Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sirens, Yuuri tells him, are evil creatures that lurk in the depths of the ocean, waiting to drag sailors to their graves. Wolfram gives him a flat look.

“What,” he says, “so they have nothing better to do all day than to murder strangers?”

“Don’t ask me, I’ve never met one,” says Yuuri, throwing his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

“And why do they kill them anyway?”

“Because… Um…” Yuuri glances at Conrart, probably in the hope of an answer. Wolfram clears his throat. Yuuri continues to flounder. “Because they don’t want ships to sail in their waters?”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Okay, well, do you have any better stories?”

Wolfram considers for a moment, crossing his arms. His eyes drift to the horizon, which is a mistake, because it reminds him sharply of the fact that he’s currently aboard a ship. The waves make the ship pitch and roll gently–but constantly. At least Yuuri’s weird story was distracting enough. Wolfram sighs theatrically.

“Fine. Tell me more about the sirens.”

“Please,” Yuuri prompts. Wolfram raises an eyebrow and Yuuri relents. “Right. So. They like to sit on rocks and sing to-”

“Wait, what would they be doing on rocks if their goal is to keep sailors out of their waters ? Where are the rocks coming from? Your sirens make no sense.”

For a moment, it looks like Yuuri’s going to get up and abandon this conversation. His nose crinkles in that way it always does when he can’t work out the solution to a riddle, or resolve a complicated situation neatly, and Wolfram can almost hear the reprimanding phrases competing for attention in Yuuri’s head. Fortunately, Conrart chooses that moment to take pity on his liege.

“That’s because Yuuri forgot to mention one of the most important things to know about sirens,” he says. If it weren’t for the swaying of the deck, Wolfram thinks he might tell his brother to butt out; as it is, he’s got little choice but to listen if he wants to think about something else besides his own seasickness.

“Which would be?” he says. A glimmer lights up in Conrart’s eyes.

“Their boundless thirst for flesh.”

“What?” Wolfram says, taken aback. Conrart nods gravely.

“The true reason why they climb out of the ocean and sing their sweet melodies is to trick seafarers into lowering their guard. Then, when they approach, the sirens strike, pulling them down until they drown and feasting on their bodies.”

Yuuri shivers. “Creepy.”

“Some say,” Conrart continues, “that the moment you spot a siren, it’s already too late to flee. They only make themselves visible to their prey–and their song can lure in even the most experienced captains.”

A nagging dread settles into Wolfram’s stomach where his seasickness had sat just moments ago. He imagines seeing the silhouette of a rock in the distance, through the fog, with three or four of those monsters lounging upon it as they sing to his destruction. The idea makes his hands feel cold. He balls them into fists and pushes down the urge to summon his flames.

“And why do you know all of this?” Wolfram demands with as much force as he can muster. Conrart gives him an enigmatic smile.

“I heard it from a reliable source.”

“Yozak?” Yuuri asks. Conrart laughs softly.

“No, not Yozak. Not this time.”

Gwendal turns towards the three of them. “The maidmer.”

“She has a name,” says Conrart.

Wolfram still feels chilled, but the spell seems to have broken for Yuuri. He slumps forward, the tense expression vanishing from his face, as he shoves Conrart’s arm.

“Are you serious? You’re sharing ghost stories from your half-fish ex?”

Part of Wolfram wants to know when exactly Yuuri and Conrart were alone together long enough for the topic of Conrart’s dating life to come up. Another part of him is much more fixed on the question of why Yuuri would possibly think a maidmer princess would make up stories about the ocean, of all things, when she could just recount true ones instead. He looks out at the water again, gripped by a sudden certainty that Conrart’s ex had been delivering a warning rather than telling tall tales.

It’s foggy. Wolfram peers through the salty spray of the water lapping at the ship, watching the rolling waves slowly become choppier, when he sees it: the outline of a boulder.

“There!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and pointing.

“What’s-?” Yuuri starts to ask.

“A rock, like the ones with the sirens–look!” Wolfram dashes to the edge of the ship and squints against the thickening fog.

“Stay close to the mast,” Conrart calls, but Wolfram’s not about to let them sail into a death trap. He grips the railing with both hands, leaning forward, straining his eyes and ears. The fog, he swears, becomes thick enough that it drowns out half of the ship in moments.

“Wolfram.” This time, it’s Gwendal. “Get back here.”

“But brother, the sirens–”

“--are creatures of legend. And they haven’t hunted demons in centuries. Now get back here. ”

Wolfram doesn’t understand. How can they be both ‘creatures of legend’, and yet have had some history of preying on his kind? He turns away from the water for the briefest of moments, intending to find Gwendal.

Then a scaled, clammy hand wraps around his bicep.

Wolfram has time to let out a cry of surprise before he’s dragged backwards. His free hand flies to the hilt of his sword, but then it’s yanked away by a second slimy hand, so both of his arms are wrenched behind his back. The creature maneuvers him over the railing despite Wolfram’s best attempts to flail and kick; he makes out the shape of Conrart running towards him, reaching out; then he’s pulled overboard, and the water rushes up to meet him.

And then, nothing.

The dappled surface of the water goes in, out, in, out; Wolfram’s consciousness ebbs and flows with it. He’s dimly aware of the chatter of voices nearby. Straining against the forces that threaten to pull him under, he drags his eyes open and blinks through the blur of reflected light bouncing around him.

“... ought to have consumed, by now,” a ghostly voice is arguing. Wolfram tries to look around for the source of the voice, only to come close to drifting off again. He focuses on a faint glimmer of light on the edge of his vision in an effort to pull his fragmented mind back together.

“We?” asks another, her voice carrying on a spectral echo. “You never thought to share.”

“I shall share,” the first says.

“Your hands did not capture.”

“The blood of the demon tribe beats within him,” says the first person, “as it once did within me.”

Wolfram realizes, with a start, that the thing they’re planning to consume is him. He puts his all into straightening up, groaning with the effort, and the two beings stop arguing as he does. Their faces turn to him.

They’d almost look human, if humans were made mostly out of seaweed and shadows.

“He wakes,” says the one closer to Wolfram. Her body is translucent, like a rotting piece of paper held up to the sun. It reveals a heart that beats too slowly to sustain life. She reminds Wolfram of a ghostly jellyfish.

“Now, I consume,” the first being declares. Kelp drifts around his head like a halo of hair, green and tangled, long enough to brush against his midnight-blue tail. Wolfram tries to scramble away from him; the very space around him resists his movement.

“No, we consume,” she tells him. “Or is it impossible?”

“Yes,” Wolfram says quickly. His throat feels thick, clogged, like he’s breathing through mud, but he’s able to speak. The jellyfish-woman regards him with what he can only assume is mild curiosity.

“You speak?”

“Only one of you can consume,” says Wolfram, his mind racing. Maybe he’ll stand some chance of escaping if he can turn the two creatures against each other. 

“Then it shall be me,” the kelp-man says. “Our blood demands it.”

“But you didn’t catch me.” Wolfram hopes, prays to the Great One, that he’s not making a colossal mistake in goading the beings like this. His eyes scan the space around him–he’s in some kind of grotto, under the water, with a small opening near the top that’s letting in light. The creatures seem to have suspended him in an air bubble. The kelp-man’s face twists in anger.

“The Living One speaks truly.” The jellyfish-woman drifts closer. “He shall be mine.”

“He shall not,” the kelp-man protests.

Wolfram reaches for the edge of his bubble and presses his fingers against it, only to find that it doesn’t give at all. Seeing that his captors are distracted, he hits the bubble harder, then bangs his fist on it, then summons all his strength and slams his body against it.

Nothing.

“Still he struggles,” she says.

“He has spirit.”

“Intriguing.”

“Delectable.”

Wolfram grits his teeth. “Too bad for one of you,” he says with false confidence. The woman makes an angry noise in her throat, while the man drifts closer until his seaweed-coated hands press up against the outside of Wolfram’s bubble.

“Indeed,” he sighs, and a chill races up Wolfram’s spine.

“We shall have a contest.” The man waves his companion over. “If but one of us can taste of his soul, it should be the worthiest one. Do you not agree?”

“But how to assess our worthiness?”

Wolfram decides to push his luck. “Duel me. The first to defeat me can-”

“ No, ” the man hisses, his kelp hair swishing in agitation. “No blades. Our kind can kill, can drown, can destroy. We must prove we are worthy of transcending.”

“A test fit for a Living One,” the woman supplies. Then she crosses her arms. “But I care not for ascension. The duel will suffice.”

She moves away and angles her body so her tail can strike the air bubble. It hits hard, shaking the fragile space and forming hairline cracks along the bubble’s outer layer. Wolfram takes deep breaths, preparing to swim for the surface the second she finally breaks through. The tail strikes once, twice more, and then the jellyfish-woman braces herself on the wall of the grotto to deliver the finishing blow.

