~Chapter 1~

So this is what the infamous "ocean" felt like. It was quite nice, but it fell short of your expectations. From an entire childhood of dreaming up picturesque beaches and browsing the Internet for vacation spots in Bora Bora, the real deal came to be subpar.

That's reality though—when something gets overhyped, it only ever grazes your wildest dreams. Sure, the sand between your toes was a new exhilaration—and you'd definitely consider revisiting—it just happened to be a reflection of the word "just." When you add that word in front of a noun, it downplays its significance. Steals from its importance. You know, things like: just a coincidence. Just a girl. Just a feeling. Just the ocean.

This second wind of rebellion didn't feel as satisfying as you imagined it would. But yeah, a large body of water is still kind of cool, you guessed. Somehow you remained on that shoreline, nearly desensitized. There you were, suspended between nonchalance and disappointment.

Your heart rattled against your ribcage. One of your stray hairs cowered out of place against the unfamiliar ocean breeze. After brushing it away, your hand fell over your chest and rest there for a while. This sensation . . . It was new. The medley in your heart wasn't wholly composed of hopeless dreams. No—it was a symphony, begging to perform outside of the constraints of your ribcage prison. Why now, in the midst of a let down? What was this feeling? Optimism?

No, you decided. This had to be your hopes foolishly deciding to soar too high. Not today, Icarus. The ocean isn't all that breathtaking. It's not beckoning you in for exploration. It's just a flat blanket of solemnity that holds no appeal.

But inserting the word "just" couldn't downplay the excitement that chilled your core. You were entitled to discovering the expanses of your childhood dreams; if not, your hopes had been set up for failure from the start.

You grasped onto that glimmer of hope, wading deeper into the water. The denim of your jeans hugged your thighs in a death grip, but you treaded onwards. There was a voice that coerced you deeper: a tenor lullaby laced with enchantment and mystique. It was all of the coaxing you needed at the time. Then it consumed you, and in that moment, it felt like all of the coaxing you would ever need.

The soothing tune grew stronger. You trembled and crept further towards it, no longer in control of your legs. Your feet were swept off of the floor by a strong current, and the ocean consumed you.

Then darkness.

New scenery raided your senses, overwhelming their accuracy. Breath loss. Flesh. Limbs brushing against yours.

Scoff. "Back off, this one's mine," a low voice growled.

Nothing.

Then sputtering. You coughed out a lung and opened your eyes, seaweed tangled around your lower body. On the bright side, the world came back into view and you were on land. You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, shaking a few grains of sand away with contempt. When you went to kick the seaweed wrap off, your legs moved in unison. You looked down and your eyes grew wider than that one time you'd wandered a little too far on a beach website and accidentally stumbled upon a topless fish creature. Except the fish creature was you this time. Undoubtedly—but also doubtably—fins laid in place of your feet. Iridescent (color) scales, flashing under the moonlight while simultaneously mocking your sanity.

An unpleasant squawk-like squeal escaped your lips. No one could see you like this. Not your parents and definitely not your ex. Fish are supposed to be in water, right? So you did what any newly-born sea creature would and writhed your way towards the waves with the same level of determination those barrels in Donkey Kong have of roller-pinning over Mario.

What do you do when you find that your legs have magically poofed elsewhere? You wake up.

You inhaled a lung-full of water, willing with all of your might to open your eyes and be in your college dorm. Instead, you let out a breath and inhaled more liquid with ease. You poked your head above the surface, still weary of the depths below. This may have been a strange mermaid dream, but you weren't going to risk turning it into a nightmare.

A mountainous boulder obstructed your view of the distant horizon, so you propped your elbows on the surface to get a peek, your lower half remaining concealed by the nighttime ocean water. The top of the boulder was flat, an ideal resting place for sea lions. However, in place of some flubbery sea manatee was a naked human. You let out a startled gasp, then averted your gaze from his man spots.

He was none of your business. You could call him a seal and carry on worrying about your own problems.

You glanced back at his still figure, observing the gashes and cuts that had settled into the moist crevices of his bare skin. He's knocked out, wounded, and in the nude. You were trained in med school to handle at least two-thirds of that. Although, as a fish, you weren't exactly inclined to be helping him at the moment.

The human's eyelids fluttered open, where they were greeted with your awestruck face. He took it in with furrowed brows. Was it too late to duck underwater and swim away?

Not-A-Seal-Man propped his arm on the rock and pushed his upper body into a seated position, wincing a few times in the process. He sealed his eyes tightly as the pain subsided. His next move consisted of throwing his hands downward and feeling around his body, eagerly latching onto his outstretched legs. A self-satisfied grin overtook his features.

