “is home now.”

He looked around the boat—the makeshift supplies, the blankets and tarp, the glowing sea below, Pavel at his side.

His home wasn’t a condo anymore. It was this tiny, sun-stained boat floating in the middle of nowhere.

It was seaweed pillows and sleeping with one foot in the water.
It was glowing jello fruit and bad underwater kisses.
It was laughter. Warmth. A merman with eyes deeper than the ocean.

It was him and Pavel.

Together.

 

It started with Pooh screaming.

Well—not screaming screaming. More like… an unholy shriek of joy from the bottom of the ocean.

“IT’S ALIVE!” he yelled, cradling his phone like it was a newborn. The glowing crystal beside him pulsed in soft pink and purple hues, energy humming through it into his charging cable (somehow), because the laws of science had clearly left the chat at this point.

Pavel poked the crystal. “It buzz.”

“It’s called charging, love,” Pooh said with a grin. “This is magic. I’m never letting this crystal go. I don’t care if it belongs to your ancient sea king or whatever, this is mine now.”

Pavel tilted his head. “You’re loud.”

“And you’re in love with me, so sit down and learn how to be human.”

Pavel floated beside him like an obedient puppy.

“Okay,” Pooh said, holding up his phone like a whiteboard. “Time to teach you how to speak like a real person.”

“I am person,” Pavel muttered, squinting.

“Yeah, yeah. A fish person.” Pooh tapped the Notes app. “Lesson one: speaking properly.”

Pavel blinked. “I speak now.”

“No. You say broken anime subtitles. We’re upgrading you to Netflix sarcastic boyfriend.”

Pavel frowned. “Netflix?”

“Focus.” Pooh cleared his throat. “Say: ‘I want you to kiss me, but I’m too shy to ask, so I’ll sit here and pout dramatically until you do.’”

Pavel blinked. “That’s… long.”

Pooh smirked. “That’s foreplay.”

Pavel narrowed his eyes, then repeated slowly, “I… want kiss… but too shy, so I… sit here… pout.”

Pooh beamed. “YES! That’s needy boyfriend energy! Now throw in some dramatic sighing.”

Pavel gave the most over-the-top pout in history and flopped onto Pooh’s lap with a moan.

Pooh nearly threw his phone into the sea. “OH MY GOD.”

Pavel blinked up innocently. “Like this?”

“Stop being cute. I’m training you.”

“Pooh.”

“What.”

Pavel grabbed his hand and pressed it to his chest. “Want kiss. But shy.”

Pooh malfunctioned. “You—you can’t just use the line on me mid-lesson! That’s against the rules!”

Pavel smirked. “You wrote line.”

Pooh shoved him playfully. “We’re skipping ahead to sarcasm before you kill me.”

“Kill you… with kiss?”

“Pavel.”

—

LESSON TWO: SARCASM.

“Okay,” Pooh said, still flushed, “this one’s tricky. Sarcasm means you say something but mean the opposite.”

“Why?”

“To be spicy.”

“Spicy like… food?”

Pooh sighed. “Okay, try this: I say, ‘Wow, thanks for almost drowning me again.’ But I don’t mean thank you. I’m annoyed.”

Pavel stared. “So… lie?”

“Yeah. But like, sexy lying.”

Pavel gave a flat face. “I love eating jellyfish slime. It’s my favorite.”

Pooh blinked. “That… that was sarcasm?”

“Yes. I hate it.”

Pooh smiled. “You’re getting it.”

“I want to kiss you so bad it’s so annoying.”

Pooh froze. “...Was that sarcasm?”

Pavel grinned.

“OH MY GOD YOU’RE EVOLVING.”

—

LESSON THREE: FLIRTING.
(The class Pooh regrets opening.)

“Flirting is when you say things to make the other person blush and fall in love with you.”

Pavel tilted his head. “You do this all day.”

“I—SHUT UP.”

Pavel leaned closer, voice low. “Pooh. Your face… very round.”

Pooh blinked. “Um. Thanks?”

“Like—moon. I want to… hold.”

Pooh narrowed his eyes. “You’re mixing metaphors. And also you called me a balloon.”

Pavel smirked. “But you blushed.”

“I HATE THIS LESSON.”

—

LESSON FOUR: NEEDY.
(Pavel’s favorite.)

“Needy means you whine and cling and beg for attention.”

Pavel lit up like a Christmas eel.

“Oh no,” Pooh muttered.

Moments later, Pavel was floating with his chin on Pooh’s shoulder, tail swishing, voice soft and drawling.

“Pooh…”

“What.”

“Miss you when you blink.”

Pooh glared. “Stop.”

“Touch me or I cry.”

“I AM RIGHT HERE.”

Pavel clung harder. “You no kiss me in last 3 minutes. I shrivel.”

“I’M TEACHING.”

“You’re ignoring me.”

“I WILL END THIS ENTIRE SCHOOL.”

Pavel pulled back with the most smug, satisfied look known to merman-kind.

Pooh covered his face. “I created a monster.”

Pavel leaned in, whispering sweetly, “But I’m your monster.”

Pooh melted into sea foam.

 

If anyone had told Pooh that one day he’d be living in a boat-turned-bedroom with a sarcastic, clingy merman boyfriend, brushing his teeth with saltwater in the morning and cuddling underwater at night, he probably would’ve thrown them into the ocean.

And now?
Well.

Now he was on his back, sprawled across a damp blanket in the boat, holding an old toothbrush like it was a sword while Pavel squirted way too much toothpaste onto his own.

“Pavel—stop. That’s like enough for five people.”

Pavel squinted at the brush. “I like mint.”

“You’re not supposed to eat it, sea boy.”

“I eat your kisses.”

Pooh choked on laughter and smacked him with a towel. “You are NOT allowed to be flirty before dental hygiene.”

Pavel stuck his tongue out and proceeded to brush with enough dramatic moaning to make it weird.

“Why do you sound like a commercial?” Pooh muttered. “Like—‘Buy SeaPaste, for that fresh ocean kiss you crave.’”

Pavel gargled and said, “You crave me.”

Pooh turned bright red. “I NEED TO LEAVE.”

—

Later that day, they had what could only be described as their version of a romantic dinner.

By “romantic dinner,” Pooh meant sitting cross-legged on the boat’s floor with the sun setting behind them, sharing a half-wet bag of dried mango and some very questionable rice crackers. Pavel brought up a glowing orange fruit from the reef, which Pooh swore looked like an underwater onion, but it turned out to be delicious.

“Okay, you win,” Pooh said between bites. “You officially brought better snacks than the helicopter people.”

Pavel looked smug. “I am best boyfriend.”

Pooh snorted. “Who told you that?”

“You. When sleeping.”

“I did not—you watch me sleep?!”

“Only sometimes.”

“YOU’RE A SEA CREEP.”

“I’m your sea creep.”

“Okay, fine.”

They fed each other tiny bites, sometimes just to show off, sometimes because Pavel would just open his mouth like a baby bird until Pooh groaned and caved.

“Lazy,” Pooh muttered, feeding him a mango strip.

“Loved,” Pavel corrected.

—

At night, when the stars reflected off the sea like scattered diamonds, they curled up in their shared blanket on the boat. Pavel hated the sun but loved nighttime cuddles on the deck.

He always ended up tangled around Pooh like a needy octopus.

“Your tail is cold,” Pooh grumbled sleepily.

“Your feet are cold.”

“You don’t even have feet.”

“Your soul is cold.”

“…Excuse me?”

But then Pavel would press their foreheads together, wrap his arms around Pooh’s waist, and murmur softly, “Stay close. Please.”

And Pooh would just melt again.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

Pavel nodded. “You are mine. You live in boat.”

Pooh laughed. “Wow. Super romantic.”

“I mean… you live in boat with me.”

And that made Pooh smile.

Because yeah.
He did.

No Wi-Fi. No coffee shops. No Netflix.

Just his merman, his boat, and a sky full of stars.

 

It was supposed to be a normal day.
A normal, peaceful, lazy sea day.

Pooh had just finished drying his shirt on the mast, brushing his wet hair back, and checking how many photos of Pavel existed on his phone (answer: too many, but not enough). He was humming, chill, vibing, minding his own business.

Then Pavel showed up.
And everything went to hell.

He emerged from the water slow—like a goddamn drama queen—hair slicked back, water cascading down his bare chest, his tail shimmering gold in the setting sun like it was staged.

Pooh blinked. “Okay. Hi.”

Pavel rested his arms on the side of the boat, leaned in close, and just smiled—slow, smug, and dangerous. “Hi,” he purred.

Pooh narrowed his eyes. “...What are you doing?”

“Talking,” Pavel said innocently. “With voice you like.”

Pooh’s brain stalled.

“…What?”

“You say,” Pavel continued, resting his chin on his folded arms, “you like when I talk pretty. So now, I talk pretty.”

His voice dropped a register. Smooth. Silky. Almost like a whisper curled into a smile.

Pooh flinched. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing. With your voice.”

Pavel smirked. “This voice?”

“YES, THAT ONE.”

He pulled himself up further into the boat, dripping wet, hair falling messily into his face as he crawled forward on his elbows—like a predator. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Pooh,” he said slowly, voice honeyed and dangerous, “can you help me… stretch?”

Pooh choked. “You don’t even have legs!”

“But I have… arms,” Pavel whispered, eyes gleaming. “And shoulder tension.”

“SHOULDER TENSION??”

“From swimming… too hard.”

Pooh was backed into the mast now. Trapped.

“Are you seducing me?!”

“I am… practicing flirting,” Pavel said proudly. “And you are red.”

“I’m not—red—I’m just—this boat is HOT, okay?!”

Pavel tilted his head. “You taught me words. Like... ‘needy.’ And ‘touch-starved.’ And—‘kiss me or I cry.’”

Pooh buried his face in his hands. “I should’ve never taught you anything. I created a sexy sea demon.”

