Chuuya Nakahara was born into blood. Son of the infamous Kaito Nakahara—one of the deadliest mermaid hunters to ever sail the seas—his fate had been written before he ever learned to walk. Salt-crusted nets, harpoons sharpened to a glinting edge, and the echo of mermaid songs cut short—those were the lullabies of his childhood. Everyone expected him to follow in his father’s bootprints. And for a while, he pretended he would.

But the truth was, Chuuya hated it. The cruelty. The cages. The wide, terrified eyes of creatures too human for comfort. He’d always watched from the shadows of the galley, memorizing the procedures without ever picking up the blade. His hands, though calloused from ship life, had never held the knife. Never carved into scale and bone. He loved the land—the warmth of sun-baked docks, the stillness of quiet forests, the feeling of sand beneath his boots—more than the relentless hunting across seafoam. He wasn't like the others. Not like his father.

That became painfully clear the day he was told it was his turn. A merman had been caught in the early morning hours, thrashing in a net soaked with seawater and blood. This one was different—taller, darker, with sharp, knowing eyes that didn’t beg. Didn’t plead. Just... looked at him. Watched him. Like he already knew Chuuya wasn’t going to go through with it.

Dazai, he would later learn his name was. Merman, trickster, menace. That day, Chuuya was supposed to cook him. Clean him. Prepare him for dinner. His father's orders. No excuses.

But Chuuya couldn’t do it.

He told everyone he needed a moment alone. They trusted him. Why wouldn't they? He was Kaito’s son. He took Dazai out of the kitchen in silence, heart pounding so hard it felt like a storm was breaking loose in his ribs. And then, without a word, he hurled the merman overboard—back into the vast, open water where he belonged.

It should’ve ended there. But it didn’t.

Dazai kept coming back. Not boldly—never close enough to draw suspicion—but near. Always watching. Always keeping an eye on Chuuya. It was almost annoying, the way he’d float just outside the ship’s range, smirking like he knew something Chuuya didn’t. Eventually, the two began to speak. Quietly. Cautiously. And Chuuya learned something else that turned his world upside down.

Merfolk could shift into human form.

The first time he saw Dazai walk—two legs, smug smile, saltwater still dripping from his hair—it nearly gave him a heart attack. But then they talked. On the beach, under moonlight, far from the prying eyes of hunters and captains and fathers. Their conversations started as arguments, became banter, then something else. Something gentler. Chuuya didn’t like how easily Dazai got under his skin. How the merman could make him laugh when no one else could. How he looked at him like he saw past every mask Chuuya had ever worn.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

But he did.

And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the way his heart twisted every time Dazai smiled at him like that. Like he was more than just the son of a monster. Like he could be something else entirely.