Catching Beauty

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“Yeah mum, we’re doing alright. No need to worry, the people are fine and Paris is adjusting wonderfully to married life,” said Mickey, ducking to avoid a shoe lobbed at his head. “Please stop fretting and focus on getting well. Alright mum, we’ll talk next week. Yes mum, I love you too.”

Mickey hung up the phone and rubbed his temples slowly. He loved the woman, he really did, but the minute she got away from the water she was a bundle of nerves and not much else. He pitied her therapists, they got to deal with her daily, but thankfully they probably thought her injury was upsetting her. At least she was at a resort which used water rich in minerals as part of the therapy. He wouldn’t have gotten a wink of sleep otherwise.

Not that living in a house with his brother and Lind was any easier than dealing with their mother. Life was certainly never boring, but he was pretty sure he could use a boring patch sometime soon. Speaking of his brother’s newfound lover, he was outside again, playing in the surf with the terror twins. Mickey smiled, at times he wondered if Lind didn’t have Merfolk blood himself, he was nearly as fond of the sea as they, primarily ate seafood and no matter how much they fed him, he remained scrawny. Had it not been that Lind was a natural brunette, he would have been sure that had to be the case.

A cold beer was pressed to his forehead and he took it gladly, thanking his brother with a nod. Paris smiled and held his juice up in a silent toast. “Mother is in a snit again?”

Mickey sighed. “Mother is eternally in a snit. It does not help that we are so far away from her and she so far away from the ocean. Sweet water only does so much.”

“We have months ahead of us, perhaps even longer. I doubt she’ll choose to live on land once all this is over,” Paris commented and Mickey shrugged.

“I do not mind to be honest. I am used to this place and playing guardian is much easier than it sounds. Despite the occasional mishap,” he said, smiling at Lind and the Mermen on the beach.

“He has adjusted admirably, hasn’t he,” Paris remarked fondly.

Mickey walked out on the balcony and leaned on the railing. “Luckily for you, he has.”

Lind, who had been gathering shells with the two boys, noticed them on the balcony and waved enthusiastically. He picked up his discarded shirt and lazily walked to the house, cradling his treasures.

“I hope you have more boxes,” Mickey said. “He doesn’t seem to think one can ever own too many seashells.”

“It seems so, yes. But I have many reasons to indulge him in so harmless an obsession.”

“Spare me the details, please,” Mickey said. He smiled at Lind and gave him a hand up onto the balcony. “Find anything interesting?”

“Loads, as in I could seriously fill buckets. Mostly Keiji and Marri found them though, I just squealed with glee a lot,” said a cheerful Lind. He carefully laid out his shells on the floor to dry and tackled Paris. “So many pretties, but I’m still not done with the necklace I told you about.”

Lind, once shown how it was done, had proven an apt hand at making jewellery of whatever the Merfolk brought up from the bottom of the ocean. He had taken to it like a fish to water, pardon the expression, and they only encouraged him. He had acquired quite a collection and happily provided bracelets, necklaces and other ornaments for the grateful Merfolk and of course, the two brothers who had taken him in. There had been some talk of perhaps selling his pieces to shops who dealt in such items but Lind had refused. He still had his job as a lifeguard at the swimming pool and kept the jewellery private. It belonged to the sea, he had claimed, and both Merfolk and the brothers Greene had laughed.

Paris wrapped him in his arms and kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose. “I’m sure you’ll manage, especially with Keiji and Marri to help you in this endeavour.”

“As I’m sure you’ll be getting exceedingly inappropriate any minute now, I am so out of here. If you need me, I’ll be in my studio,” Mickey said, fleeing the inevitable scene his brother would be making with his lover on their balcony.

Paris raised a brow at the retreating form of his brother and turned to Lind. “Mother must have upset him worse than I thought.”

Ling giggled and dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. He smiled knowingly and pulled Paris down in to a kiss. “Mickey’s being a bit ‘emo’ right now love, is all.”

“Oh? You know something I don’t?”

Lind nodded. “Don’t worry. It’ll work out, eventually. Let him sulk in his paint for now.”