Pavel leaned closer, his voice right against Pooh’s ear now. “Touch me or I cry.”

“OH MY GOD.”

Pooh tried to flee. Tripped over a wet towel. Collapsed onto his back.

Pavel crawled on top of him, eyes shining, grin devilish. “You fall for me again.”

“You did that on purpose,” Pooh hissed, breathless.

“I like when you look… kissed.”

“I WILL CALL THE OCEAN POLICE.”

“You are ocean police.”

“…wait that was kinda hot.”

Pavel laughed and leaned down, gently brushing their noses. “Can I kiss you now?”

Pooh was panting. Face flushed. Whole body on fire.

“…Okay but just so you know, I let you win.”

Pavel kissed him.

And kissed him.

And kissed him.

By the time they came up for air (literally), Pooh was breathless and ruined and 80% sure he was in love with a sea monster who learned English just to flirt better.

 

It was a calm afternoon—blue skies, gentle waves, Pavel humming while braiding seaweed into Pooh’s old hoodie string like it was some sort of romantic ritual.

Pooh had been annoyingly chipper all morning, teasing Pavel, throwing damp crackers at his head, stretching dramatically on the boat like he knew he was being watched.

Then, without a word, Pooh stood at the edge of the boat, turned back with a grin and said—

“Bet you’ll miss me.”

And dived.

Just like that. Gone.

Pavel blinked. Waited.

Waited a little longer.

…Still no Pooh.

The playful splash had long faded. No ripple. No kicking legs. No grinning head popping up with “haha, gotcha!”

Pavel sat up.

“…Pooh?” he called softly.

Nothing.

He leaned over the edge, peering into the blue depths. “Pooh?”

Still nothing.

That familiar warmth in Pavel’s chest?
It flipped.
Twisted.
Tightened.

A cold sort of panic bled into his veins.

He slipped into the water fast, his tail cutting through the sea like a blade as he dove deeper, eyes wide, scanning—searching.

No bubbles. No movement.

Nothing.

Nothing.

“Pooh,” he whispered, heart pounding. “Where.”

He swam faster—around rocks, into kelp forests, below the reef. He darted into shadows, his hands trembling now, eyes stinging with salt and fear.

“Pooh!”

Still no answer.

The silence of the sea wrapped around him like a warning. The kind of silence that meant something’s wrong.

Then—

A glimmer.

A flash of white—cloth?

Pavel turned sharply.

There—behind the curve of a coral ledge—Pooh’s shirt. Floating. Empty.

Pavel’s chest cracked.

He surged forward, heart in his throat. “Pooh—!”

But just as he rounded the ledge—

A hand grabbed him from behind.

Pavel yelped.

Whipped around.

Pooh.

Soaked. Breathless. Smiling with that same cocky, stupid, beautiful grin.

“Boo.”

Pavel punched him in the shoulder.

“You disappear!!” he snapped, voice shaking. “You—gone!! I thought—!”

Pooh froze. “Hey—hey, I was just joking. I thought you’d—”

“I looked for you.”

“I know, I—”

“I thought you drowned!” Pavel’s hands balled into fists. “You don’t do that. Not here. Not with me.”

Pooh’s smirk faded.

There was guilt now, creeping into his face like a slow tide.

“...I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think.”

Pavel’s shoulders trembled. “You’re mine,” he said, voice tight. “Don’t disappear.”

Pooh stepped closer. “I’m here.”

“Don’t disappear.”

“I promise.”

Pavel collapsed into him then, arms wrapped around his chest, pressing their foreheads together underwater as if to anchor him.

And Pooh held him back.

No teasing. No games.

Just this:

His merman, breathing hard, holding on like he’d almost lost his whole world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Pooh whispered.

And he meant it.

 

Pooh hadn’t even dried off yet.
The sun was warm, the boat was rocking gently, and Pavel?
Pavel was on him.

Like literally on him.
Wrapped around him.
Tail draped over Pooh’s thighs, arms locked tight around his waist, face buried in Pooh’s neck with a stubborn pout that hadn’t relaxed in hours.

“…You’re still mad,” Pooh mumbled into Pavel’s hair, brushing salt-crusted strands away from his cheek.

“No,” Pavel replied.
“Yes,” Pooh sighed.

They’d been like this all day. Pavel followed Pooh into the water, out of the water, around the boat, back into the water. Clingy. Quiet. Warm. Sad.

Pooh knew he messed up.

It was supposed to be a dumb little joke.
A splash. A grin. A “gotcha.”

But he hadn’t thought about what disappearing might mean to someone like Pavel.
Someone who had lost people in the sea.
Someone who’d found him floating half-dead once, too close to gone.

So now he was making up for it.

Step one: cuddles.
Step two: forehead kisses.
Step three: gifts.

He’d been hiding it in a little satchel under the bench for a few days now. It wasn’t anything big. Just a smooth, oval shell—blush pink with golden spirals—and a tiny pearl nestled inside it like a secret.

He handed it to Pavel with a small, sheepish smile. “Here.”

Pavel blinked, still hugging him, only releasing one arm to cup the shell.

“What is?”

“A sorry shell.”

Pavel stared.

“You open it when I mess up,” Pooh said softly. “It’s proof I’ll always come back. I’ll always apologize.”

Pavel looked at the shell. Then at Pooh.

Then he kissed Pooh’s forehead so hard it made a squelchy sound.

“I forgive,” Pavel whispered. “But you are idiot.”

“Yeah,” Pooh grinned. “But I’m your idiot.”

“Forever,” Pavel said.

“Forever’s a long time.”

“I’m a merman. I know.”

Pooh held him tighter.

And that night, they stayed curled in their little boat-home, tangled in sea-salted blankets, watching the stars blink to life.

Pavel didn’t let go once.

And Pooh didn’t mind one bit.

 

It started with one pout.

A simple pout. Soft. Mild. Harmless.
Pooh didn’t even think anything of it at first.

He had just pulled away that morning to grab his toothbrush—barely two seconds out of Pavel’s arms—and turned back to find Pavel floating in the water beside the boat, lip jutted out so far he could probably catch plankton with it.

“…Why are you looking at me like I broke your heart?” Pooh muttered, squinting as he swirled his toothbrush in the salt cup.

“You left,” Pavel whispered.

“For a toothbrush.”

“You didn’t kiss me.”

“I’ll kiss you after I brush—”

“Too late. I’m sad now.”

Pooh blinked.

“…Oh no.”

 

---

From that moment on, it only got worse.

That pout?
It evolved.

It leveled up.
And it brought reinforcements.

The puppy eyes.
God, the puppy eyes.

He’d never seen a creature so beautiful, so disgustingly effective, tilt his head just a little, widen his big blue eyes, and whisper in the softest voice:

“Pooh… hold me?”

And Pooh would drop everything.

Didn’t matter what he was doing—fixing the tarp, eating crackers, typing on his barely-charged phone. One glance at that look and he’d surrender.

“Yeah, okay. Come here, sea clingball.”

Pavel would smile so soft, so smugly, and curl into him like he’d just won the lottery. (He had. The prize was Pooh’s entire willpower.)

—

And the whining.

OH. The whining.

Pooh only taught it to him as a joke—one late afternoon when Pavel demanded kisses and Pooh said, “Try whining like a proper babygirl.”

So Pavel did.

He whined.

And Pooh's soul left his body.

“Pooh~” Pavel would say, dragging his name out with this high, breathy, unbearable tone. “Why no cuddles yet~?”

“Pooh, I lonely~”

“Pooh, I miss you when you blink~”

Pooh flopped over in defeat every time. “I am not strong enough for this relationship.”

Pavel would pat his head. “Good boy.”

“STOP THAT.”

—

By day three of this clingy era, Pooh had lost 100% of his control in the relationship.

He’d wake up with Pavel already coiled around him, cheek on his chest, tail draped over his legs like a weighted blanket.

“Morning,” Pooh would mumble.

“No,” Pavel would reply without moving. “Five more hour cuddle.”

“You mean minutes—”

“Hours.”

Pooh would sigh. “Fine.”

And he meant it.

He wanted it.

He’d gone soft. Absolutely whipped. Hopelessly owned by a sea man with sparkly eyes and a lethal pout.

—

Even during lunch, Pavel stayed glued to him. He insisted they share food—every bite.

“Here,” Pooh said, holding out a mango strip.

Pavel opened his mouth like a baby bird.

“…You have hands.”

“But you feed better.”

“You’re not even trying to be subtle anymore, are you?”

Pavel smiled with his whole face. “No.”

Pooh sighed, broke off a second piece, and leaned in to pop it into his boyfriend’s mouth. “There. Happy?”

Pavel grinned, chewed, and then leaned forward to press a sticky kiss to Pooh’s cheek.

Pooh melted. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Pavel whispered proudly.

“Unfortunately.”

—

And THEN there was the blanket moment.

Pooh had just come back from a brief swim when he found Pavel in the boat, curled into his hoodie like a burrito, absolutely destroying Pooh’s heart by yawning like a sleepy cat and stretching his arms out with an innocent, “Pooh… carry me?”

“Carry you where?” Pooh asked, already grabbing him instinctively.

“Nowhere. Just carry.”

“...You just wanna be held, huh?”

Pavel nodded. “Yes.”

Pooh sighed, bundled him up tighter, and sat down with him curled in his lap. “You're such a baby.”

“I’m your baby,” Pavel said proudly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pooh murmured, smiling into his hair. “My spoiled, clingy, needy, pouty sea baby.”

Pavel nodded against his chest. “I’m best boyfriend.”

“Debatable.”

Pavel whined again.
Pooh folded again.

—

Later that evening, as the stars blinked across the darkening sky and the boat gently rocked them into stillness, Pavel curled deeper into Pooh’s chest, tracing little circles on his arm with featherlight fingers.

“Pooh,” he whispered.

“Mm?”

