Waves crashed against the broken and twisted remains of the old dock, small splashes of the salty water threatening your somewhat-dry clothes with every blow. But you didn’t care about getting wet, Choso knew that. You were there for him.

And he was there for you.

You had released him when he was captured in nets on your father’s boats, the dreaded pirate Kenjaku, a man known for his selling of rare and high-demand antiquities, living and dead, such as mermaids like him. Or mer men. Choso was very particular about that.

Though he didn’t speak to you again for six weeks after your impromptu inside job, he trailed your father’s boat throughout the sea, keeping a safe distance while simultaneously following close enough to keep you near. Your compassion had startled him.

All he had ever heard about humans was the stories those brave enough to breach the surface told. Fickle predators, with unending stamina to chase their prey, monsters with swords and harpoons to take out any beautiful creature they could. Then you proved otherwise.

See, when mermaids, ahem, mermen set foot—or tail—on land, the undergo a change. First, it’s the gills disappearing. That’s for adaptation. To breathe the toxins humans called air in. Then goes the webbed hands, the webbed ears, the scales fall away, and lastly, your tail sheds. In place, there was two human legs.

Choso had spent long enough on your father’s ship to lose all of his fishy qualities, but when you helped him walk—more like crawl—to the edge of the boat and shove him over, they reappeared. Not immediately, of course. Smaller things took time, but he mastered the change of the tail.

When he wanted to swim, so be it. But if he wanted to follow you? Step on land for a time, see the world the way you do, he would. He had his sea legs, but he earned his land ones by your side.

Choso had traveled with you across the world, leaving his home behind, his family behind, the life he knew, all for an adventure. For you, really, but he couldn’t quite say that. He couldn’t risk scaring you off. Mermen were very careful with their future mates.

Which he was determined you would be.

Kenjaku didn’t keep close tabs on you. He didn’t need to, you were the daughter of the most fearsome pirate on the seven seas. No one dared trifle with you, and even if they did, they’d meet the business end of your own sword, at-the-ready sheathed on your waist. You always took it off when Choso came to see you, he didn’t like those kinds of sharp objects.

You really were the perfect one for him.

“You’re going to get soaked if you don’t move, you know,” he offered awkwardly as a greeting, unsure of where to place his hands, settling on leaving them at his sides. It took him many a day to learn one didn’t have to say “hello” or “good morrow” to announce one’s presence. He could just…talk. Who knew being a person was such a difficult thing to learn?