“Stop.”

The man’s voice rings out over the chaotic vibrations of the bubble breaking down. As if someone’s flicked a switch, the woman follows his command, turning her body towards him. A wicked grin splits his face.

“We shall put him to the test.”

The woman glides to him. “Enlighten me.”

“You wish to set yourself apart from the Living Ones. I wish to rejoin their ranks. Consumption must bring us closer to our goals; we must discover to whom he will be of more use.”

“Yes,” she says. “We must assess him for something we cannot do.”

Wolfram slams the hilt of his sword into the biggest crack over and over. He still isn’t sure what kinds of beings he’s dealing with here, but it’s all too clear that their plans for him can’t be worth sticking around for. The next thing the woman says makes his limbs lock up though.

“We shall assess him for the capacity to be loved.”

“I very much have that capacity,” he says loudly. “I’ll have you know I’m engaged-”

“To be loved, ” the man insists, his words like glass. “Not to love. ”

“Excuse me?” Despite the situation, the implicit insult stings. “My fiance loves me.”

“Then you must prove it,” says the woman.

“You will obtain a kiss of true love.” The man’s grin somehow widens. “You will do this in the span of six days, and then I shall consume.”

“I look forward to your failure, so I may consume in his stead.”

Time slows. Wolfram’s sure he has moments to change their mind, before he’s bound to a lose-lose deal that gets him killed either way. He casts about for a plan, any plan, and grasps the first idea that flashes in his mind’s eye.

“He’s already won,” says Wolfram, pointing at the kelp-man and looking at the woman. “He’s cheating you again. I have someone who loves me, and he knows that’s true, or he would never agree to this. He never wanted to share–he lied about that, so why trust him to play fair now?”

Something in her eyes changes when Wolfram switches to accusing the man. She regards first Wolfram, then her companion.

“What would you suggest, flesh-being?”

“Pay him no mind,” the kelp-man urges, but the woman’s focus is on Wolfram. He doubles down.

“That man is a liar and we both know it. If you agree to this deal, you’re only delaying his victory by six days. It’s not worth it.”

“Silence,” the man says; the woman is outright ignoring him.

“You are sure of yourself,” she says to Wolfram. “It is fascinating. Confidence suits my future vessel.”

“The Living One deceives you!”

“I think it is you who deceives me.”

The woman turns to her companion, and the gravity around Wolfram increases. He falls, fighting the immense pressure with all his might but finding himself flattened to the bottom of the bubble all the same. There’s a horrible sucking sound, like the air being forcibly pulled from a pair of lungs, and a blinding flash of purple light.

When things return to normal, there’s a blue-gray stain splattered across the rocks of the grotto where the man had been.

“Now, flesh-being,” the woman says, “it is time to consume.”

“Not if I kill you first,” Wolfram snarls, fumbling for his sword and finding it missing. He grits his teeth and climbs to his knees, bracing himself on the bubble wall. She cackles. Her hands come up towards him, fingers splayed, and Wolfram reaches for his magic before his rational side can remind him that he’ll be trapped in here with the flames.

The jellyfish-woman flinches back and away from his fire. Wolfram gathers it into his palm and holds it, the force of the magic thrumming between his fingertips; he brandishes it in the place of a weapon. She scowls.

“A stalemate,” she says.

“Fight me with honor!” Wolfram demands, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. The woman’s frown only deepens.

“Your flames carry no honor. Only pain, only burning.”

Wolfram continues to stare her down and searches every recess of his mind for something–anything–that could help him leave this situation alive. She wants his soul, or his body, or something, because she’s dying to ‘consume’, and he’s sure it would be the end of him if she did. He can’t let her have what she wants. But at the same time, it’s his only bargaining chip.

“Then let me prove that I can fight with more than pain,” he says, hashing out a plan as he speaks. The woman regards him with disgust, but no small measure of curiosity.

“Your kind know only pain. It is what we share, why I can consume.”

What we share. 

Wait.

Wolfram lets his flames sputter out. “You and I share nothing, ” he says. “You’ll let me go right now. I’ll prove it to you beyond a doubt, and then you won’t be able to consume.”

“A poor deal for me,” the woman spits, but Wolfram’s a step ahead of her.

“And if I lose,” he says, “I will come back to you.”

She mulls the offer over. Wolfram schools his expression, willing the erratic beat of his heart to calm down. Finally, the woman nods.

“I accept your terms.” A slow and crawling smile breaks out on her face, and Wolfram’s suddenly sure he’s stepped directly into a trap. “You will provide me with proof that your kind know more than pain… through your capacity for love.”

Yuuri’s face flashes in Wolfram’s mind. As if she can see it too, the woman holds up one finger and adds: “I shall give you six days.”

With that, she sinks her claw-like fingers past the surface of the bubble, piercing it and sending the ocean water rushing in. Nausea climbs up Wolfram’s throat as the cold and certain dread of his impending death steals over him. He tries his best to scowl even as he draws in ragged breaths, preparing to gulp in enough air to get to the surface.

The cracks in the bubble deepen; the woman withdraws her claws and the bubble collapses in on itself.

Chapter Text

When Wolfram comes to, the first thing he notices is that the horrible, gripping cold has left him completely. Instead, he’s submerged up to his waist in hot water. He’s lying back on something smooth and rounded. The room he’s in is well-lit, and although there’s steam, the fog from the ship hasn’t returned.

He blinks a few times to clear the blurriness from his eyes so he can take in his surroundings.

To his left, there’s a white tiled wall that looks like it’s been cleaned recently. A tap pours out more hot water behind him, so he switches it off, enjoying the quiet the action brings. There’s a circular light fixture of some kind on the ceiling overhead, high up enough that he can’t touch it but decidedly lower than the vaulted ceilings at Covenant Castle. The tub – because he figures he’s in a small bathtub – ends just beyond his feet. On its lip stand a few bottles in various shades of blue and green. There’s a sink to the right of those bottles.

To his own right is a bathmat, a gray tiled floor, and a stranger.

Wolfram sits bolt upright, making to cover his chest before realizing he’s fully clothed. The steam obscures the stranger’s face somewhat, though Wolfram can just about make out their black hair, similarly dark eyes, and dark clothes.

“Yuuri?” he says.

“Shinou?” the person asks at almost the same time.

“ Excuse me? ” is all Wolfram can manage; he’s never been mistaken for God before, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to react.

The stranger scrambles to his feet and picks up a pair of glasses from a nearby countertop. He rubs his eyes, puts them on, and regards Wolfram anew.

Wolfram, for his part, is just glad that the steam’s dissipated enough that he can now clearly see that this isn’t Yuuri. The clothes are the same, and this person is also a double-black, but his face is completely different. For one thing, he has better cheekbones. Wolfram feels a stab of guilt for even thinking such a thing.

For another, this person drinks in the sight of Wolfram like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing.

Wolfram shifts to get out of the tub. His legs feel heavy, much heavier than they did a minute ago, and he glances at them to make sure they’re not caught on anything.

A scream catches in his throat when he sees a tail – an actual fish tail, just much longer – where his legs should be. It tapers off into a pair of fins just below where his feet had been. The tail itself is sky blue, and lined with coppery scales that glimmer in the light. It moves when Wolfram thinks about moving his legs. It’s undoubtedly attached to him.

“Did you do this?” he demands, whipping his head around to throw a glare at the person who’d confused him for the Great One.

“Definitely not,” says the stranger.

“Is your bath enchanted with some kind of curse?” he tries. Recognition dawns in the stranger’s eyes, and he adjusts his glasses with one hand as he takes a step towards Wolfram.

“It’s not,” he says. “I don’t actually know of any curses that could do something like this.”

Wolfram considers casting another accusation, or voicing the fact that he has no reason to believe this person, but what good would that do? He swallows his response and looks back at the tail– his tail. It swishes. He closes his eyes and imagines that it’s gone; when he opens them, it’s still right there.

“Say…” The stranger takes a seat on the lip of the tub. “Have we met before?”

“I think I’d remember meeting a second double-black,” Wolfram snaps back. To his surprise, the stranger laughs.

“Double-black? I thought so. What’s your name?”

“You’re strange,” says Wolfram.

“Yeah, so I hear. I’m Ken Murata.” The stranger – Ken Murata – gives Wolfram a polite nod. He’s got an easy sort of smile that’s probably closer to a grin, and the kinds of eyes that promise mischief. Wolfram returns the nod.

“Wolfram von Bielefeld.”

“Von Bielefeld? Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.” Murata pauses for a brief moment. “Can I call you Wolfram?”

“You may not,” Wolfram tells him. Murata laughs again, and Wolfram feels his face heat up.

“All right then, milord. Have you ever turned into a merman before?”

Wolfram’s eyes widen. “No,” he says, “obviously not. And I'm not a merman, I'm a demon."