“You stay forever?”

Pooh paused.

Looked down.

At the boy who pouted for kisses, whined for hugs, and knew exactly how to get his way.

He smiled, soft and full.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’ll stay forever.”

Pavel hummed sleepily.

“Good,” he whispered. “I need you to hold me always.”

“You can’t get needier than this.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Pooh groaned. “God help me.”

But his arms only wrapped tighter.

Because secretly?

He liked being owned by a clingy, babygirl merman.
A lot.

 

The sun was soft.
The ocean was warm.
And Pooh?

Fast asleep.

His face was smushed against a folded towel, one hand hanging off the edge of the boat, lips parted just enough to let out a little snore. His shirt was rucked up at the side, his hair sea-fluffed and ridiculous. Peaceful. Adorable.

And utterly unaware that his boyfriend was having a magical edible crisis ten feet below.

—

Earlier…

Pavel had gone for a swim because, well, he was a merman and needed his daily wiggle time. He’d kissed Pooh on the forehead before sliding into the water with a graceful flick of his tail, disappearing into the reef with a hum and a skip.

He didn’t expect to find anything weird.

But there it was.

Nestled in a bed of coral, glittering faintly—a small, glowing crystal, smooth and round, the size of a pebble.

And edible-looking.

(Which, let’s be honest, is exactly why Pavel popped it into his mouth.)

It tasted like rain and sugar and electricity.
He blinked.
Waited.

Then his tail started to tingle.

“…Mmh?” Pavel frowned, looking down.

The tingling turned to a fuzzy burn. His tail twitched, shimmered—and then—

He felt it split.

“...?!”

Pavel screamed underwater, flailing in slow, shocked circles as his tail transformed—shimmering scales receding, fin twisting into shape and structure and—

Legs.

Two.
Fully functional.
Soft. Pale. Wiggly.

“WHAT.”

He flopped to the surface, dragging himself toward the sandy shore in stunned silence.

Sitting there, damp and shirtless, legs curled beneath him like some sort of sea princess with a transformation arc, Pavel just… stared.

Then he poked his left leg.
It jiggled.

Then he kicked the right one.
It worked.

Then he stood.
Wobbled.
Screamed again.
Fell.

“…Okay,” he muttered. “New plan. I walk now.”

—

Back at the boat…

Pooh shifted in his nap, nose twitching from the scent of salt and seaweed. He rolled onto his side, hugging the towel tighter.

Until…

A leg.
Soft. Human. Definitely leg.

Wrapped around his thigh.

He froze.

His eyes cracked open slowly.

Another leg.

Another very human, very bare leg was curled between his own, skin warm and smooth and—

“…HUH?!”

Pooh shot up like he’d been electrocuted.

“WHO—WHAT—WHERE’S—PAVEL?!”

His heart was already doing gymnastics. He clutched the blanket, expecting a stranger. An intruder. A cheater’s curse.

But then—

A sleepy face peeked up from the blanket beside him.

Messy dark hair. Sparkly ocean eyes. A familiar pout.

“…Pavel?”

Pooh blinked. Looked down.

No tail.

Legs.
Real. Human. Legs.

Attached to his merman.

Pooh’s brain simply stopped functioning.

“WHAT—WHY DO YOU—YOU HAVE—LEG—??”

Pavel yawned, then smiled lazily. “I eat crystal.”

“YOU WHAT?!”

“It glow. Tasty.”

“You ATE a random glowing rock?!”

“Yes. And now I have legs.”

Pooh stared. “You sound way too calm about this.”

Pavel giggled and snuggled closer. “But now… I can cuddle you better.”

“…I mean. You already cuddled like a professional barnacle—”

“But now I can tangle,” Pavel whispered, immediately throwing a leg over Pooh’s hip and arm over his chest, pressing close with a happy sigh.

Pooh’s brain short-circuited.

“OH MY GOD I’M HOLDING A HUMAN YOU.”

Pavel blinked. “Do you like?”

“YES. NO. I MEAN—YES.”

Pooh was losing it. He reached down and poked Pavel’s thigh.
Then his calf.
Then his knee.

“This is real. You have real knees. You have feet.”

Pavel nodded proudly. “Two of them.”

“And thighs.”

“Thighs good?”

Pooh died. “STOP ASKING THAT WHILE YOU’RE STRADDLING ME.”

“I like this.”

“I like this—!”

He pulled Pavel fully into his lap now, laughing helplessly, running his fingers down his sides, like he couldn’t believe what he was holding.

“My boyfriend has legs,” he whispered in disbelief. “You have LEGS.”

Pavel blinked. “Now I walk with you?”

“You mean… like on land?”

“Anywhere.”

Pooh paused.

Then smiled.

“…I think the universe just made this harder for me. You were already cute with a tail. Now you have knees and bedroom eyes and legs and I’m going to be in trouble.”

Pavel giggled again, resting his chin on Pooh’s shoulder. “I’m clingier now.”

“You were already clingy!”

“Now I’m clingy with legs.”

Pooh groaned into his neck. “I AM NOT SURVIVING THIS RELATIONSHIP.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

They lay like that for a while, tangled up in the boat-house, skin to skin, no scales between them. Pavel hummed. Pooh sighed into his hair.

It wasn’t how they planned it.

But maybe it was the next step.

A very, very leggy one.

 

It started exactly how you’d expect:

With Pavel standing like a drunk flamingo on wobbly legs, squinting at the beach like it had personally offended him.

“This is stupid,” he grumbled, taking one shaky step and immediately faceplanting into the sand.

Pooh nearly dropped his coconut water. “Babe—you need to bend your knees. Not just… trust your spine.”

Pavel spat out sand. “I miss my tail.”

“I don’t,” Pooh muttered, trying not to stare too obviously at his boyfriend’s ridiculously unfair thighs. “I can finally do things without being soaked.”

“Like what?” Pavel narrowed his eyes.

Pooh raised a brow. “Like walk on land with my clingy sea boyfriend and maybe hold hands and not be dragged underwater every five minutes—”

“I like dragging you underwater,” Pavel said with a pout.

“And now you’re dragging me emotionally. Come on—try again.”

Pooh reached out his hand.

Pavel took it, pouting even harder. “Only because you cute.”

“Focus, babygirl.”

—

Attempt #2 lasted about six steps.

Pavel stepped.
Wobbled.
Tried to swing his arms.
Immediately leaned too far into Pooh and—

Thump.

Right into Pooh’s chest.

Pooh caught him with practiced ease, one arm around his waist, the other gripping his hand tight. “You okay?”

Pavel blinked up, breathless, cheeks pink. “You caught me.”

“Literally my job now.”

“You like when I fall?”

Pooh scoffed. “No. I like when you say thank you.”

“Thank you, my strong land boyfriend who smells like mango.”

“…Close enough.”

—

Attempt #4?
They made it twelve steps before Pavel tripped on a shell and somehow ended up on top of Pooh in the sand, giggling with his hair all tousled and eyes sparkling.

“You’re using this as an excuse to straddle me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Pavel replied immediately.

Pooh groaned. “I KNEW IT.”

“Also—” Pavel leaned down, forehead brushing Pooh’s. “Now I can kiss you like this.”

Pooh’s brain went static.

Then Pavel kissed him, soft and slow, with the sea breeze wrapping around them like a secret.

Pooh held his waist tighter, breathing in his laugh. “Okay. Fine. Legs are good.”

Pavel smirked. “Told you.”

—

Beach Date Activated.

After approximately 900 falls, four dramatic whines, and one injury that turned out to be sand in his butt crack, Pavel finally mastered walking in short bursts.

He demanded Pooh clap every time he completed a “lap.”

“This isn’t kindergarten,” Pooh said, unimpressed.

“I am babygirl. Applaud.”

Pooh clapped. “👏👏👏👏👏👏”

Pavel beamed and did a spin.

Pooh died a little.

They strolled—okay, limped—along the shoreline hand-in-hand, wet sand under their feet and the occasional wave brushing their ankles. Pavel kicked at the water excitedly every few steps.

“You’re like a toddler on vacation,” Pooh laughed.

“I’m sexy toddler on vacation.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

They found seashells (Pavel gave Pooh a heart-shaped one). They wrote their initials in the sand (Pavel drew hearts around it). They tried to race up the dune (Pavel fell and dragged Pooh down with him, cackling the entire time).

They napped under a makeshift umbrella made of Pooh’s shirt tied to two sticks.

And for a moment, everything felt normal.

Human.

Warm.

Loved.

—

That night, back at their boat-house, Pooh helped Pavel wash off the sand.

(Which ended in giggling, ticklish shoves, and Pooh aggressively shampooing Pavel’s hair while Pavel made dramatic whimpers like “you scrub too hard, I delicate!”)

Wrapped in a dry towel, Pavel flopped into bed beside him.

And for the first time, with legs tangled and skin warm, they fit together in a different way.

Closer. Human. Still them.

Pooh ran a hand along Pavel’s thigh, smiling against his shoulder. “So. You still miss your tail?”

Pavel thought for a moment.

Then tangled their legs tighter.

“No,” he whispered. “Now I match you.”

Pooh kissed his temple.

“Perfect match.”

 

“Okay,” Pooh said, holding up the fabric like it was holy. “You sure you want to wear this?”

Pavel, now perched on the boat bench with legs crossed like a prince, nodded excitedly. “Yes! I want to be like you.”

“You want to suffer through human fashion?”

“I want to be your cute.”

Pooh just about died on the spot.

He reached into the dry bag—the one that the helicopter guys threw into the boat when they accepted Pooh was never coming back to shore—and pulled out the outfit: a faded gray hoodie and a pair of dark blue short shorts with a little dolphin print on the hem.

Honestly? It was just the most lightweight thing Pooh had. But on Pavel?

He already knew it was going to be game over.

—

“Left arm goes here,” Pooh mumbled, tugging the hoodie over Pavel’s head.

