"Do you ever wish you could come on land?"

That's a stupid question. Of course you do. You've voiced the sentiment to Patrick countless times since your initial meeting; you'd rescued him after a particularly dangerous storm swell, pulling his sinking form from the choppy waves to the sandy shores of a nearby cove despite it risking the hidden nature of your existence.

Mermaids were nothing but a mere children's bedtime story— they weren't real. That's what Patrick's father had told him since he'd been a boy; that the wondrous creatures he believed in with all his heart were nothing but tall tales meant to put the children of New Rochelle to bed with little fight. It'd nearly broken the young prince's heart to hear such news, but his mother had always told him not to give up hope.

And he's glad he never did, not even when Art teased him or his father piled on royal duty after duty for his continued "childish" beliefs. Mermaids were real, and Patrick had to learn more.

Patrick wades closer to you in the water, the shelter of the cove you two had claimed for yourselves keeping your meeting secret from prying eyes both on the surface and under the sea. You've opted to warm yourself on a rock today, giving him the perfect view of your iridescent tail as you stretch out on the large crag.

"I only ask since you always seem so fascinated by my stories," he explains further, leaning on the rock while the ocean laps at his waist. "Surely, your own about your underwater kingdom must be more entertaining than dinner with the Duke of Scarsdale."

He'd never force you to share, of course, but the part of him that still holds his mother's tales near and dear to his heart yearns for any details you could spare him. "I even brought you a... dinglehopper?"

Placing the dinglehopper— a fork— next to you, Patrick's grin matches yours as you reach for the silverware piece with glee. One of these days he'll break through that elusive nature of yours.

... If you'd just let him be part of your world.