"With a mermaid tail."

Whoever this Murata person is, he seems disturbingly unphased by the appearance of a guy with a fish tail in his bathtub. In fact, Wolfram notes, he doesn't seem to be thinking about a potential solution at all - he's just sitting there, teasing Wolfram for his predicament, like this happens every day. Wolfram crosses his arms.

"I'm sure those sirens cast some kind of spell on me, that's all."

Murata's eyebrows go up. "Sirens?"

"It was foggy," Wolfram explains, though he's not entirely sure why he's volunteering the information. "And this… thing grabbed me, and tried to drown me."

"Ah. Did you see it at all?" Murata asks. Wolfram shudders.

“There were two. One was mostly seaweed, and the other had skin like a jellyfish.”

Murata nods. “That definitely sounds like syrens. With a ‘y’. Not exactly the same thing as their more famous cousins, but similar enough."

"You know about them?"

"I know about a lot of things."

Wolfram rolls his eyes, but inwardly, he's relieved. The memory of his time in the syrens’ lair still feels fresh, their gamble with his life even more so. If this guy can help him escape from them and hopefully get his legs back in the process, he’s definitely worth dealing with. Even if Wolfram could swear Murata keeps checking him out.

"So," says Wolfram, "since you know so much, you must have a plan for turning me back."

Murata hums. He cups his fingers around his chin and considers for a moment, tapping his index against his bottom lip; Wolfram averts his eyes, struck with the peculiar sense he's somehow cheating on Yuuri by looking. Finally, Murata clicks his fingers.

"I've got an idea."

"Well?"

"Seems to me that your condition might be linked to your survival instincts somehow."

Wolfram makes a face. "And what does that mean?"

"It means… well, how much do you know about syrens?"

"They’re evil beings who eat sailors-"

"No, no." Murata looks like he's trying not to laugh. Again. "That's sirens, with an 'i'. They can't be the ones that attacked you, because you don't have any visible wounds."

"I see," is all Wolfram can think to say.

" Sy rens are also creatures of the deep," says Murata. "The big difference is that they're not alive - not really. So they don't need to eat, and they have no good reason to kill people they see on ships."

The voices drift back into Wolfram’s mind: consume . He presses his lips into a thin line.

“Then that can’t be what attacked me,” he says, “because they definitely tried to eat me.”

“Oh?”

“They… they kept talking about wanting to ‘consume’.”

The humor slips from Murata’s face. “I see. They weren’t talking about grilling you for dinner, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Then what?” Wolfram asks.

“What they want is to kidnap living beings to their lairs, so they can trade places with them.”

This time, Wolfram can’t suppress his shiver.

The creatures that stole him away were planning to force Wolfram to play some kind of twisted game to see who gets to take over his life – unfortunately, that part makes entirely too much sense. He has to wonder how the one surviving syren can be so sure she’ll find him again when his six days are up. All the same, he knows he can’t just assume she’ll fail and hope for the best, so he asks the oddly knowledgeable stranger one more question.

“How exactly do they do that?”

“Well,” says Murata, “you have to remember syrens are sort of undead. They're like spirits. What they want isn't to kill - it's to live again. Or to steal the life force of the living, so the syrens themselves can get stronger.”

Wolfram nods. Murata takes off his glasses to wipe the steam from them. "It's said that they can take over the body of a living being that enters their lair, and that that person will then become a syren. Usually they prey on larger marine animals, but if they think they can get away with grabbing a demon? They'll do it every time."

The words evaporate from Wolfram’s tongue.

"They are pretty rare though," says Murata. As if that's any help.

“But they…” Wolfram debates whether he should share the rest of the details. Yuuri would, he’s sure of that, but at the same time, he has no idea what Murata’s intentions are. Being cautious seems like a better idea.

“They fought over who could consume me,” he settles on. “The one who won sent me here when I refused to surrender.”

“Hmm. That’s new.”

“Some wise guy you are,” Wolfram scoffs.

Murata smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You have no idea.”

Wolfram turns the information Murata’s given him over in his mind. Despite how useful his knowledge of syrens is, there’s something about Murata that gives Wolfram the impression he’s not being entirely forthcoming. The suspicion tugs on him subtly, but consistently. Ignoring it for the moment, Wolfram focuses on testing the limits of Murata’s knowledge.

“You mentioned my survival instincts earlier,” he says. “What do those have to do with any of this?”

"Oh, that's where we get to the fun bit." Murata waggles his eyebrows in a way that feels suggestive; Wolfram feels his cheeks warm up. He arches an eyebrow.

"Go on, then."

"When you appeared here, you still had legs, right?" Murata asks. Wolfram nods, and he continues. "Which means there’s no way around it: something here triggered the tail’s appearance."

Wolfram looks around the room again. Nothing here is familiar; the tub is far smaller than any he's used at home, the bottles don't even look like they're made of glass, and the tiles are plain and boring. Could the syrens somehow have enchanted something in this room? He frowns. That doesn't seem right. Murata surely would've noticed if that had happened, and besides, it isn't as though Wolfram had looked at a particular drop of water and suddenly changed.

But what does that leave?

Wolfram replays the conversation in his head. Murata had confused him for the Great One, that had definitely been surprising. And then? Then… then Wolfram had admired his cheekbones. It's not like it's cheating if the thought never leaves his head, Wolfram tells himself quickly, shoving aside the clump of guilt that whispers otherwise. Murata starts nodding.

"Whatever you're thinking about now --that seems to be the thing that made your tail appear."

Panic threatens to glue Wolfram’s tongue to the roof of his mouth, but he pushes that away too. Instead, he listens to anger. He did nothing, so why is he being punished for a passing thought when Yuuri gets to flout the rules and flirt with whoever he wishes? Apparently Murata picks up on the change in Wolfram’s mood, because he lowers his voice to a calming hum and gets up to give Wolfram some more space.

"Hey," he says, "take a deep breath. We'll figure this out."

"Why should you care?" Wolfram hisses. Murata shrugs.

"You're in my bathtub. Why wouldn't I?"

The statement is so matter-of-fact, so blasé, that it surprises Wolfram into laughing. His shoulders relax. Okay, so maybe Murata isn't his enemy here.

The water sloshes around Wolfram. When he looks down, his tail is gone, and his legs are back, clad in the same blue pants he'd been wearing before all of this had happened. He stares at them for a few seconds, just to confirm that this isn't a fluke, and then lets out a long exhale through his nose. Finally.

"Want a hand?" Murata asks. Wolfram doesn't want to spend another moment in the tub, that's for sure, so he takes the offered hand and lets Murata help him onto the bathmat.

"So," Murata says as he passes Wolfram a soft white towel, "the Great Demon Kingdom, huh?"

Wolfram’s eyebrows knit together. That's not exactly the most normal thing for a fellow demon to ask him - because surely, Murata is a demon, right? A human would've run for the hills by now, or grabbed a pitchfork at least. Plus, Murata speaks his language. Wolfram nods.

"That's right."

"Wow. What's it like, these days?"

Wolfram finishes towel-drying his hair before answering. "The same as ever," he finally says. "Grand."

"Hmmm."

"Why do you ask?"

Murata opens his mouth, reconsiders, and closes it. Wolfram fixes him with an impatient stare.

"Let's just say you're a long way from home," says Murata.

Great. This is just what Wolfram needs. As if following Yuuri on a sea voyage wasn't bad enough, now he has to go play catch-up and probably sail (ugh) a long way ( ugh ) to find the others. While potentially having a mermaid tail reappear on his body at random. Just great.

"Then I'll need you to point me to the nearest port town," Wolfram says. Murata turns to the door.

"Let's get you some dry clothes first. Wait here, I'll be right back."

With that, he's out the door, and Wolfram’s left to wonder whether his new acquaintance has any idea whom he's making demands of.

Murata's clothes are tasteful, if odd. They fit Wolfram well. With one button of a khaki blazer fastened, Wolfram straightens up, brushing imaginary dust off the outfit. He clears his throat.

"You may enter."

Murata does, and immediately sweeps his eyes up and down Wolfram’s form.

"Never knew my clothes could look so good," he says with a wink. Wolfram harrumphs.

"Flirt," he scolds.

"Guilty as charged." Murata makes another attempt at eye contact, but Wolfram’s not about to give in so easily. He puts a hand on his hip and admires the cuff on the blazer, holding his other wrist up to his face.

"These are… sufficient. Though the fashion in this place is not like any I've seen before."

"That does make sense," says Murata.

"So, where are we headed?" Wolfram asks, before Murata can make another inappropriate comment.

"Downstairs, for now. You must be hungry."

Wolfram’s stomach answers for him, expressing the fact that chasing seasickness with almost drowning isn't great for anyone's organs. Wolfram pretends not to hear.