Pavel’s wet hair got caught, and he whined.

“Pooh it’s eating me!”

“IT’S A HOODIE, NOT A SEA MONSTER—calm down—here, let me—”

After a full battle with the sleeves, the hoodie was finally on.

It was too big. The hem fell halfway down Pavel’s thighs. The sleeves draped past his fingertips. The hood slumped adorably over his damp hair.

Pavel blinked up at Pooh from inside the soft cotton, eyes wide.

“Is this... cozy?”

Pooh swallowed hard.

“You—you look like a literal boyfriend Pinterest board.”

Pavel tilted his head. “Good thing?”

“It’s a problem,” Pooh muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You look like you’re about to climb into my lap and demand forehead kisses.”

Pavel crawled into his lap immediately. “Like this?”

“YES—EXACTLY LIKE THAT.”

“And this?” Pavel buried his face in Pooh’s neck, hoodie sleeves dangling as he wrapped his arms around him. “This is cuddly.”

Pooh’s soul left his body.

“I HAVE BEEN ATTACKED.”

—

And then came the shorts.

The shorts.

Pooh tried to hand them over casually. He really did.

But watching Pavel pull them up, slowly shimmying into them while laughing about how weird human clothes felt, Pooh legitimately forgot how to breathe.

“They’re small,” Pavel giggled.

“You’re small,” Pooh wheezed. “YOU’RE SO SMALL.”

“I can’t feel my thighs.”

“NEITHER CAN I.”

Pavel gave him a questioning look, tugging at the waistband. “What do you think?”

Pooh just stared.

At his legs.
His soft thighs.
The little dolphin print.
His boyfriend in a hoodie and shorts, looking like he belonged in a college dorm holding iced coffee and making everyone fall in love with him.

“I am in hell,” Pooh whispered.

“I am adorable,” Pavel replied confidently.

“Yes. And I am not emotionally equipped for this.”

—

The rest of the day was a new kind of chaos.

Pavel learned how to sit with his knees up in the hoodie. He learned how sleeves could be used to slap Pooh gently in the face when he asked dumb questions. He learned how to curl his entire body into Pooh’s hoodie chest and mumble, “Warm. Good. More please.”

Pooh spent most of the day trying not to spontaneously combust.

At one point, Pavel flopped over Pooh’s lap and dramatically declared, “Hoodie makes me sleepy.”

“You make me weak,” Pooh whispered.

“Hm?”

“Nothing, babygirl. Sleep well.”

—

That night, when they curled under the blankets, Pavel still in Pooh’s hoodie and shorts (because “they’re like hugs you wear!”), Pooh pressed his nose into Pavel’s hair and whispered:

“Tomorrow… I’m not letting you wear clothes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve hit my limit.”

“Okay. But now I wear your boxers.”

“OH MY GOD.”

Pavel giggled, pulling him closer. “Goodnight, land boyfriend.”

“Goodnight, fashion icon.”

And they fell asleep like that:

Pooh dying quietly, and Pavel being his adorable, clingy, hoodie-wearing babygirl.

 

“Pooh~”

“No.”

“Poohhh~ 🥺”

“Still no.”

“But… but land,” Pavel whispered, sitting in Pooh’s lap in the boat, hoodie draped over one shoulder, shorts riding up dangerously high on his very illegal thighs. “I have legs now.”

“Exactly,” Pooh muttered, poking his forehead. “And those legs don’t know how to run, how to hide, or how to survive a very judgmental 7-Eleven cashier.”

“What is Seven-Eleven.”

“Hell,” Pooh deadpanned. “Convenience store hell.”

“I want to see it 😍”

Pooh groaned. “You’ve been on land for five days. FIVE. And you’ve already begged to walk into human society like you aren’t a shiny sea prince who screams when pigeons flap too close.”

“That happened one time—!”

“You cried.”

“I was surprised.”

“You screamed, ‘feather demon!’”

“BECAUSE IT WAS.”

—

Pavel tried everything.

• Pouting. • Starfish clinging to Pooh’s back. • Crawling into his lap and whispering “please” directly into his mouth. • Fake coughing and declaring he had “land fever.” • Pretending to melt dramatically whenever Pooh said “no.”

It didn’t work.

So finally, he pulled out the big guns.

The deadliest combo Pooh had ever known:

✨ Puppy eyes + Whiny voice + Hoodie sleeves tucked over his hands + The phrase “please Pooh, I want to hold your hand in a crowd 😔”✨

Pooh folded in 0.3 seconds.

“Fine.”

“YES!!”

“But—” Pooh grabbed his face, “we’re going in disguise. You stay close. You don’t talk to any creepy old men, and you don’t tell anyone you used to have a tail.”

“What if they ask?”

“Then lie.”

“I don’t know how to lie.”

Pooh deadpanned. “You’re a Pisces. You’ll manage.”
—

THE NEXT DAY:

Pavel stepped onto the pier with bare feet, wobbling slightly but absolutely buzzing.

The town was small. Coastal. Busy enough that they could blend in, but sleepy enough that nobody looked twice at a wide-eyed boy in oversized clothes, clinging to his boyfriend’s arm like a lost kitten.

Pavel’s eyes sparkled. “So this is… land.”

Pooh grunted. “Yup. Get ready for concrete, ice cream, and overpriced iced lattes.”

Pavel gasped. “We buy drink?”

“Babe, I’m broke, but yeah. For you? One small drink.”

“MY FIRST HUMAN BEVERAGE 😭”

—

They hit a café first.

Pavel was confused by doors. Pooh opened them for him.
He was even more confused by menus. Pooh ordered for him.
And when the barista handed him an iced mango smoothie with whipped cream, Pavel took one sip and froze.

“….Pooh.”

“Yeah?”

“This tastes like sunshine.”

“Yeah.”

“It makes my soul feel juicy.”

“Don’t say things like that in public.”

Pavel took another sip and immediately declared, “I want five more.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

—

They walked down the market street, hand in hand, with Pavel asking questions about everything.

“What’s that?”
“A lamp.”
“What’s that?”
“A bicycle.”
“What’s that?”
“A chihuahua. Don’t touch it.”
“It looks like demon rat.”
“It is.”

Every time they passed something shiny or colorful, Pavel lit up. Pooh watched him like he was watching someone discover magic.

“You’re so happy,” he said under his breath.

Pavel turned to him, cheeks pink from the heat and the smoothie. “I am. You make it safe.”

Pooh blinked.

Okay. That one hit him deep.

—

They found a clothing stall with cheap shirts and sandals. Pavel immediately tried on heart-shaped sunglasses and turned to Pooh.

“Am I cute?”

Pooh nearly walked into traffic. “You—YOU CAN’T—DO THIS—TO ME—”

“I am learning to weaponize aesthetics,” Pavel said proudly.

“You’re learning to kill me.”

“Same thing.”

—

They sat by the boardwalk at sunset, legs dangling off the edge, sipping on their second drink (Pavel begged, Pooh caved, again), watching the horizon melt gold.

“Pooh?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for bringing me. I feel…” Pavel paused. “I feel like I’m living someone else’s dream.”

Pooh looked over at him.

Wind in his hair. Hoodie sleeves rolled up. Legs swinging. Eyes soft.

“No,” Pooh said. “You’re living our dream.”

Pavel turned, beaming.

Then grabbed Pooh’s hand and tangled their fingers tight.

“I want more days like this.”

“You’ll have them.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

—

And for the first time, on human land, in a world that didn’t even know about sea princes or glowing crystals or underwater kisses—
Pavel and Pooh were just two boys in love.

Holding hands.
Laughing over drinks.
Living, finally, without hiding.

 

It had been the perfect day.

Pavel still had whipped cream on his upper lip. Pooh still had heart palpitations from the sunglasses moment. And their matching friendship bracelets (made by a little girl at a stall for 20 baht each) were still tied loosely around their wrists, salt-stained and adorable.

They were walking hand in hand along a quiet side street, away from the crowds, heading back toward the dock where Pooh’s little boat-home bobbed in the water like it was waiting for them.

Pavel was humming. Pooh was smiling like a man in love.

Until he saw it.

A pole.

A paper.

A face.

His face.

Blurry. Sunburned. Half-asleep.
Taped on with cheap scotch tape.

MISSING: POOH KRITTIN KITJARUWANNAKUL
Last seen: Small boat drifting out to open sea. Presumed lost.
If seen, contact—

Pooh stopped walking.

The color drained from his face.

Pavel kept going for a second before his arm tugged back. “Pooh?”

Pooh didn’t respond.
He was staring.

His own face.
Next to the words presumed lost.

“Pooh?” Pavel repeated, stepping closer. “What’s wrong—?”

Then he followed Pooh’s gaze.

And saw it.

The flyer.

The name.

The face that belonged to the boy who was currently clutching his hand.

“...Is that... you?” Pavel whispered.

Pooh’s throat felt like it was closing. “Yeah.”

“You are... missing?”

“Apparently.”

Pavel blinked. “But... you are here. With me.”

“I didn’t think anyone would actually look for me,” Pooh muttered, laughing hollowly. “I thought they gave up. That they just... moved on.”

“Why would they move on from you?” Pavel asked, voice so soft it cracked. “You are... everything.”

Pooh exhaled shakily. “I didn’t mean to disappear. I didn’t mean to cause all this. I just—god, Pavel, I wanted peace. I wanted to get away.”

Pavel gripped his hand tighter. “Did you find peace?”

Pooh turned.

Met his gaze.

Saw a boy in dolphin shorts, an oversized hoodie, sunburnt cheeks and the kindest eyes he’d ever known.

He nodded. “Yeah. I found you.”

Pavel smiled gently.

But the moment was already tainted.

Behind them, a man passing by glanced between the flyer and Pooh. His brow furrowed.

Pooh caught it in the corner of his eye.

“Come on,” he whispered, pulling Pavel by the hand. “We need to go.”

