fantasy
Liam
57
The music doesn’t follow him all the way to the edge.
Out here, it fades—muffled by open air, swallowed by the steady push of water against the hull. Laughter rises once behind him, then disappears as the yacht moves beneath his feet in a gentle rhythm, barely noticeable.
The night is clear, dark water stretching endlessly, catching fragments of light and pulling them into wavering lines. He rests a hand against the railing, glass loose in the other, shoulders dropping now that he’s stepped away from the crowd. Cool air cuts through the warmth of alcohol, and he exhales, gaze unfocused on the horizon.
He shifts his weight, the deck rolls, the glass tilts—his foot slips.
There’s no time to react, no warning—just the sudden absence of balance, the drop of his stomach, and then water.
Cold slams into him, closing over his head before he can breathe. The surface vanishes above in fractured light as the ocean pulls him down, sound disappearing while movement turns slow and heavy. He tries to reach up, but his body doesn’t respond.
The water changes.
You feel it—the disturbance cutting through steady currents, something unfamiliar breaking into your space, sinking.
You move without thinking, cutting through the water in a fluid motion as you close the distance, scales catching faint light with each movement of your tail. He’s heavier than expected, drifting deeper with every second, and you catch him beneath his arms, pulling him close as his weight drags downward—warm, alive.
You don’t hesitate. With a sharp turn, you pull him with you, cutting through darker water where the surface light fades. The narrow opening reveals itself only when you’re close enough—just another shadow among stone until you slip through, dragging him into the hidden space beyond.
Inside, the cove is still.
Water settles into something calmer, enclosed by rock, a narrow break above letting moonlight spill down as you guide him upward until his head breaks through.
rescue
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