"What are your kitchens serving?" he asks, like he's got any choice but to eat it regardless. Murata catches the hand Wolfram's still looking at and brings it close to his lips, miming the gesture of kissing Wolfram’s knuckles.

"Only the finest for you, Lord von Bielefeld," he jokes. Wolfram makes the mistake of looking at him.

Murata's eyes are fixed on Wolfram, his glasses doing nothing to hide that fact. He's halfway into a fake bow, with the proper form nonetheless, and Wolfram feels the blush creeping to his cheeks before he can think to do anything about it. Then his thoughts turn suddenly to Yuuri, and to the fact that he should've snatched his hand away immediately, because Yuuri is his fiancé, and what would people say-

Wolfram’s legs vanish beneath him, transforming back into a tail and sending him sprawling forwards. Murata catches him, but stumbles, and they both fall to the floor together, Wolfram clinging to Murata's elbows like a lifeline.

Just. Great.

Chapter Text

“Your local lord feeds you nothing but these… rations?” Wolfram asks, pinching the flimsy package between two fingers like it might infect him if he touches it any more. Murata plucks it from his hand.

“Nah, I just like this stuff. You’ll see, it’s pretty good.” He gestures to the living room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be a minute.”

Wolfram eyes the dining table, but settles for the sofa, figuring it’ll be a more comfortable spot if his tail decides to make a surprise appearance. It was hard enough getting it to go away the second time.

If nothing else, waiting for Murata to make him something to eat gives Wolfram a second to think.

First things first: the tail. It does go away, provided he can calm himself down enough for it to stop reacting to his thoughts. And that’s the problem, because it only seems to respond to a specific subset of his thoughts, and that’s clearly not just generalized stress. No, the Great One isn’t that kind to Wolfram, because the tail only appears when he feels some measure of guilt at the idea of cheating on Yuuri. Or, more like, micro-cheating. Semi-cheating? Cheating-adjacent behavior?

That aside, he’s got other things to worry about.

This place is far from home. Not only that, it’s far enough that a double-black like Murata has no servants and no castle to speak of. He lives in this… commoner’s house, seemingly by himself, eating meager rations and bathing in that tiny tub with barely enough space to stretch out. It hardly seems appropriate. Better yet, it reminds Wolfram of how Yuuri’s always saying that everything in Covenant Castle is way too big. And that he always gets special treatment despite his hair and eyes being ‘totally normal’.

Wait.

Wait.

“Murata!” Wolfram barges into the kitchen.

“Is the tail back?” Murata asks, before turning and seeing that it isn’t. He stirs a bubbling pot of water with a pair of chopsticks – Wolfram recognizes them as such because Yuuri had introduced him to those a few months ago.

“Where is this place?” Wolfram demands.

“I told you,” says Murata, “it’s far from your home.”

“That’s not good enough. Where am I?”

Murata takes a breath. “Further than anywhere else you’ve been?”

Wolfram crosses his arms.

“Okay, okay. It’s an island nation called Japan, in a different world from yours.”

Japan. Alright. Wolfram’s heard a thing or two about Japan from Yuuri, so at the very least, he’s not totally in the dark. He braces himself on the doorway as he lets the truth sink in: he’s somehow crossed over, in a reversal of the way Yuuri usually does. By being kidnapped by syrens.

“You’re not as surprised as I thought you’d be,” says Murata, not unkindly.

“I’ve heard of Japan,” Wolfram tells him. Murata's eyebrows go up.

"Have you? That's interesting. But you've never been here before?"

Wolfram shakes his head. "My fiancé is Japanese."

"Ah." And Murata has the nerve to look disappointed. "You're engaged?"

"I am." Wolfram does his best to sound as smug as possible, so Murata will know that the flirtatious comments can't continue. Because after all, Wolfram’s not a cheater. He's not. Just because it took him a second to tell Murata he's unavailable does not mean he was encouraging Murata's flirting at all whatsoever.

"Lucky fiancé," says Murata, in a way that definitely still comes across as thinly veiled flirting.

Wolfram turns and heads back into the living room, partly so he can process the truth about where he is and partly so he doesn't have to respond. It's not like it's a surprise - Yuuri is lucky. Wolfram's a catch and he knows it. Sometimes it just… feels like Yuuri doesn’t.

"Stop," Wolfram commands himself under his breath. That's a dangerous line of thought he never allows himself. Yuuri loves him. Yuuri’s going to marry him someday. Wolfram has absolutely nothing to be worried about.

(Right?)

He sits back down on the sofa and busies himself with cataloging the furniture and decorations in Murata's house. There's the sofa, of course - dark blue and with just the right amount of room to seat three people. It feels springy enough that it likely doesn't get much use. On the right side stands a small table with a few books, a lamp, and a flat black rectangle with buttons on it. Wolfram picks it up. The device seems to be a controller of some sort, with up and down buttons that probably serve to change… something.

Behind the sofa is a storage unit that holds plates, cups, some more books, and a photo or two. Wolfram sets the controller back down to pace over and inspect the photos up close.

There's a gold-framed picture of a man and woman in formal attire, wearing serious expressions. They're both double-blacks. The woman has the same high cheekbones as Murata, and the set of the man's eyes is unmistakably also like Murata's. These must be his parents. Wolfram spots another picture of them a little higher up, where they're standing in front of a tall staircase with a small boy by their side. Both of them still look as serious as ever, though the boy - a much younger Murata - is clearly distracted by something out of the frame. He's already wearing glasses then. 

Wolfram looks around, but only finds two more pictures of Murata: one where he's still very young and holding up a trophy the size of his head, and one that features a whole class of double-blacks around Wolfram’s age. The sight makes Wolfram a little lightheaded, so he turns away and surveys the rest of the room instead.

There's a big thin vertical rectangle, like a giant blank frame for a painting as long as Wolfram’s arm and only slightly less wide, opposite the sofa. It sits atop a squat cabinet.

Beyond that is the dining table, which is much lower than the tables where Wolfram usually takes his meals. It's got a slightly faded blue blanket attached to the underside, obscuring the space beneath, and cushions where the chairs should be. Actually, it doesn't look like a dining table at all--the only reason Wolfram recognizes it as such is that Yuuri’s talked about these things before. They have a name too, but Wolfram can't call it to mind just now.

It feels rude to open drawers or pick up photos that are covered in a thin film of dust, so Wolfram elects to look at the books on the side table instead. The top one has a plain ribbon bookmark; it's a hardcover with nothing but the author's name embossed on the front. Wolfram cracks it open and finds that it's a historical romance, featuring the tale of a rebellious princess who falls for a man below her status and has to choose between duty and love. Standard fare for the genre, though the summary promises a heavy focus on the politics of the period.

Wolfram’s instantly hooked.

He makes it to the tenth page before Murata's tapping his shoulder to let him know the food's ready. Wolfram jerks upright like a child caught with their hand in the candy jar. Murata doesn't look angry at all though. 

"Like what you see?" he asks, and Wolfram forces himself to ignore the fact that it's a deliberate double entendré. He sets the book back on the table.

"It's an interesting read," he says, trying to downplay his enthusiasm. "I'd imagined I wouldn't be able to read anything here, since I don't speak Japanese."

"Ah, well, that book isn't in Japanese." Murata glances at it, then back at Wolfram. "You can borrow it if you'd like."

For some reason, that feels like an intimate offer. Wolfram tries, again, not to think about it, and turns to the other matter at hand: food. That's when he notices the smell coming from the table, where Murata's set a pair of bowls down on opposite sides. Murata once again offers a hand.

"Ramen is served, milord," he jokes as Wolfram swats his hand aside.

"Ramen?" Wolfram asks.

"Instant noodles. The finest in my pantry."

Wolfram can't deny that they smell pretty fantastic. On closer inspection, the bowls each contain curly yellow noodles, a red-brown broth, some sesame seeds, and a sliced soft-boiled egg. He takes a seat by the bowl with a fork and spoon set next to it, and watches as Murata sits down opposite him and picks up a pair of chopsticks.

The noodles are slippery, but delicious.

"And?" Murata asks between mouthfuls of egg. Wolfram schools his mouth into a straight line and shrugs. 

"Passable," he lies. Murata puts a hand over his heart.

"Glowing praise? You shouldn't have."

Wolfram makes a point of rolling his eyes, but doesn't stop eating the noodles. "Not bad," he finally declares, after completely emptying the bowl.

" And you're increasing your rating? Wow. I must be a pretty good cook." Murata winks.

"So you're a cook? That certainly explains why you live in such a… quaint little place," Wolfram snipes back.

"I'm sure it's nothing next to your own grand palace, where thousands of servants obey your beck and call." Murata's grinning now. "Would there be room for one more chef to serve you?"