—

They didn’t run.

But they walked fast.

Back to the dock.
Back to the boat.

Back to safety.

Pavel didn’t say much. Just followed, hoodie hood pulled low, grip never loosening. Pooh could feel the tension in his body—the fear, the confusion, the protective panic just beneath the surface.

When they finally reached the boat, Pooh helped Pavel in first.

“Are we in trouble?” Pavel whispered.

Pooh paused, climbing in behind him.

“Not yet,” he said. “But someone recognized me.”

“Do you want to be found?”

“I don’t know,” Pooh admitted.

Pavel went quiet.

Then quietly—“If they take you back… I will come get you.”

Pooh looked over, heart stalling.

“You don’t even know how to buy a train ticket.”

“I will steal a boat,” Pavel said seriously. “I will use your phone GPS. I will eat a glowing crystal again. I will walk into your stupid human house and kiss you in front of your whole family.”

Pooh laughed, even though his eyes stung. “Babe, that’s the most chaotic plan I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s full of love,” Pavel said proudly. “You can’t take us apart.”

Pooh leaned over. Pressed their foreheads together.

“No,” he whispered. “They can’t.”

But as night settled, and they curled up in their little boat-house

again, Pooh’s mind kept circling back.

The flyer.

The photo.

The look from that stranger.

And deep in his chest, for the first time since meeting Pavel… he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Fear.

It started with a knock.

Three soft taps.
Too polite.
Too human.

Pooh froze mid-bite of the coconut chips they’d been sharing, one leg tangled with Pavel’s on the little blanket they used as a couch-bed hybrid in their boat-house.

Pavel had been giggling over his new favorite hobby—reading Pooh’s old texts aloud in a horribly dramatic voice. “POOH SAID: ‘Do you want fish again or should I pretend to hunt birds.’ 😏 I love when you send me wild man messages.”

Knock knock knock.

Pooh didn’t move.

Neither did Pavel.

Slowly, they exchanged a look.

Pavel tilted his head. “...Sea ghost?”

Pooh gave him a flat stare. “No. Worse. Human.”

He stood carefully, grabbed the little curtain tied to the window of their boat’s tiny side hatch, and peeked out—

And immediately felt his stomach drop.

A man stood on the dock.
Not a fisherman.
Not a tourist.
Uniform.

Dark blue. Patch on his shoulder.

Coast Guard.

Shit.

—

“HELLO?” the man called gently, stepping closer to the side of the boat. “We’re doing a routine sweep—just checking in on any long-term vessels. Anyone home?”

Pooh pressed his forehead to the hatch window, heart pounding.

He felt Pavel’s arms wrap around his middle from behind.

“What do we do?” the merman whispered.

Pooh’s voice was quiet. “We answer. We act normal. And we don’t panic.”

“I am not good at normal,” Pavel whispered nervously. “Also I am not wearing pants under these shorts.”

Pooh kissed the side of his head quickly. “You’re perfect. Just… stay close to me, okay?”

“Always.”

—

Pooh stepped out onto the deck. Sunlight hit his face instantly.

The officer looked up, mildly startled. Then: “Ah! Hello there! Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Pooh forced a friendly smile. “Hey. Sorry, we were… napping.”

“We?”

Pooh felt Pavel’s hand reach for his, just out of view.

“Me and my boyfriend,” he said, steady. “We live out here.”

The officer blinked. “You’ve been docked here for weeks, right? Locals have seen your boat.”

Pooh nodded. “Yeah. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Not bothering anyone.”

The officer tilted his head, polite. “We just wanted to confirm you’re okay. You’ve got people looking for you.”

Pooh’s gut clenched.

“I’m… safe. Just needed time away.”

“Family filed a missing persons report,” the officer added gently. “Friends too. There are flyers all over town.”

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Pooh said, voice steady but low. “I just… needed to disappear.”

Behind him, he felt Pavel squeeze his hand harder. Clingier. Scared.

The officer hesitated. “Can I ask your name?”

Pooh inhaled.

Then turned slightly.

“Pavel, baby?” he said softly. “Come out?”

A pause.

Then the curtain moved—

And Pavel peeked out, wide-eyed, hoodie sleeves swallowed over his fingers, short shorts visible, eyes darting between the officer and Pooh like a very nervous sea raccoon.

The officer blinked again. “...Oh.”

Pooh smiled.

“My name’s Pooh Krittin Kitjaruwannakul,” he said clearly, wrapping his arm around Pavel’s waist. “And this is my boyfriend. We’re okay. I’m not missing. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

The officer opened his mouth. Closed it. Took another look at Pavel, then the two of them standing on that old boat like it was a palace.

“Alright,” the man said quietly. “You’re an adult. I’ll mark you as found. Just… maybe call your family? Let someone know you’re alive?”

Pooh nodded slowly. “Yeah. I will.”

“Take care,” the officer added, giving Pavel a small, awkward wave before turning away.

Only once his footsteps faded did Pooh finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

Pavel immediately wrapped his arms around his neck, burying his face in Pooh’s chest.

“You are not going back, right?”

“Not without you.”

“Even if they beg?”

“Even if they cry.”

“Even if they bribe you with land food?”

Pooh chuckled, pulling him close. “No land feast is better than you cuddling me in dolphin shorts.”

Pavel smiled, finally—small, soft, and safe.

“You’re my home,” Pooh whispered, kissing the top of his head.

Pavel held tighter. “Then I will be your land, your sea, your stupid little human hoodie-wearing disaster.”

Pooh laughed. “You already are.”

—

That night, they lay curled up in their boat-house again, closer than ever, watching the stars through the cracked window above.

Pavel whispered, “Still scared?”

Pooh smiled.

“Not anymore.”

 

It started with the sound of engines.

Distant at first, a low rumble that interrupted the peaceful hum of the sea breeze. It was nothing more than a whisper in the back of Pooh’s mind as he woke, the gentle tug of sleep still clinging to him.

But it didn’t take long for the rumbling to grow louder. Closer.

And then he heard shouting.

Pooh shot up, instantly alert, his heart pounding in his chest. The air felt wrong. The weight of something heavy was pulling at him. He looked around the boat-house, but the world outside felt too quiet, too still for the chaos he could feel coming.

“Pooh? What’s wrong?” Pavel’s voice was groggy, still half asleep, but that nervous edge was already creeping in.

Before Pooh could even respond, a large motorboat appeared from the distance, cutting through the still water, making waves and noise that felt like an unwelcome intrusion.

Pooh’s pulse quickened. He stood up, eyes widening in panic. “Pavel—”

But it was too late.

The boat was already too close.

A group of men in uniform—rescuers, coast guard workers, maybe even more than that—climbed from the boat, storming the dock with determined steps.

“Pooh Krittin Kitjaruwannakul!” one of them shouted, his voice cutting through the air. “You are being removed from this location! You’ve been reported missing. You have to come with us.”

Pooh’s heart sank.

His stomach twisted into knots. The world spun for a moment.

“No…” he whispered, backing away, his eyes darting to the boat-house, to Pavel, who had stood up now and was staring at the scene unfolding in front of him with growing fear.

“Pooh!” Pavel shouted. “Pooh, please! Don’t go with them!”

But the men were already closing in on Pooh, their movements swift and controlled.

“No!” Pooh cried, struggling, fighting back with everything he had. His legs were still unsteady from his time at sea, but he wasn’t about to let them take him away from the only place he felt at home.

The men grabbed him by the arms, pulling him toward the boat. He kicked, squirmed, tried to pull away. “I don’t want to go with you! I don’t belong with you!” he screamed, his voice raw. “I’m not missing! I’m fine! Please, don’t—”

“Let go of him!” Pavel was shouting now, stepping forward, hands clenched into fists. His eyes were wide, frantic, filled with desperation. “You don’t understand! He belongs here! He’s with me! You can’t take him away!”

But the men weren’t listening. They were too strong, too determined. Pooh fought harder, trying to break free from their grip. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his body was shaking with the realization that no matter how much he struggled, there was no escaping them.

Pavel’s voice cracked. “Pooh, please, don’t leave me—”

The words broke something deep inside of Pooh.

His eyes met Pavel’s, and in that moment, everything seemed to freeze.

The world felt like it was slipping through his fingers, and all he could see was Pavel’s face, his teary, pleading gaze that made his heart ache.

“Pavel…” Pooh whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay. I want to stay with you.”

But the men yanked him away, dragging him across the dock.

“No!” Pavel cried out again, rushing toward them. But it was no use. He was stopped by a rough hand on his chest, forcing him back, making him stumble.

Pooh’s body was dragged toward the boat, and he could feel his heart shattering, piece by piece, as the distance between him and Pavel grew.

“I love you, Pooh!” Pavel screamed, his voice breaking. “Please don’t leave me!”

Tears blurred Pooh’s vision as he was shoved into the boat, his hands trembling as he reached out one last time toward Pavel. But the men held him down, pinning him into place.

And just like that, the boat’s engine roared to life, and Pooh was pulled away from the only thing that had ever made him feel like he truly belonged.

He sobbed, his heart aching as the boat began to drift away, further and further from the place he had called home.

From Pavel.

“Pooh, please,” Pavel’s voice echoed in his mind, the memory of his desperate cries lingering in the air. “Don’t leave me.”

But there was nothing Pooh could do.

Nothing but cry.

Nothing but plead for someone, anyone, to hear him and take him back.

And just like that, the ocean swallowed him whole.

 

It had been four years.

Four whole years since the ocean had taken him away from Pavel. Or maybe… since the world had taken him away from the ocean.

Pooh still wasn’t sure which one it was.

All he knew was this:
His heart still screamed the same name.
Every single day.
Every quiet morning.
Every long night.

Pavel.

Four years and he still didn’t date.
Didn’t try.
Didn’t want.

He didn’t need anyone else. He never would.