Your eyes instinctively and foolishly followed the motion, curious as to what had him so thrilled down there. You winced and looked away again, covering the side of your eye with a flat palm.

"You checking me out?" the sculpted figure spoke up.

Baffled, your jaw gravitated toward the ocean floor. But since he did mention it, there was certainly a lot about his physique to take in. His build resembled nothing of a sea lion's. He looked like the kind of dude who renewed his gym membership yearly.

He leaned over the edge of the rock to size up your legs. Or lack thereof. He nodded his head knowingly, as if he'd confirmed his own internal suspicions. "I know you can't remember anything, sweetheart," he started, "so it's best you swim along."

"Huh?" You cocked your head. "Remember what?"

"Exactly." He scanned around the rock's surface, then wiped his hands together. "So, if you don't mind, I'll be on my way." He attempted to stand, but his legs only wobbled beneath him. He stumbled back down, where he landed flat on his cushiony tush.

"I don't think you'll be heading anywhere in that state," you commented.

He took his thumb to his chin, pausing a moment to consider. "You got me there, my clothing situation is a bit of a setback."

Heat rose on your cheeks and nipped at the tips of your ears. Great deduction, Sherlock. "Well, yeah, that's definitely part of the issue, but I meant health-wise."

"I'm perfectly healthy," he countered.

You skeptically raised your eyebrows. "You must've washed up from a shipwreck and you can't even stand. If you think you're in good condition, you're probably concussed, too."

He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes as if he knew better and this was a waste of time.

"Let me check you out," you urged. "I'm studying for my medical degree, I can help you."

The nude stranger stared through you, perplexed, which wasn't the reaction you'd anticipated. "Wait, wait, wait," He put a hand out. "You remember you were studying when you had legs?"

"I do. I have barely any recollection of getting is this thing, though." You flashed your tail above the water's surface, flapping the tips of your fins around. "You're not freaked out that I'm a mermaid?"

"A siren, actually," he corrected, then paused in contemplation. "It doesn't add up. Your memories . . ."

"Am I not supposed to have them?"

"Yeah, you're really not," he said skeptically, his eyes narrowed.

"I certainly still remember that my parents are very disappointed in me. And that I have a test to study for." Your expression dropped as your face paled. "Oh my gosh, it's setting in now. I'm a fish. How am I supposed to earn the rest of my college credits?" You clutched your head frantically, then exhaled. "You seem to be educated in the mermaid department. Please, turn me back."

He chuckled. "It doesn't work that way." He mentally debated with himself, before shrugging it off and continuing.

You blinked back in shock. Then again, who were you not to believe it? You were half fish. At this point, it was a perfectly viable explanation.

"So you mean to tell me that you're the one who did this to me? I was your exchange?" you asked, unimpressed. He was human and you were siren. The circumstances didn't look very noble of him.

"Technically, yeah. But you agreed to it, so don't go blaming me. I didn't—"

Flash. A beam of light blinded you. His legs faded in and out, then morphed into a thick blue tail. The man looked down with wide eyes, then curved his eyebrows upwards and began to pout. "I just got those."

Weird thing though. While his legs decided to disappear, yours coincidentally decided to pop back in for a visit.

His nose crinkled up the moment he noticed. "Hey, you stole my legs," he pointed, almost hurt.

"You stole mine first," you shot back defensively.

"No, seriously. I knew something was wrong. How'd you do that?"

"I dunno how that happened, I didn't do anything." 

He narrowed his calculative eyes into slits. "You must have done something. The curse is broken because of you, and not in a happily-ever-after kind of way."

"Me?" you asked incredulously. "Why do you assume this is my fault?"

"Kissing a human worked for the other sirens. But not on you apparently," he casually added, shrugging.

"Wait, you kissed me?"

"It's a fish-hunt-fish world down there. Misery is what motivates sirens to find broken hearts. If you think for one second that I wouldn't—and didn't—jump at the chance to become human again, you're wrong."

You sighed in exasperation. "I'm not saying what you did was right, but I get it. Whatever, Ian. This is too much for me to take in."

He blinked back in shock. "What did you just call me? Ian?" His eyebrow with a thin scar vertically across the tail arched in skepticism.

You sealed your eyes together tightly, embarrassment seeping into your entire being. Ian was the name your mom suggested you give to your fish plushie. That childhood stuffed-animal still sat back in your dorm room and you sometimes ranted to it when things got stressful.

"I'm sorry, it slipped out." The apology was sincere, but after considering his sour reaction to the name "Ian," you had a bone to pick with him. "Do you have a different name you neglected to tell me?"

He coughed, looking away. "No, not exactly. That's part of the siren curse. You know, forgetting your identity. But since you're so special and still remember your life, why don't you tell me your name?"

"It's _____, you jerk."