"I…" All it would take is a joke about how Murata's not fit to serve him, and Wolfram could pass all this off as lighthearted banter. The words won't come. He swallows and looks away, his face flushing as he realizes the weight behind what he was about to say: a double-black, serving him? In the kitchen? It wouldn't just be unheard of, it would be borderline sacrilegious.

Apparently, Wolfram’s conflicted feelings show on his face, because Murata dials it back a notch.

"Are you still hungry?" he asks. "Your humble servant could see about making some dessert, if you want."

"No thank you," Wolfram says, the words falling from his mouth too fast.

"Oh, phew. I don't actually have any dessert," says Murata. Wolfram manages a small smile.

"And if I'd said yes?"

"Hmmm… I guess I've got some apples. I could try and make apple cinnamon pancakes, but I don't have a recipe or anything, so they'd probably come out looking more like apple chunks stuck in burned batter."

The mental image draws a reluctant laugh from Wolfram.

“You’ve got a great smile,” Murata comments. Wolfram tries to wipe the flush from his face with nothing but his mind.

“I’m engaged, ” he says.

“Doesn’t mean I have to pretend not to have eyes.” Murata shrugs. “And besides, I don’t see your fiancé here, do you?”

“You’re shameless,” Wolfram says, crossing his arms, because the fact that Yuuri’s not here does not give either of them a free pass to act like he doesn’t exist. No matter how nice it is when Murata gives him that kind of attention. … Because it’s still cheating, in some sense of the word, in the same way that Yuuri spending too much time with Conrart counts as cheating sometimes.

But doesn’t that mean that Wolfram really is cheating just by letting Murata compliment his smile-?

The tail reappears right on cue.

“I don’t want to make things worse,” says Murata from his spot on the couch, “but I could swear your tail keeps reacting to me.”

“It does not.”

“Are you sure?”

“ Quite. ”

Wolfram’s not an idiot – he knows very well that Murata’s right about this, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be caught dead admitting as much. Besides, it’s a ridiculous premise. So Wolfram gets abducted by undead water beings, and the only lingering aftereffect of the whole ordeal is a fish tail that exclusively appears when Murata hits on him and he doesn’t immediately put a stop to it? Yeah, right.

And yet…

“So what you’re saying is, I can keep flirting with you?” Murata tries. Wolfram throws him a sharp look.

“I never said that. I would never say that.”

“But I mean, if you’re completely sure it’s not affecting you-”

“ Murata. ”

“Okay, okay. Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Murata gets up, shifting to sit on the ground beside Wolfram. He takes a moment to look at the tail. Wolfram, for his part, is starting to wonder whether the people of Earth simply don’t have any respect for the concept of an engagement. He  decides to ask Murata as much. 

“No," says Murata, "we definitely have engagements. And marriage."

"Then you should understand why I very much can blame you for trying," says Wolfram. Murata sighs.

"Yeah, that's fair."

They lapse into a brief silence after that. Wolfram’s still thinking too hard about getting his legs back for it to actually work, and knowing that only makes it worse, so he casts about for something else to focus on. His eyes land on the pile of books from before. He makes to reach for the one he'd been enjoying, only to realize that dragging a tail along a rug is an exercise in futility.

"Do not laugh," he warns as he settles back down. To his credit, Murata doesn't.

"I can get the book for you," he says instead.

"I don't need your help," Wolfram replies.

"If you say so."

Wolfram gives him an annoyed look. "Why are you so unbothered?"

"The most beautiful guy I've ever met is in my house, hanging out with me. Oh, and he's a merman too, for now. Am I supposed to care that he's got a temper?"

Something glimmers in Murata's eyes, and Wolfram’s sure there's more to his comment than empty flirting. Maybe he's trying to catch Wolfram off-guard? After all, Wolfram’s premise for trusting him so far is the fact that he's a demon, and a double-black at that. What's to say a noble person couldn't turn their back on their morals and become a murderer or something? Wolfram shivers. It's not like he could run away, if Murata did try to kill him.

"I don't have a temper," he settles on saying.

"Oh, of course not, Lord von Bielefeld. Please do forgive me."

"And stop with the titles."

Murata quirks an eyebrow. "You asked me not to call you by your first name. What should I call you, then? Babygirl?"

" No!" Wolfram hisses between clenched teeth, feeling the tips of his ears starting to burn. Pet names? Really? Yuuri still gets embarrassed when he catches himself accidentally calling his own fiancé Wolf, like it's too personal, too intimate for two people who are engaged to one another. This… basically-a-stranger cannot just jump straight to flirty nicknames, it's completely uncalled for, regardless of the tiny voice in the back of Wolfram’s mind that loves the idea of it. Murata adjusts his glasses.

"Just Wolfram, then?" he asks, dropping most of the teasing from his voice.

"Better," Wolfram says. He's still staring at the floor.

"Alright. You can call me Ken, if you want."

Wolfram mumbles a response that's intentionally hard to hear, because he thinks it would be too… just, wrong. It's taken him years to stop calling Conrart by his last name; this guy does not get priority over Wolfram’s own brother. Half-brother. Whatever.

"I didn't catch that," says Ken - says Murata. Wolfram glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He's paying attention, but he's not smirking like before, at least. Small victories. Wolfram turns his mind back to a safer topic.

"I said, at least you have good taste in books."

Wolfram’s fully expecting a joke about how Murata also has good taste in men, so he's caught by surprise when Murata says nothing of the sort.

"I'm glad you think so! I go through a lot of novels in a year," Murata tells him.

"As do I," says Wolfram.

"Oh? I didn't take you for the reading type."

"'Beautiful guys' can't also enjoy books?" Wolfram asks, finally looking back up at Murata.

"Guess I had that one coming."

"You did. Now tell me about the books you read."

Murata obliges.

As it turns out, he's a fan of epic stories, though he leans more into tragedies than Wolfram usually does. They share a love for historical romance; both of them also favor a good mystery. Murata also tells him about something called 'science fiction', which is a little like forward-looking historical romances, only they're not always romances. The concept instantly captures Wolfram’s imagination.

"I could take you to the library tomorrow, if you'd like," Murata offers.

"How will I walk to the-?" Wolfram cuts himself off when he realizes that somewhere amid the book talk, he'd regained his legs. He curls them towards himself. "Oh."

"It should also give us a chance to look for information on how to break a syren's curse, assuming I’m right and we’re dealing with syrens here."

"And for how to get me back home."

"Yes," says Murata, with what sounds to Wolfram like reluctance. "And that."

Chapter Text

Murata sets up the guest room for Wolfram, making the bed and getting him a spare pair of pajamas and a toothbrush. The clothes are nothing like the dress Wolfram usually sleeps in; for one thing, they're dark gray instead of soft pink. Judging by Yuuri's usual reaction to Wolfram’s dress, that's probably for the best though.

Since it's getting late, Murata suggests they watch some TV and go to bed. Wolfram looks at him blankly.

"Ah, right, you won't know what a TV is. Let me show you!" Murata picks up the controller rectangle from before and presses a button, activating the flat black box. It starts showing pictures and making sound right away. Wolfram observes it, listening as a double-black woman in a skirt and blouse looks out into Murata's living room and chats away in a friendly tone. She points to spots on a map Wolfram doesn't recognize at all. Pictures of clouds and sunshine dot the map.

"Your T-V can predict the weather?" Wolfram asks.

"It can do a lot of things. Here, watch."

Murata presses another button, and the image changes to one of a man and woman looking into each other's eyes as rain pours around them. With another press, the couple disappears, leaving a room full of people in aprons chopping vegetables and frying meat. Wolfram wonders whether it's footage from a grand estate's kitchen. Murata skips to another channel, this one featuring a handsome man showing off some very sparkly jewelry as a price flashes on the screen below.

"How do you decide what to focus on?" Wolfram asks.

"I just kinda look for something interesting. Oh, you might like this," Murata says, skipping ahead three or four more times until the screen flashes a dark red logo. It goes into a story about a lone detective solving crimes in his area, which happens to be a cruise ship. Wolfram leans forward to observe the detective’s process.

They end up watching three episodes of the detective show, which, as Murata explains, is not based on real life. It's like watching a book play out instead of reading it, Wolfram thinks. Murata offers quick translations on the go so Wolfram can follow along.

In between the episodes are commercials. They're bright and colorful and every last one of them confuses Wolfram deeply. Why would anyone want to buy juice that a cartoon hamster promises is delicious? Wolfram’s not a hamster. They almost definitely don't like the same foods. And what's with all the shirtless shots of men and suggestive shots of barely-clothed women? Those definitely have nothing to do with the perfume they're apparently selling. Unless the perfume smells like half-naked people?

After the third episode, Murata turns the TV off.

"What did you think?" he asks.

"It was… a lot," Wolfram says honestly. "But the detective was competent, at least. I wouldn't have thought to accuse the lady in the hat."