Because how do you explain to someone that your soul is still floating in the middle of the sea with someone who once wore a tail and giggled with sand on his cheeks and mango smoothie on his lips?

You don’t.

You just live. Quietly. With pieces missing.

 

---

Pooh now taught Communication & Media Theory at a university in Bangkok. The kind of job that made you say things like “attention economy” and “hegemonic discourse” even when you were just trying to order food.

His students liked him. Called him “Ajarn Pooh.” Thought he was cool. Even cooler when they realized he sometimes wore hoodies to class and let them watch Black Mirror episodes when he was too emotionally exhausted to do a lecture.

He still kept that old photo on his phone.

The one with Pavel sitting at the edge of the boat, still with his tail, smiling shyly at the camera like he wasn’t the most ethereal creature Pooh had ever seen. The sunset behind him blurred the edges of the image, but his eyes were still crystal clear.

Pooh never showed it to anyone.

It was his anchor.

—

The city was hot today.

Bangkok’s version of mercyless.
He’d just finished three lectures back-to-back.
Hadn’t eaten properly.
Was sleep-deprived.
And also very, very annoyed about how his favorite iced green tea had gone up five baht again.

So, he slipped into a nearby 7-Eleven.

The fluorescent lights were too bright. The aircon too sharp. The little freezer hummed with the steady rhythm of artificial coolness.

He made his way to the drinks aisle, rubbed his eyes with one hand, and reached for the tea with the other.

Then stopped.

Because someone else was already reaching for the same one.

Their elbows brushed.

Pooh turned his head, barely paying attention—just about to politely say “You go ahead,” when his eyes landed on the hand.

That hand.

Veins delicate under pale skin.
Fingers long and slender.
And on the back of it—just between the thumb and index?

A faint, silvery scale-shaped scar.

His chest squeezed.

No.

No way.

It couldn’t—

But before Pooh could say anything, the other person turned slightly, brows furrowed at the label of the drink in their hand, mumbling to themself.

And then—

He looked at Pooh.

Not just glanced. Looked.

His eyes caught on Pooh’s temple.

Pooh froze.

Because suddenly, the man blinked. Like something—some unbearably familiar piece of his brain—clicked.

His lips parted.

His gaze lingered on that little mole on Pooh’s temple.

The one Pavel used to kiss, press his nose against, call “his favorite spot.”

Pooh’s heart stopped.

And Pavel… whispered the name like it had been waiting at the back of his throat all these years.

“…Pooh?”

 

---

Pooh stared at him.

Clean white nurse uniform. A hospital ID dangling from a lanyard. Hair neatly styled. Skin flushed from the heat. There were freckles on his nose now. And his eyes—

God.

His eyes were still the same.

“Pavel,” Pooh breathed.

Pavel didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Only stared, like he was watching something impossible bloom back into reality.

“I thought I was going crazy,” Pavel whispered, voice shaky. “I saw your mole and I—I thought it was a dream. That I was imagining it again. I—I dream about it a lot.”

“You still…” Pooh swallowed, hard. “You still remember?”

Pavel looked down at his own hand. Slowly lifted it.

“Sometimes I wake up and I feel like something’s missing,” he said softly. “I look at this little mark, and I know I’m not imagining it. But I can’t remember why it’s there. Only that it’s important. That you are.”

Pooh’s throat tightened. “You forgot… everything?”

“I think I forced myself to,” Pavel admitted. “When they found me… after they took you… I was alone. And I was scared. And the human world was loud, and complicated, and cold without you. I didn’t know what to do. So I… buried it.”

“And now?”

“I walked into this store to get tea,” he said, voice shaking. “And suddenly I’m standing in front of you. And everything hurts.”

Pooh didn’t even realize he was crying until Pavel gently reached out and brushed a thumb under his eye.

“Still the same Pooh,” Pavel whispered, smiling through his own tears. “Still crying when I touch your face.”

“And you’re still wearing dolphin shorts in my dreams,” Pooh choked out, laughing between tears.

“I wear pants now,” Pavel said proudly.

“That’s disgusting,” Pooh muttered.

Pavel laughed.

Then he stepped forward.

Wrapped his arms around Pooh.

Held him like he never wanted to let go again.

And Pooh—

Pooh melted.

Because this was home.

Because four years apart hadn’t erased the shape of each other in their bodies.

Because they never needed to relearn anything.

Their hearts had just waited.

Silently. Patiently. Faithfully.

Until now.

Until this moment.

In a 7-Eleven, surrounded by overpriced bottled drinks, fluorescent lights, and the weight of four years—

They found each other again.

“I missed you,” Pooh whispered into his neck.

“I waited for you,” Pavel whispered back.

—

They didn’t let go for a long time.

Not even when the cashier awkwardly walked past them.

Not even when the door chimed again and another customer walked in.

Pooh’s hand gripped the back of Pavel’s uniform. Pavel clutched his sleeve like he was afraid he’d vanish if he blinked too long.

“I have a break,” Pavel whispered. “Fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll take them,” Pooh said. “All of them. Every minute. Every day after. Everything.”

“I’m not letting you go again.”

“Good,” Pooh breathed. “Because I never moved on.”

“I never did either,” Pavel smiled.

 

They didn’t speak much on the way to Pooh’s apartment.

Not because there wasn’t anything to say—there was everything to say.
Four years worth.
But somehow, all the words stayed stuck in their throats, fragile and trembling.

So they just held hands.

Tightly.
Fingers locked.
Like maybe the world would try to pull them apart again, and this time, neither of them would allow it.

The elevator up to Pooh’s floor smelled like fried rice and overworked aircon.

Pavel stood close, staring up at the floor numbers as they lit one by one. Pooh’s thumb traced gentle circles on the back of his hand, and Pavel couldn’t help but glance down at their interlocked fingers—

Same hands.
Same calluses.
Same warmth.

Still his Pooh.

 

---

When the apartment door opened with a soft click, Pavel didn’t expect it to feel like anything.

But it did.

It felt like walking into a memory.
Not one he remembered clearly—
But one his heart recognized.

Soft beige curtains. A messy desk covered with lecture notes and three pens that had chewed caps. Two coffee mugs on the counter (Pooh clearly never used plates), a bookshelf filled with philosophy books, theory texts, and…

A mug. Blue, chipped at the handle.

One that said I 🐟 THE OCEAN in faded block letters.

Pavel stepped closer. “This… was mine.”

Pooh shut the door behind him. “Yeah. You used it every time we pretended coffee didn’t taste like ocean mud.”

“…You kept it.”

Pooh looked down. “I kept everything.”

Pavel turned. His heart thudded.

And there it was.
On the wall above the desk.
A framed photo. Not very big.
But unmistakable.

The picture.
The one from the boat.
Tail and all.

Pavel’s eyes widened. “You… put it up?”

Pooh nodded, walking over, gaze soft. “I always looked at it before going to sleep. Every day. It reminded me that you were real.”

“I forgot for a while,” Pavel whispered. “I think… I made myself forget.”

“I know.” Pooh’s voice cracked a little. “That’s why I remembered for both of us.”

Pavel stared at him.

Then walked deeper into the apartment.

There was a blanket on the couch. Folded. But the moment he touched it, he knew.

“This was ours.”

“Yeah. From the boat.”

He walked into the bathroom. Stopped in the doorway.

On the shelf—

A second toothbrush.
Dusty. Faded. But still there.

“…Pooh.”

Pooh leaned on the wall, hands in his pockets. “I couldn’t throw it out.”

“You kept my toothbrush.”

“You yelled at me the one time I used it.”

“You used it!?”

“I was desperate! I missed you!”

Pavel laughed. Soft, breathy. Then suddenly—

He turned around and walked right into Pooh’s chest.
Arms around his waist.
Cheek pressed against his collarbone.

Pooh didn’t hesitate.

He held him. So tight it hurt. One hand pressed to the back of Pavel’s head. The other gripping his shirt like he never wanted to let go again.

“You really waited for me,” Pavel whispered. “The whole time.”

“I didn’t know how to stop,” Pooh replied quietly. “You ruined me for anyone else.”

Pavel smiled against his chest. “Good. I wanted to ruin you.”

“You succeeded.”

“I still love you, you know.”

Pooh closed his eyes. “I never stopped.”

Pavel pulled back just enough to look at him. Their noses brushed.

“You’re still mine, right?” Pavel whispered.

Pooh nodded. “Every part of me.”

And then—

They kissed.

Soft at first.
Familiar. Slow.
Like trying to remember a favorite song they used to hum while falling asleep together in a boat surrounded by stars.

But it deepened.

And it ached.

And it tasted like years lost, but also years survived.

When they finally pulled apart, Pavel cupped Pooh’s face in both hands and grinned.

“You’re a better kisser now.”

“I practiced on my pillow.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

They laughed.

And suddenly, it wasn’t just a reunion.

It was them. Again.

Fully.
Finally.
Back where they belonged.

---

Later, when the sun had set and they were curled up on the couch under that same old blanket, Pavel whispered,

“Can I stay tonight?”

Pooh kissed the top of his head. “You can stay forever.”

 

It happened slowly.

Then all at once.

Pavel had only brought one bag when he came the next day—some spare scrubs, his toothbrush (still the same brand Pooh used), and the mango-scented shampoo he swore by.

“I guess I’m moving in,” he said casually, setting the bag down by Pooh’s bedroom door. “Do you mind?”

Pooh blinked. “Pavel.”

Pavel turned, eyes wide. “Yes?”

Pooh’s voice was soft. “You never have to ask me that.”

A pause.

Then Pavel’s lips parted just slightly, like something inside him cracked open.

And Pooh stepped forward, took his hand, and gently tugged him into the bedroom.

“This drawer’s yours,” he said, opening the second drawer of his dresser and pulling out some old T-shirts to make space.

“And this shelf,” he added, pointing above his cluttered desk. “We’ll clear it for your stuff.”