Lind had been horribly surprised to find that the monstrosity masquerading as a landscape painting in their sitting room had actually been painted by Mickey. Admittedly he had been thirteen at the time and not too skilled, but their mother had been so dreadfully proud she had more or less bolted it to the wall. Save for painting over it or knocking down the wall there was no real way to get rid of it. Mickey being Mickey thought it was hilarious to listen to Lind gripe and moan about it and refused to paint over it. There was of course also the matter of him being painfully shy when it came to painting, the minute someone walked in to his studio he would drop his brush and do nearly anything to distract whomever it was in every way, just to avoid having to show his work as it was painted. There was only one person he had ever tolerated in the same room while painting, and that person had been a bit absent in the weeks Lind had been around.

Mickey locked the door and leaned his back against it, staring at the chaos of brushes and canvases scattered all over. The chair he had been painting was still in place, everything was still as it was plus a layer of dust. It was an old wingback chair upholstered in mauve velvet with a fleur de lis pattern. A golden cloth was thrown carelessly over one of the armrests and strings of pearls dangled over the back and other armrest. The only thing missing was the occupant of the chair.

Sherrati hadn’t announced his departure, he had been gone from one day to the next which was fairly typical of his people, but Mickey had thought he would be different. Sherrati and he had spent hours together, talking of this and that, admiring numerous sunsets together, they had even swam together. They had been friends, or so Mickey had thought. Eventually Mickey had asked, he had actually stammered quite a bit but eventually he had managed to ask Sherrati to sit for one of his paintings and the Merman had happily accepted. The first one showed Sherrati lying on his back on the beach with his hair spread out around him, the water bathing his webbed toes. The next was a simple portrait of him smiling and the third showed Sherrati sprawled out on a bed covered in nearly all his strings of shells, pearls and crystals.

Mickey had to admit that one was his favourite, covered in nothing but jewels and yards of silken green hair Sherrati had looked like a fairytale come to life. Which he was, come to think of it. A fairytale creature come to life, and disappeared shortly after. Not so much as a glimpse in over five weeks. Most Merfolk could only stay in one place for so long, Mickey knew that, but he had hoped that Sherrati had found a reason to stay. Clearly, he had been wrong to assume.

Wet footsteps on his balcony jolted him out of his thoughts, and for a second he dared to hope, but when a blue-haired head appeared in his window he had to force himself to smile.

“Keiji, to what do I owe this honour?”

The boy poked his head through the window and looked around with wide eyes. “Lindsay told us you catch pictures. I wanted to ask if I could see.”

Mickey arched a brow. “Where is your brother?”

“Somewhere over there,” Keiji said pointing at the ocean.

“Alright then, come in,” Mickey said, amused to see Keiji chose to climb through the window instead of using the door. The boy darted from one end of the room to the other, bending to take closer looks and poking through everything he felt confident enough to touch. Mickey watched him with a wistful smile. The boy was very beautiful, he was pale and slender, his long blue hair free of tangles and decorated with river pearls and the occasional seashell. Keiji had not yet taken to wearing anything around his waist or neck, only the rare bracelet or anklet which both he and his brother had received from their parents.

Keiji was not very old by his people’s standards, a mere thirty years which placed him at the Merfolk equivalent of a teenager. He finally came to stand in front of Mickey and watched him expectantly. Mickey arched a brow and the boy made shooing motions.

“Are you not going to show me how you do it?” he elaborated.

A bit taken aback Mickey nodded. “If you wish.”

He took a seat behind his unfinished painting of Sherrati and put it down next to him, picking up a smaller, blank canvas and setting it in its place. He picked up a brush and his paint, motioning for Keiji to take a seat on a stool in front of him. The boy did as he was bid, wriggling a bit until he was comfortable and turned to look out the window.

Mickey’s breath caught in his throat. He had never really looked at another as he had at Sherrati, he had never sought beauty unless he was painting it, be he saw it. Keiji was exceptional, from the line of his jaw to the tip of his little upturned nose. Azure eyes framed by long, dark lashes, in itself remarkable but especially for one of his people. Mickey dipped his brush as if on autopilot, barely looking away from his model, and painted furiously. One stroke after another, and a shape appeared. Keiji was remarkably patient, a feat he had never before shown himself capable of, and watched something outside, sometimes smiling and at other times with a mild look of worship. He had an ageless face when he smiled, and Mickey was determined to capture it forever.