"She was way suspicious," Murata argues.

"You must mean her lord husband," says Wolfram.

"Nah, he couldn't have done it. He panicked when they showed the body, remember?"

"A clever lie."

"An honest reaction from a guy who can't handle blood. Makes you wonder how he married a murderer."

Wolfram finds a smile rising to his face. If he's going to be stuck here with his… predicament, at least Murata makes for good company. When he's busy overanalyzing detective TV shows, anyway.

The two of them head to their respective bedrooms after that, wishing each other a good night on the way. Wolfram could swear he catches Murata blowing him a kiss out of the corner of his eye, but chooses not to point it out.

He spends about half an hour staring at the ceiling trying to wrench his mind away from its sudden laser focus on two words: six days.

Does that include today? Is it six days and six nights, or five nights? At what time does his time run out, and how will he know? The questions race around in his head, only slowly fading out as exhaustion starts to eclipse them. Wolfram lets his eyelids droop until the ceiling disappears and he slips away into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, Wolfram dresses in yesterday's borrowed clothes. He's glad to have woken up without a tail, even if that does more or less confirm his theory about the conditions that make it appear. As he checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he thinks about how he’s going to explain this whole thing to everyone back home.

“I turn into a merman,” he imagines himself saying, “but only on Earth, for reasons I can’t confirm and don’t want to talk about.”

Gwendal would help him look for a solution, he hopes. Or maybe he’d recruit Anissina. If he’s unlucky, Conrart would ask about the reasons, and Wolfram would have no choice but to start a pointless argument to throw him off. As for Yuuri, well…

Would Yuuri even care?

Wolfram splashes cold water on his face. Of course Yuuri would care – he would just have a weird way of showing it, like he usually does. Because Yuuri is definitely not a cold person, or one who can stand for others to be in trouble, and that means he’d jump into action and hunt down a solution for Wolfram. That goes doubly if Wolfram can convince him that this whole condition causes any degree of pain. In fairness, crash landing on the floor does hurt, and Wolfram imagines he’ll end up with bruises if it happens any more often. That would easily be enough to persuade Yuuri to jump into action, and knowing Yuuri, he wouldn’t give up until he'd found the right solution.

But, a little spark of doubt whispers, Yuuri would do all that because he’s a bleeding heart. Because he’s kind. Not because he cares about Wolfram specifically.

This time, Wolfram fills the whole sink with cold water and then plunges his face directly into it. The thoughts quiet down for a moment, replaced with cold cold cold cold , and then Wolfram’s falling back and away from the sink, gasping for air with his hands clawing at his throat.

Ah. Right. Almost drowning.

He stays on the floor for a long moment, forcing his breathing back into a regular pattern and staring blankly ahead. Is this how baths are going to feel from now on? Wolfram wonders how Yuuri does it, with how often he’s fallen into pools of water and ended up transported to the Great Demon Kingdom.

Thinking about it doesn’t help drive the thoughts of drowning away, unfortunately.

Wolfram gets to his feet and leaves the guest room. At the very least, he figures, he can ask Murata for a tour around the library, since they’re going anyway. That should take his mind off things. He heads into the living room to find it empty. Someone’s in the kitchen though – Wolfram can hear a conversation going on.

Or, well, he can hear Murata’s voice. Is Murata talking to himself? Half of Wolfram wants to go listen at the door, despite how bad of an idea that would be.

“Hey, good morning!” Murata calls before Wolfram can make a decision.

“Can you see through doors or something?” he asks in return.

“No,” says Murata, “but I can hear you. Come on in.”

Wolfram does, and finds Murata standing there on his own. So maybe he was talking to himself? It would be rude to ask, but then again, hitting on someone who’s made it very clear that they’re engaged is also not exactly the peak of politeness. Wolfram clears his throat.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says. Murata shrugs.

“Just trying to decide if I should bother making soup or get something from the convenience store.”

“And you do that out loud?”

For a fraction of a second, something flits by in Murata’s eyes, too quickly for Wolfram to properly place it. He looked… surprised, maybe. Or alarmed, at worst. Then it’s gone and Murata’s grinning sheepishly.

“Bad habit,” he says. “I’m usually alone here, so I guess I got used to filling the silence.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Wolfram blurts.

“Probably the same age as you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the answer you’re getting.” Murata accompanies the deflection with another one of his winks, and heat rises into Wolfram’s face. Having a conversation with this guy is like walking through a minefield – it’s way too easy to get him to flirt or change the subject instead of answering a simple question.

Well, that’s fine. Two can play at that game.

“I only asked,” he says, “because it seems strange for you to live alone, without any servants or parents.”

“My parents live here,” Murata says.

“And they’re both away?”

“It’s the weekend. They’re off at a conference.”

Murata frames that like it’s the most normal thing in the world, which Wolfram supposes he can’t get mad about – it’s got to be a more conventional response than “sorry, my mother’s away on a free love cruise, we don’t actually know when she’ll be back”. Still though. Wolfram files the topic of Murata's family away with the list of other things to try bringing up again later, along with his age and the reason why he thought Wolfram was the Great One. He's still waiting for the right time to ask about that. There is one thing Wolfram can think of that seems appropriate right now though.

"What's a convenience store?"

Murata's eyes light up. "I'm about to change your life."

Wolfram knows he's exaggerating, but he doesn't really mind. At least this is something Murata seems excited to talk about.

So maybe Murata wasn't exaggerating.

The convenience store is a moderately-sized first-floor space that's lined from floor to ceiling with shelves. Many hold dry goods - rations like the ones Murata had used to prepare the noodles yesterday, in an array of colors, with labels Wolfram can't read. Some have pictures of chickens breathing fire, while others are decorated with vegetables or smiling cows.

Two of the back walls are completely taken up with glass-front cabinets that are cold to the touch. One of them is full of rows upon rows of cold drinks in all colors of the rainbow, plus some Wolfram’s sure he's only seen in paintings. A vibrant pink carton is covered in pictures of peaches; next to it sits a bright red can decorated with silver lines and a looping logo. Murata explains that some of the drinks are actually soups, and Wolfram makes the conscious choice to just not think about it too hard. Instead, he busies himself with the chilled food section, which fills up the other wall of glass cabinets.

After much deliberation, he settles on a sandwich and a drink, both on Murata's recommendation. Murata pays for their food, and the cashier puts it in a flimsy bag.

"What sort of fabric is that?" Wolfram asks, poking it with the tip of his finger.

"Plastic," says Murata. "Want to hold it?"

"You just want me to carry the food," Wolfram accuses, and Murata laughs.

"Guilty as charged."

They eat on their way to the library, and Wolfram’s taken aback by how good the food is. The bread is white, and light, and fluffy, and Wolfram wonders if it's even really bread at all rather than some kind of small savory cake. He tries to express nothing besides mild enjoyment though, because he can't just give Murata the satisfaction.

Next to the convenience store, the library's actually a disappointment. It's much smaller than the grand libraries Wolfram’s been to, and also far less… atmospheric. The plain overhead lights don't leave much room for the kinds of shadowy corners where Gunter's always finding dubious artifacts. There are also far more people, though they're actually being quiet, at least. Murata takes Wolfram to a spot on the second floor where a few rows of desks with small TVs have been set up.

"I'll check the databases for information, if you wanna go for the shelves," he says.

"Fine," Wolfram agrees, if only to avoid having to ask what a database is. He turns to go before it hits him: he won’t be able to read any of the books if they’re in Japanese. "But…"

"Ah. Right. Sorry, I forgot," Murata says. He pulls up a chair and motions for Wolfram to have a seat beside him. "Don't worry, this won't take long."

Wolfram watches Murata tap the keys on the table in front of him - they seem to work like the controller at Murata's house does. The database itself is in Japanese, which means Wolfram can't read that either. His attention wanders, and catches pretty quickly on the fact that people keep staring at him. He nudges Murata.

"They think you're beautiful," Murata tells him, without looking away from the screen. Wolfram frowns.

"Not handsome?"

"I mean, sure, but I'd personally say you're much more beautiful than handsome."

It takes a second for Wolfram to work out whether Murata's teasing him. Actually, he's still entirely unsure a few moments later, but he plays it safe and assumes the answer is yes. Wolfram sighs.

"Are you done yet?" he asks.

"I’m still looking for something good." Murata hits a few more keys. "I’ve come across a couple of tips on how not to run into sea creatures in the first place, but next to nothing on syrens themselves."

"And what about getting me home?"

"We'll work on that next."

Wolfram decides it would probably be best to let Murata focus, so he gets up and wanders among the shelves. A girl of around his own age makes eye contact with him, blushes, and turns to her friend to giggle. The corner of Wolfram’s mouth twitches downward and he heads in the opposite direction. It's not hard to avoid being a cheater, he mentally tells Yuuri.