He looked at Pavel. “And the whole left side of the bed? Yours.”

Pavel was quiet for a second.

Then he smiled—and suddenly, it wasn’t small. It wasn’t shy. It was the full, brilliant grin Pooh remembered from the boat days, the one that made him forget every fear and fall a little harder every time.

“Okay,” Pavel whispered. “Okay, I can do that.”

 

---

That night, after unpacking his bag (which took less than ten minutes because Pavel lived like he’d always been on the run), they lay side by side in bed.

Pooh on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Pavel curled on his side, staring only at him.

“Pooh?” Pavel whispered.

Pooh turned his head. “Yeah?”

“I missed you.”

Pooh reached over, brushed some stray strands of hair behind his ear. “I missed you more.”

“No, like…” Pavel bit his lip. “I really missed you. It wasn’t just sad. It was like—my body would ache and I didn’t know why. Some mornings I’d wake up and cry and not understand what I lost.”

Pooh’s throat closed up.

“And whenever I passed boats, or heard sea waves in a YouTube video, or saw people holding hands…” Pavel continued, “my chest would hurt and I’d have this image of your stupid face, and I’d feel like I forgot something important.”

Pooh laughed quietly. “My face is not stupid.”

“It’s very stupid,” Pavel teased gently. “But I love it.”

Pooh reached out, taking Pavel’s hand under the covers. “I thought I lost you forever.”

“I thought I imagined you,” Pavel whispered.

They lay in silence for a moment.

Then Pavel shifted closer, until his head was on Pooh’s shoulder, until his fingers were tracing slow circles on Pooh’s chest.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled.

“I missed having you in my arms,” Pooh replied.

“You didn’t… date anyone, right?”

Pooh huffed a laugh. “I was emotionally married to a merman who disappeared. I wasn’t exactly on the apps.”

Pavel smiled. “Same. Except, you know. I was a confused ex-merman and the apps terrified me.”

They both laughed this time.

Then Pavel whispered, “I want this. All of this. Living with you. Waking up next to you. Complaining about laundry. Eating noodles at midnight.”

Pooh turned to face him, their foreheads pressing together.

“You have it,” he said softly. “Every day. Every night. For as long as you want.”

Pavel looked like he might cry again—but instead, he leaned in and kissed Pooh. Slow. Deep. Not rushed.

Like someone who finally found home again, and was ready to live in it.

—

The next morning?

Pavel stood on Pooh’s tiny kitchen counter, barefoot and shirtless, trying to reach the highest shelf with a bowl of instant noodles in his hand.

Pooh watched from the hallway, brushing his teeth, and thought—

He’s home.
He’s here.
He’s mine.

And this time, no one was taking him away.

 

Life after reunion wasn’t dramatic.

There were no storms.
No kidnappings.
No desperate chases to the sea.

But it was loud in its own way.

Soft.
Messy.
Filled with post-it notes and mismatched socks and the fact that Pavel could not, for the life of him, figure out how to share a closet like a normal person.

It started at breakfast.

Pooh stood in the kitchen, still groggy, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. His hair was sticking out in several directions. He stared at the pan, confused.

“Where’s the last egg?” he mumbled.

No one answered.

Pooh blinked once, twice, then turned his head slowly—

And there was Pavel.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch. Wearing Pooh’s grey hoodie (the one with the thumb holes), a guilty look on his face, and chewing.

“…Pavel.”

“Hmm?”

Pooh pointed at him. “Is that… is that my egg?”

Pavel blinked. Swallowed. “…It was alone. In the fridge. Vulnerable.”

“You mean mine. My lonely, vulnerable egg.”

“You didn’t put your name on it.”

“I was asleep.”

“Then it clearly didn’t mean that much to you.”

Pooh stared, slack-jawed. “You seduced my egg out of the pan. In my hoodie.”

“This hoodie is mine now.”

“It literally has my last name stitched inside.”

Pavel smirked. “So does my heart.”

Pooh choked. “Don’t change the subject—”

But Pavel was already up, egg sandwich still in hand, striding confidently toward Pooh.

He leaned in, eyes mischievous. “You want the egg back?”

Pooh narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t—”

Pavel took a bite.

Right in front of him.

Without breaking eye contact.

“I HATE YOU,” Pooh shouted, laughing as he shoved him playfully.

“You love me,” Pavel grinned, mouth full.

“I’m reconsidering!”

 

---

Later that day, Pooh tried to get dressed for work.

He opened his closet. Looked around. Blinked.

“…Where the hell are all my hoodies?”

Silence.

Then from behind him, a guilty rustle.

He turned—
Only to find Pavel standing in front of the mirror, wearing his oversized black hoodie, pairing it with sweatpants and Pooh’s university ID lanyard for ✨no reason✨.

“Pavel.”

“Hi.”

Pooh stepped forward. “That’s my favorite hoodie.”

“It’s your old favorite,” Pavel corrected. “You have a new favorite. Me.”

Pooh dragged a hand down his face. “Do you own anything?”

“Yes. Guilt. And your heart.”

“…and apparently all my damn hoodies.”

Pavel pouted. “But I look cute.”

“You do,” Pooh muttered, defeated.

Pavel beamed. “So you’re saying I can keep it?”

“No,” Pooh groaned. “But you will anyway.”

Pavel wrapped his arms around Pooh’s waist, nuzzling into his neck like a spoiled cat. “I love you.”

“You’re wearing my clothes.”

“Your scent makes me feel safe.”

Pooh’s face softened. He kissed Pavel’s forehead. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But yours.”

“…Fine. But give me my egg next time.”

“No promises.”

 

---

That night, they lay tangled on the couch watching reruns of an old crime show. Pavel was half-asleep on Pooh’s chest, hands tucked under Pooh’s shirt just to be dramatic about needing warmth.

“I forgot how warm you are,” he mumbled.

Pooh kissed his hair. “I forgot how loud you are.”

“Loud because I missed you.”

“Stay loud.”

“Stay mine.”

Always.

 

The semester was nearing midterms, which meant Pooh’s schedule was all over the place—grading papers, consulting with thesis students, and being chased down in hallways by people who suddenly cared about attendance.

But lately, one student had been a bit too present.

Her name was Kwan.
Top of the class.
Always prepared.
Smart, sharp, funny.

And for some godforsaken reason—

Always brought Pooh coffee.

Every. Single. Morning.

Pooh, being the awkward, flustered, emotionally-repressed professor he was, didn’t know how to reject free caffeine without sounding like an ass.

And so, he accepted it.

With a smile.
With a “Thank you.”
With a soft little chuckle because Kwan was cracking another media joke.

And Pavel?

Pavel was watching.

 

---

One particular Friday morning, Pavel had come to campus to wait for Pooh after his lecture.

He was leaning on the wall outside the classroom, looking effortlessly hot in black scrubs and Pooh’s stolen varsity jacket. Headphones on. Iced coffee in hand. Mind lost in whatever playlist he’d built titled “songs to kiss Pooh to.”

Then the door opened.

Students poured out.

And there she was—Kwan. Smiling up at Pooh. Handing him a latte. Laughing.

Pooh smiled back. Scratched the back of his neck. Said something Pavel couldn’t hear. Probably his usual flustered, “Oh, you didn’t have to,” while accepting it anyway.

And something inside Pavel snapped.

He yanked off his headphones and walked up to them.

Right up to Pooh.

Wrapped his arms around Pooh’s waist from behind.

Pressed his chin to Pooh’s shoulder.

Smiled sweetly at Kwan.

“Hi,” he said.

Kwan blinked, surprised. “Oh! Hello, um…”

“I’m Pavel,” he replied. “His boyfriend.”

Pooh choked on air.

Kwan’s eyes widened. “Oh—I didn’t know—!”

“Yeah,” Pavel said brightly, now running his hand up Pooh’s chest with innocent cruelty. “We live together. We even share shampoo.”

Pooh wanted to die.

Kwan flushed, bowing slightly. “Sorry—I didn’t mean anything, really. I just bring coffee for the whole—”

“No worries,” Pavel beamed, but his arm tightened just slightly. “He loves his coffee. But he loves me more.”

And just like that, Kwan walked away.

Fast.

Pooh turned slowly, brows high. “Did you just growl at a student?”

Pavel smiled smugly. “Maybe.”

“Pavel.”

“What?”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m protective.”

“You’re possessive.”

Pavel stepped forward, tiptoed to kiss his jaw. “And you like it.”

Pooh blushed immediately. “I do not—”

“Yes you do. Your ears are red.”

“They’re not—!”

“Your pupils are dilating.”

“Stop being sexy in public.”

“I’ll be sexy wherever you look at someone who’s not me.”

“Oh my god.”

 

---

Later that night, they were tangled in bed, legs intertwined, and Pooh couldn’t stop smirking.

“You really scared her away.”

“Good. She was eyeing my man.”

“You called me your man in front of a whole hallway.”

“Did I stutter?”

Pooh leaned in. “You know…”

Pavel blinked up at him.

“That was hot.”

Pavel grinned. “You’re turned on by me being jealous?”

“Very.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the guy who growled at a 21-year-old.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

So he did.

 

They didn’t speak the second they walked into the apartment.

The door slammed shut.
Pavel turned, expecting a kiss, maybe a smirk.

But Pooh just stared.

Jaw clenched. Eyes dark. Shoulders tense.

That kind of silence that always came right before something dangerous.

Pavel took a small step back.

Pooh followed.

“What?” Pavel breathed, blinking.

“You know what.”

Pavel blinked again—innocent, wide-eyed. “The student? I didn’t even—”

“I don’t care about the student,” Pooh said. Low. Even.

He stepped closer, hand curling around the back of Pavel’s neck, thumb sliding up just behind his ear—slowly, deliberately.

“I care about you looking that pretty when I’m not around.”

Pavel swallowed hard. “P-Pretty?”

“You know you are,” Pooh muttered.

