Merpeople aren’t real—they’re a fairytale, a myth. But you’re real, and Nagi feels weightless.

He first met you on the job at the Kanagawa Science Institute. Scoping the shoreline was the grunt NPC work he was assigned. Nagi was far from enthusiastic. If the sweltering heat wasn’t enough to take him out, the sand stuck between his toes sure would. He wiped his bangs from his forehead sluggishly and took a turn around the rock in front of him.

Nagi remembers it vividly.

You were all violet fins and glimmering scales—and Nagi wondered if the heat finally made him lose it. But he stares a bit more and takes in a breath he didn’t know he needed. Nagi’s eyes mirrored yours. He understood then and there.

The red string of fate snapped into a straight line.

I won’t tell anyone, the trainee whispers simply. It’s been three months, and he still hasn’t gone back on his words.

Sunset reflected onto the shoreline’s foam, refracting across the gentle waves. Nagi curled up torpidly on the designated meeting rock near the water, “A festival’s happening on land today… I don’t have anyone to go with, so it’s a hassle.” His eyes were focused on the ocean as he took another bite from the skewered takoyaki in hand (he faintly wondered if it was rude, but you didn’t have a problem with the seafood). Distantly, color splattered across the sky—fireworks. He sighed, “There’s no avoiding Tanabata.”

He met your gaze. Nagi doesn’t smile, but he does quietly take you in for a few seconds.

“Did you want to go, Reo?"

He was never very good with emotions, but he could at least ask that.