He had lost track of time and was surprised to note the sun had set when he finished his piece. Keiji still had not moved and Mickey stood up to offer him a glass of water and show him the finished piece. The boy scrunched up his nose, examining the painting carefully before wrapping his arms around Mickey.

“I really look like that, then?” he asked.

“You look far better than that. That is only a smidgen of your beauty I managed to catch. The real thing is far, far better,” he told him, petting that silky hair absently.

Suddenly thoughtful, Keiji focused his intense gaze on Mickey. “Why do you never come swimming any more?”

Mickey tried to smile, he really did, but he couldn’t. He took a step back from the boy, forcefully reminding himself it was only a boy, however old he was in human years.

“I don’t know. I haven’t really felt drawn to the sea.”

Keiji shrugged and patted Mickey on the arm. “Perhaps you will again. She calls to us all.”

The boy waved before jumping out of the window and taking a leap off the balcony on to the sand. He raced back to the sea and dove in, disappearing from sight. There was a timid knock, and Mickey tore himself away from his spot to unlock the door. Paris stood in the hallway looking haggard.

“Please make yourself available for the next time mother calls. I don’t think I can survive a second scolding,” he complained, hugging his little brother tightly. Mickey grinned and hugged back, pinching his brother’s arm playfully.

“You really need to come up with better excuses to check up on me. Even Lind has mastered this simple art. You should ask him for tips.”

Paris let go of him and frowned. “I’d at least hoped we could pretend you took me seriously sometimes.”

“What had he suggested you say?” Mickey asked.

“He had said I should come complain he was dying for more food and that I was going mental,” Paris divulged, eliciting a snicker form his brother.

“That would have been better, yes. Do you want to come in?”

“Can I? I haven’t seen your little cave in over two months. You are a little bit stubborn about who you let in here Michael,” Paris said. He carefully navigated through the mess, smiling at some of the work he had not seen before. He finally came to the newest piece, the portrait of Keiji. “I had never imagined either of those two could sit still for long enough, however did you get him to do it?” he asked admiringly.

“I didn’t, he offered himself,” Mickey said. “Well, demanded,” he corrected.

“Keiji is beautiful. Although he and Marri are twins, one would not say so after a second glance. Those eyes of his are startling. They remind me of someone.”

Mickey groaned and rubbed his eyes absently. “You have been talking to Lind, haven’t’ you. I have never known you to be so clever about these things before.”

“It was only partially Lind’s doing my brother. He mentioned something in passing, and I started to consider certain events. You miss him terribly, don’t you?” Paris asked, throwing an arm around his brother. “You mustn’t fret so, he will surely be back.”

Mickey pushed him off and took a few steps towards the door. “Who exactly are you trying to convince? I have been here far longer than you have, University boy. I know the people.”

“Are you trying to imply I don’t know my own kin?” Paris interjected angrily.

“No, of course not, I’m sorry. I am just saying that I have watched them come and go, their love for the ocean far surpasses anything I can offer,” he said dejectedly.

He had seen it, he knew with a certainty surpassing anything Paris could suggest that there was nothing on land which could seduce one of the Merfolk to abandon his home. Their father had been a prime example, and even their mother who was only of mixed blood ached for the ocean. He knew that one day he too would probably stop putting dye in his hair and return to the water, but not before a suitable replacement had been found to take over his task.

“You sell yourself short, my brother. Get some rest, it is getting quite late,” Paris whispered, giving Mickey another quick hug before leaving him to his thoughts.

Mickey looked at his painting and laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, one which did not suit him at all. He shut off the lights which had come on at some point and left his studio, softly shutting the door behind him. He crossed the hallway to his bedroom and let his clothing fall to the floor as he went, walking in to his shower. He let himself relax under the hot spray, washing the sand and sweat off thoroughly with some fancy soap his brother had brought home one day. He remembered Sherrati had liked the smell of it, and threw it across the bathroom. He didn’t bother drying off, merely wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out into the balcony, shivering when the cool breeze touched his wet skin.

He watched the waves crash over and over, an unbroken cycle, and turned his head away bitterly. Everything served as a reminder of what he would never have again. There was someone walking along the beach, a slight figure casting a dark shadow over the sand. As the figure closed in, he could recognise him. He would know him anywhere, that walk, so calm and steady, the way that hair fell just so. When he turned towards the house Michael froze.