Then shoved him lightly—right against the wall.

Pavel gasped, his hands instinctively reaching for Pooh’s shirt as Pooh leaned in, lips brushing his cheek but never kissing.

“You’re wearing my jacket,” Pooh murmured against his skin. “And those damn shorts I told you not to wear in public.”

“They’re comfy—”

“They’re mine. Everything on you is mine.”

Pavel whimpered.

Pooh’s hand dropped to Pavel’s waist—gripping, hard enough to bruise.

“Take them off.”

Pavel’s breath hitched.

Now he looked up at Pooh—fully wide-eyed, lips parted, pupils blown out.

“Pooh—”

“I said—take them off.”

—

The jacket hit the floor first.

Then the shorts.

Then Pavel, slowly, with flushed cheeks and trembling fingers, sank to his knees.

Pooh’s hand tangled in his hair immediately—firm, possessive.

“Good boy.”

Pavel shivered.

“You missed this?” Pooh asked, voice thick and low. “Missed being owned?”

Pavel nodded.

“Say it.”

“I missed it,” he whispered.

“Missed what?”

“Missed being yours.”

Pooh smiled.

And that’s when everything got filthy.

Rough hands. Pinned wrists. Pavel’s knees pressing into the floor. Pooh dragging him onto the bed like he was nothing but a ragdoll—sweet and breathless and made for this.

“Arch for me,” Pooh muttered, voice like a threat. “Show me you still remember.”

Pavel obeyed. Immediately. Back arched, cheeks flushed, thighs trembling.

“Look at you,” Pooh hissed. “Four years and your body still remembers who it belongs to.”

“I-I never forgot,” Pavel whispered.

“Damn right you didn’t.”

—

It was rough.
Filthy.
Relentless.

Pooh didn’t go easy on him. Didn’t hold back.

And Pavel? He didn’t want him to.

He moaned. Begged. Sobbed Pooh’s name like it was the only language he knew.

“Louder,” Pooh growled into his neck. “I want every damn neighbor to know you’re back where you belong.”

“Pooh—! I—!”

“Mine.”

“Y-Yes—”

“All. Fucking. Mine.”

Pooh’s hand tangled back into Pavel’s hair as he kissed his throat, bit his collarbone, left bruises down his hips.

Pavel clung to him, legs wrapped around Pooh’s waist, face pressed into the pillow, whispering, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

And Pooh didn’t. Not until Pavel was shaking, eyes wet, lips bitten raw from holding back screams.

When it was finally over, Pavel collapsed against Pooh’s chest, panting, shaking, completely boneless.

And Pooh just held him.

Hand stroking his back, kisses pressed against his sweat-damp hair, whispering, “You’re perfect, baby. So perfect for me.”

“I—I love you,” Pavel whispered, dazed.

“I love you more,” Pooh replied.

“And if you wear my hoodie again—”

“I will.”

“Good. It means you’re mine.”

 

The apartment was quiet now.

Moonlight filtered through the blinds in faint silver lines, striping the floor where tangled clothes and a crumpled hoodie lay in the aftermath. The scent of sweat and skin still lingered in the air—hot, thick, and undeniably theirs.

Pooh didn’t move for a while. Not because he couldn’t. But because Pavel was still trembling in his arms.

His babygirl.
His sweet, ruined boy.
So small like this. So soft and spent.

Pavel’s cheek was pressed against Pooh’s chest, body completely limp, arms tucked close like he was trying to fold himself into Pooh’s skin.

“Baby,” Pooh murmured, lips brushing his temple. “You’re shaking.”

Pavel didn’t answer.

He just made a soft, pitiful little sound—half whimper, half satisfied hum.

Pooh sat up gently, cradling him close. “Let’s clean you up, yeah? Come on. You did so good for me.”

Pavel pouted, burying his face deeper into Pooh’s chest. “Don’t wanna move.”

“I know,” Pooh chuckled. “But you’ll feel better after a shower. I’ll help. You don’t have to do anything.”

“…Promise?”

“I promise.”

—

Pooh carried him to the bathroom. Literally. Bridal-style. Pavel was all flushed skin and lazy sighs, head tucked under Pooh’s chin.

He set him down on the edge of the tub and turned on the warm water, testing the heat with his wrist like he was prepping it for fragile cargo.

“Arms up.”

Pavel obeyed without a word.

Pooh peeled off what little fabric was still on him, then guided him under the stream of water with a tenderness that almost made Pavel’s throat ache.

“Close your eyes,” Pooh whispered, lathering shampoo into his hair.

Pavel did.

And when Pooh’s fingers worked through his damp strands, massaging his scalp slow and careful, Pavel melted—literally melted—into him.

“You spoil me,” he mumbled.

“No,” Pooh replied, brushing suds off his forehead. “I just love you right.”

—

After the shower, Pooh wrapped him up in a fluffy towel, dried his hair with soft pats, and kissed the little mole behind his ear—the one he always said was his favorite dot on Earth.

Then they were in bed again.

Fresh sheets. Fluffed pillows. Pavel in a soft oversized T-shirt that swallowed his frame (Pooh’s, of course). Legs tangled. Faces close.

Pooh pressed a bottle of water to his lips. “Drink.”

Pavel blinked at him. “Bossy.”

“Hydrated. Drink, or I’ll make you drink it with my mouth.”

Pavel flushed. “Okay, okay—” and obediently took small sips, his hand clutching Pooh’s wrist the entire time.

When the bottle was set aside, Pooh cupped his face.

“You good, baby?”

Pavel nodded. “A little sore.”

“Want me to rub you down?”

“Later.”

“Want me to carry you to work tomorrow?”

“I don’t think I can look you in the eye after what you said to me earlier.”

Pooh smirked. “Which part?”

“Arch for me,” Pavel mimicked with a pout. “Show me you still remember who you belong to.”

“You do remember.”

Pavel shoved him weakly, then immediately clung to him again. “Shut up and hold me.”

“Gladly.”

And Pooh did.

Held him tight. Kisses behind his ear. Gentle strokes down his back. Legs tangled under the covers like a quiet promise.

After a while, Pavel whispered sleepily, “You’re always rough with me.”

Pooh kissed his hair.

“I’m rough because I know you can take it. But I’m soft because I love you.”

Pavel smiled. Eyes fluttering shut.

And in the quiet, he whispered one last thing:

“…I missed this.”

Pooh pulled him closer.

“I missed you.”

 

Three years later.

The waves lapped softly at the shore. The sea was calm today—light glittering off the surface like scattered diamonds. Somewhere farther out, a boat rocked gently in the tide.

But on the beach?

Pooh was chasing Pavel through the sand.

“No—no!” Pavel laughed breathlessly as Pooh lunged after him. “You’re not getting it back!”

“That’s my shirt, baby!”

“It’s my shirt now!”

“It’s literally the one I wore the day I met you, and you stretched the collar with your shoulder—”

Pavel shrieked, giggling as Pooh finally caught him from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist and lifting him up like he weighed nothing.

“You little sea-brat,” Pooh growled against Pavel’s neck, pressing soft, slow kisses there. “You think you can steal everything from me?”

“I already stole your heart,” Pavel whispered back.

Pooh smiled into his skin.

“You’ve had that since the boat.”

 

---

They bought a house near the water.

Not a condo. Not an apartment.

A home. With creaky floorboards and warm windows, with an old wooden deck that overlooked the sea. There were plants in the kitchen, tangled laundry on the couch, and a dent in the wall from when Pavel slipped in socks trying to seduce Pooh in a towel (unsuccessfully—Pooh made him wear slippers after that).

Pavel worked at the hospital down the hill. Pooh taught part-time at the university, still wore button-downs, still got coffee from ex-students—and still made sure to kiss Pavel every time he left the house.

They shared everything.

Drawers. Toothpaste. Morning routines. Fights over who used the last roll of tissue.

But most importantly—

They shared forever.

 

---

One evening, they were watching old videos.

Pavel was curled up in Pooh’s lap, scrolling through Pooh’s ancient phone gallery. He gasped suddenly, sitting up.

“Oh my god. This one!” he showed the screen.

It was a photo. Blurry. Old.

Pooh on the boat, wet and sunburnt, pointing in shock. In the water below, barely visible through the ripples, a figure with shimmering silver-blue scales and dark wet hair looking up at him with bright eyes.

Pavel.

Pooh chuckled. “You looked like a sea cryptid.”

“I was a hot sea cryptid.”

“You were a baby. You were so tiny. You didn’t even know how to speak.”

Pavel smiled softly. “But I knew how to love you.”

Pooh’s breath caught in his throat.

“…You did,” he whispered. “You still do.”

Pavel kissed him.

Gentle.

Certain.

Forever.

 

---

A few weeks later, on a day when the sun touched everything in gold—

Pooh proposed.

Not with a dramatic gesture. Not with fireworks. But on the deck, barefoot, while Pavel was brushing his teeth.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” Pooh said simply, holding out a small black box.

Toothbrush still in his mouth, Pavel stared.

Then screamed.

Choked.

Rinsed.

Screamed again.

“Yes—yes, you idiot, yes—!”

Pooh laughed so hard he cried.

They got married on that very deck.

Just the two of them, a few close friends, and the sea humming behind them.

Pavel wore white linen and bare feet. Pooh wore the same watch he’d worn the day they met. They kissed like no one else existed. They danced with the ocean as their song.

And when night came, they lay together—skin against skin, hearts pressed tight—and whispered,

“I’ll love you in every world.”

 

---

Years later…

People in the village still whispered about the nurse and the professor who walked hand-in-hand every morning.

They still said one of them used to live in the sea.

That he spoke to fish when no one was watching.

That his eyes turned ocean-blue when he cried.

But they didn’t care about rumors.

Because the love between Pooh and Pavel?

It was loud.

It was soft.

It was real.

And nothing—no current, no storm, no time—could ever drown it.