The books themselves are mostly new, or at least newer than some of the volumes he's seen Yuuri reluctantly learning from. It makes Wolfram wonder if there's even a chance of finding information on a creature as old and mythical as sirens. Or syrens. That, in turn, makes him wonder why in the world Murata - who's ostensibly never been to the Demon Kingdom - even knows so much about them. Are syrens more commonplace in Japan? And if so, why hasn't Murata's research turned anything up?

That question leaves an unpleasant aftertaste. Could it be that Murata hasn't been entirely honest with him? He's not exactly great at talking about himself, or at answering direct questions. That could mean he's lying, or intentionally hiding something.

Or Wolfram could be thinking too hard about this.

If there's one thing Wolfram’s learned from being engaged to the world's wimpiest flirt, it's that asking nicely isn't always the best way to get an honest answer. Yuuri responds better to interrogations. Or rather, he can't escape from Wolfram's interrogations, which is how Wolfram knows they work. Perhaps they'll have the same effect on Murata.

Wolfram marches back to Murata to find out.

"Good timing," says Murata, who's already out of his chair. "I found some stuff we can go through together at home."

Perfect. That's a much better place for an interrogation. Wolfram nods and lets Murata lead the way out.

The moment Murata finishes locking the front door, Wolfram rounds on him.

"You're not being honest with me," he accuses. Murata raises his eyebrows.

"Whoa there. What brought this on all of a sudden?"

"You know too much."

Murata laughs. "You sound like a mafia boss. Gonna shoot me, von Bielefeld?"

"Obviously not. My fiancé hates violence." Wolfram paces closer to Murata, putting a hand on his own hip. "But I will find out what you're hiding."

"Just as long as you don't check under my mattress," Murata jokes.

"I'm being serious."

"Oh, you are? My bad."

"You," Wolfram hisses, "are impossible to talk to. I'm not blind - you're clearly keeping something from me, and I want to know what it is."

"Well, I don't want to tell you," Murata says simply. "So where do we go from here?"

That's decidedly not the answer Wolfram had been expecting. Murata's being honest… about being dishonest? It's honestly a refreshing change of pace from Yuuri’s constant denials and insistence that he's done nothing when he's clearly been cheating, but that doesn't mean Wolfram’s necessarily happy about it. He searches Murata's expression.

"I don't know," Wolfram finally settles on saying.

"Is that a problem for you?" Murata asks.

Wolfram wants to say yes. He wants to claim that keeping things to yourself is very close to lying, that the difference can often be ignored, that he's not about to trust someone who can't even admit that he's being dishonest. But that's just the thing: Murata can admit it. And maybe that makes all the difference.

"It doesn't… have to be," says Wolfram slowly. Murata's expression softens.

"Okay. I can work with that."

"But I want to know why you're keeping secrets, at least."

"Mmm, that's fair." Murata nods to the couch and the two of them sit down together. "Let's just say I don't want your impression of me to change."

"Why not?"

"Because I like it when you're mean to me."

Murata winks, but Wolfram gets the feeling there's some truth behind what he's saying. Maybe whatever secret he's keeping concerns his rank, so Wolfram would have no choice but to become more respectful and less snappy. Or maybe he's a member of Earth's own Demon Tribe? He must be, but that wouldn't necessarily affect the way Wolfram talks to him, because Wolfram’s been plenty mean to his fellow tribesmen in the past. Then again, Murata wouldn't know that. Murata's watching him and Wolfram realizes he hasn't responded.

"I know you're flirting again," he snaps, but without any bite.

"Sure am." 

"Well, don't."

Murata grins. "But Wolfram, I'm testing a theory. And besides, isn't it way more fun to flirt than to talk about my boring reasons for keeping secrets?"

"No." Wolfram huffs. "You agreed to tell me your 'boring reasons', and I'm still waiting."

"I guess I did. But I meant it when I said that I wanted you to keep thinking of me the way you do now." His voice has taken on a more serious tone, which he drops as he adds: "Unless you'd ever think of me as a guy you'd like to date-"

"Cut it out!"

"Sorry, sorry."

"You were saying ?"

"Ah, yes." Murata adjusts his glasses, obscuring his eyes temporarily. "Right now, I'm just some guy who likes books and convenience store food, and who makes killer ramen. That's exactly how I like it."

Wolfram nods slowly. "I think I understand."

"Good. Thanks." Murata meets his eyes, and for once, he's not kidding or flirting. Somehow that only makes the moment feel more intimate. Wolfram feels heat rising to his cheeks, which gets worse when Murata's lips start to curve upwards ever so slightly.

"You know," Murata continues, "I don't usually have these kinds of conversations with people I only met yesterday."

"Nor do I," says Wolfram. He wants to add a snarky comment about how he's very faithful to his fiancé and would never give him cause to worry, but it feels like the wrong time.

"Guess there's something special about you. Speaking of which - it looks like you're not the first person to ever grow a tail after getting snatched by a syren." Murata gets out a folded piece of paper, and the tension of the moment breaks. Wolfram sighs inwardly.

"Well?" Wolfram prompts.

"I found two or three other stories about people claiming to have suddenly become mermaids after coming into contact with syrens. None of them reported being sent to another world, mind you, but still." Murata taps the paper. "Funny thing is, they all agree that the tail comes and goes, just like yours."

"And they managed to get rid of it, right?"

"... Yes."

"That means you've found the solution!" Relief rushes through Wolfram. "Spit it out!"

Murata clears his throat. "I'm not exactly sure I have, to be honest."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just that the solution they list might be a little complicated-"

Wolfram puts both hands on Murata's, startling him into making eye contact. This is no time for dodging the subject, Wolfram thinks as he leans forward, almost inappropriately close to Murata.

"Tell me."

"But it's-"

" Ken ."

Murata's throat bobs as he swallows once. "True love's kiss."

Wolfram sits back. So the syren was being honest about that, at least. In order to stop transforming into a mermaid, Wolfram’s going to have to go back home and persuade Yuuri to kiss him.

But what if Yuuri doesn’t want to?

The thought makes bile rise up in Wolfram’s throat. Is he going to have to beg his own fiancé to give him one simple kiss? Is there a chance that maybe, Yuuri will turn him down – that Yuuri will decide his own denial is more important than Wolfram’s need to be able to stand on his own two feet?

"Hey," Murata says gently, "at least it's progress. We can work on sending you back, and then you can find your fiancé, and everything will be fine."

Right. Yes. Wolfram shouldn't doubt Yuuri - he loves Yuuri, he believes in Yuuri, he always has.

"That's right," he agrees, trying his best to trust his own words.

Chapter Text

The next day – day two if he’s lucky, day three if he’s not – Wolfram wakes up a little earlier. His blurry dreams of trying to breathe in a bubble that filled with water have left him dying of thirst. He heads into the kitchen to search for a glass when he hears Murata's voice upstairs. It's muffled; he's definitely talking to someone.

It's none of my business, Wolfram tells himself. He picks up a glass, fills it, and drinks a few sips, focusing on the sound of the water so he doesn't try to make out Murata's words. Then he sets the glass down with slightly too much force, hoping Murata will hear and stop tempting him to listen in. Muffled laughter drifts down.

Oh, fine.

Wolfram creeps up the stairs, careful not to make a sound, and listens closely. Who would Murata be laughing with, anyway? His parents still aren't home; he hasn't talked about seeing any friends. So who is it?

Not that Wolfram cares, of course. He's just trying to find out what type of person his new acquaintance is. That's all.

"You wouldn't understand," Murata says, his voice much clearer now. Wolfram stops. In all their conversations, Murata has never sounded so cold. There's a long pause, and Wolfram’s sure he's been spotted somehow, but then Murata sighs and responds to whatever was said with:

"As you wish."

Wolfram barely has time to straighten up before Murata's opening the door.

"Morning, Wolfram," he says, surprise written across his face and his tone back to normal. Wolfram coughs into his hand.

"Good morning."

"Sleep alright?"

"Just fine, thank you."

Murata starts to lead the way down the stairs, while Wolfram wonders how to ask the burning question on his mind. In the end, he settles for simplicity.

"Who were you talking to?"

"No one important," says Murata with a quiet chuckle, like he’s laughing at an inside joke. Wolfram frowns. Would it be rude to press the matter? Before he can make up his mind, they're back in the kitchen, and Murata’s offered to make him a bowl of something called 'cereal'.

"I bet you were wondering why you couldn't hear the other person," Murata says as he gets out a carton of milk.

"I wasn't-"

"-eavesdropping?"

Wolfram swallows. "I would never," he lies.

"Right, of course. But if you did, you'd notice pretty quickly that you can only hear one voice, and that's thanks to the marvels of modern technology." Murata gets a folded green rectangle out of his pocket. It's made of metal. He flicks it open and shows Wolfram a little display screen and a series of buttons with Japanese characters on them.