Sherrati climbed the stairs to the balcony and stood with the moon behind him, he looked so ethereal Michael blinked to see if he was dreaming. He wore thick ropes of black pearls around his neck and arms, even his feet and hair. The pearls of varying darkness, some so black they reflected the light in myriad of colours, others grey or even pink but all paled in comparison to the vibrancy of his eyes. Around his waist he wore a colourful wrap embroidered liberally with gold thread.

Mickey crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “You have come back. How lovely.”

“Of course. You do not seem happy to see me Michael,” Sherrati whispered, rubbing circles on his palm as he tended to do when nervous. He jumped a little when Mickey pushed off the wall and stood towering over him.

“Where did you go, Sherrati? I woke up that day, and there had been no trace of you since. You never even said goodbye.”

“I never left, not truly. I had to find out if it was possible first,” Sherrati said, looking everywhere but at Mickey. “I could not bear to let you love me only to later leave you. I had to try.”

“You grew bored of your own company then? If that is why you came back, I really don’t want to waste time I could be sleeping talking about it.”

“After a fashion, yes, I did. Look at me, Michael.”

He had changed a little, not much but enough for it to be noticeable. His skin was not the white of one of the Merfolk who remained in the depths of the ocean at all times. No, Sherrati was mildly bronzed and his nails were blunted. His hair also was a far paler green than it had been, almost as if it had been exposed to the sun for long periods of time.

“You were on land,” he observed. “You were on land,” he repeated again to himself. “Why were you on land?”

Sherrati took hold of his chin and made Mickey face him. “To see if I could live on it.”

“You did it for me,” Mickey said softly. He caressed the bronze skin of Sherrati’s shoulder, twirled a strand of pale green hair through his fingers. “You lived on land for me.”

Sherrati laughed. “I will not lie to you, it was utter torture to begin with. I knew nothing of living on land, and to make things worse, my sisters only teased me. I spent an entire day filing my nails on a rock and I don’t even wish to remember how much it hurt hen my skin burned.” He placed his head on Mickey’s shoulders and sighed. “I was so alone, and I hated it. I hated it so much, I could only force myself to stay by reminding myself daily why I was doing it to begin with.”

“So you came back. And it seems you brought a fortune in pearls with you,” Mickey said gently. He ran his finger over a few pearls and allowed himself to bury his face in Sherrati’s hair. He smelled the same, fresh like the ocean, but now there was more mixed in.

“I could tell you about them, if you wish. They were the only thing allowing me to survive on the land. It is a trifle had to be a nameless, homeless human,” Sherrati remarked. “But they are not so interesting a subject.”

He did not get the chance to say more, Mickey had coiled himself around him like a snake and their lips met in a soft kiss. “Not so interesting as some, no.”

“What would you have me tell, then?” Sherrati sighed, abandoning himself to Mickey’s touch.

Mickey scooped him up and carried him in to his bedroom, softly lowering him down on the bed. “I will talk with you forever if that is what you want.”

“I would rather we not only talk Michael,” Sherrati stated. “I have missed you terribly, you and Paris both. Tahiti was beautiful, but our beach is the most beautiful of all. Oh Michael, I cannot express how angry it made me to watch you today, I was so jealous I could eat that boy alive. Come kiss me before I hunt him regardless.”

“His eyes reminded me of you. It hurt more than I wanted to admit,” Mickey said. Sherrati gasped and grabbed hold of Mickey’s towel, pulling hard, making Mickey nearly trip over his own feet.

He let himself fall in to Sherrati’s arms placed light kisses on each piece of skin he could reach, from his fingers up his arm, on his jaw, even the tip of his nose until Sherrati took hold of his hair and pulled him in to a deep kiss. How had he resisted this for so long? He had feared even then that Sherrati would leave, his kind always did. Even with those salty lips pressed to his, he could not be entirely sure everything would always be alright. His cycle may some day be broken, and he would be left to stare out over the water alone. But for now, it was good. He had caught this man and he would hold him as best he knew how, until the sun set on them both and perhaps beyond.

And maybe when the sea called, he would answer as well.