"And this would be?" Wolfram asks, his curiosity piqued.

"A flip phone. You can use it to talk to people who are far away, if they've got one too."

"How strange."

"Let me show you." Murata presses a few buttons, and the flip phone starts to emit a low beep. Seconds later, something in the house starts making a ringing noise. Murata hands Wolfram the phone. He then runs off towards the sound of the ringing, and after a few more low beeps, the flip phone in Wolfram’s hand makes a kind of crunching sound.

"Hey," says Murata's voice through the phone. Wolfram blinks at it in surprise.

"Hello?" he tries.

"You can hear me pretty well like this, right?"

"Somewhat."

"Try putting the phone against your ear."

Wolfram does, and the next time Murata speaks, it's as if they're standing side by side.

"It's incredible," Wolfram says, before catching himself and adding: "or very useful, anyway."

There's a brief pause, and then Murata walks back into the room.

"Right? So now you know why you couldn't snoop just now." He grins like that's a normal thing to say. Wolfram fights the blush that threatens to crawl onto his face; as if getting caught wasn't bad enough, now Murata's turning this into a teaching moment.

"Anyway," says Wolfram, pushing ahead so Murata can't make fun of him, "we should find the nearest shrine to the Great One so we can ask him to send me home."

"About that." Murata adjusts his glasses. "I don't think it's going to work so easily."

"And why shouldn't it?" After all, Wolfram thinks, Yuuri seems to get sent back and forth between worlds without even having to ask.

"Well, for one thing, I don't know about any shrines dedicated to that guy around here."

Wolfram’s not even sure how to begin to respond. No shrines, despite there being demon tribe members here? That's somehow only part of the problem? And Murata refers to the Great One as that guy? About fifty questions leap to Wolfram’s lips. He tries to combine them all into one, and ends up with a very emphatic:

"What?!"

Murata laughs. "Hey, don't worry, I never said we were out of options."

"You should start saying things that make sense!"

"I'll do my best." Murata does a little salute and Wolfram notes, barely consciously, that it's a cute gesture. Right now he's still busy being indignant though.

"So there's no way to communicate with the Great One, and there are no places where His shrine maidens might be found. Is that right?"

"Not quite."

Oh, Wolfram could strangle him. He sucks in a breath through his nose and bunches the fabric of his pants in both hands so he doesn't actually grab Murata by the lapels and shake the damn grin off his face. Murata, for his part, seems entirely unbothered by Wolfram’s obvious frustration. He waits until Wolfram speaks again.

"Which part," Wolfram says with forced patience, "does the 'not quite' apply to?"

"The Great One can often still hear you if you talk to him without being in a shrine or holy space," Murata explains. Wolfram narrows his eyes.

"How would you know that?"

"Call it a hunch."

The faint, barely-there note of bitterness in Murata's voice suggests it's anything but. Although Wolfram would like to claim he’s a calm and reasonable person (regardless of whether his brothers or Yuuri would agree), right now, he’s seconds away from seeing whether he’d be able to call on his flames here. His eyebrow twitches.

“What do I have to do to get a straight answer out of you?” he asks.

“Oof, good question. Tell me when you figure it out.”

This time, Wolfram doesn’t check his impulse in time. He takes hold of Murata’s collar and drags their faces closer together.

“Tell me your plan,” he says between gritted teeth. Murata’s throat bobs.

“I was thinking we could try sending you back via my bathtub,” says Murata. Ah, so now he feels like cooperating. Murata’s eyes are locked on Wolfram, roaming across his face but always returning to Wolfram’s eyes, as if waiting for the next command. Now it’s Wolfram’s turn to swallow; that thought shouldn’t set off a little spark in his chest, but it does.

Wait, does that count as cheating?

Letting out an undignified yelp, Wolfram drops Murata and falls forward, the momentum of his tail’s sudden appearance knocking him off-balance. Murata catches him – or tries to. They end up hovering halfway between the ground and the sofa. Together they manage to maneuver Wolfram into a sitting position.

“Well,” says Murata lightly, “I guess we won’t be putting you back in the tub for a while.”

Wolfram says nothing. He leans forward, resting a hand against his forehead, and tries not to think too hard about the fact that he’d managed to trigger the tail’s appearance without even letting Murata flirt with him this time. There’s no winning with this. The tail obviously has a mind of its own.

An idea occurs to him then. Instead of sitting here and simmering in his own frustration, he can use this excuse to try and wheedle some information out of Murata.

“Can I ask you a question?” he begins.

“Sure,” Murata says.

“You have a weird relationship with the Great One.”

Murata misses a beat. “That’s not a question.”

“I was getting to that,” says Wolfram, though he takes Murata’s slight hesitation as a sign that he’s heading in the right direction. “If no one here worships Him, why do you know so much about when He can and can’t hear what people are saying?”

“Like I said, it's a hunch that-”

“I know you’re lying.”

The accusation comes out sharper than Wolfram means for it to, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Murata’s clearly experienced at phrasing things just right, so he can’t be called an outright liar but he never shares the full truth. It gets under Wolfram’s skin. He’s so, so very unlike straightforward Yuuri, it only makes Wolfram miss his fiancé more. At least when Yuuri’s trying to pretend to be straight, he does a poor enough job that it's doubtful whether Yuuri himself is even convinced.

Murata is a completely different story.

The easy smile Murata usually wears takes on a more wistful note, almost like he's been waiting for this exact thing to happen and had just been hoping it wasn't time yet. He shrugs.

"Guess I can’t hide it forever. I happen to know the guy you call the Great One a little better than most people you'll meet."

Wolfram waits, but Murata doesn't elaborate. He just looks into the middle distance. Leaning forward, Wolfram puts his hands on either side of his tail and peers at Murata, searching for some kind of indication of where to go from here. He considers before asking:

"Does it have something to do with the secret you didn't want to share?"

Murata nods. "Yeah. But it's not a secret, exactly. Not like the identity of your mysterious fiancé."

"He's no secret," Wolfram says, frowning. "His name is Yuuri, and he's the king of-"

Murata whips his head around so fast, his glasses get a little skewed. "Your fiancé is Yuuri Shibuya?"

"Yes. Why, do you know him?"

A second goes by. Then Murata starts laughing. Wolfram’s frown deepens; he recognizes that laugh from before, when he’d overheard Murata talking on the phone, when Murata had sounded curt and cold. Murata looks back at Wolfram.

"Know him? He's my best friend."

A sinking feeling settles into Wolfram’s gut. Of course they’re best friends – why wouldn’t they be? After all, Wolfram’s love life is apparently one giant, cosmic joke to the Great One. He wraps his arms around himself and goes quiet. Is he supposed to address this not-a-thing between the two of them now? He’d rather eat glass, if he’s honest, but Murata must be thinking about it as well. That’s got to be why he was laughing so humorlessly.

Wolfram considers asking whether the identity of his fiancé really makes such a big difference – cheating doesn’t suddenly become okay when there’s only strangers involved, after all. He bites his tongue. It feels too cruel. They haven’t actually done anything, no matter what his tail thinks, and anyway, Murata seems unhappy enough about the revelation as it is.

… Revelation. Murata had been on the verge of talking about one of his secrets. Desperate for something to focus on besides the fact that this is how he meets Yuuri’s best friend, Wolfram latches back on to that thought.

“You know about my fiance,” he says. “Are you going to tell me your secret?”

Murata looks at the ceiling. “I guess it can’t hurt anymore. The truth is, Wolfram, I’ve been to the Great Demon Kingdom plenty of times, just not in this body.”

“What?”

“Or, I guess, I haven’t always been Ken Murata. I am right now, don’t get me wrong, but this soul’s been through the motions a few hundred times already.”

Between the angle of his head and the glasses blocking his eyes, Wolfram has an incredibly hard time reading Murata. He stares at him, waiting for him to speak again, but it seems Murata’s not feeling that generous.

“By ‘been through the motions’, do you mean that you’ve been reborn?” Wolfram asks slowly. Murata nods.

“More or less.” He clasps his hands in his lap. “For about four thousand years or so.”

The realization hits like an earthquake.

“You don’t mean-” Wolfram begins, cutting himself off as he thinks back on their earlier conversations. Murata had talked about wanting to be seen as just some guy, and about wanting to preserve Wolfram’s opinion of him. It makes too much sense for Wolfram to be wrong. He swallows hard.

“You’re the Great Sage?”

“Yep,” says Murata. “So much for not wanting to tell you, I guess.”

“But what’s the Great Sage doing on Earth?” Wolfram asks, still lost in disbelief. Murata finally looks at him.

“The same thing as Shibuya – avoiding the war.”

“Oh,” says Wolfram, his voice hollow.

So the person who’s been flirting with Wolfram almost nonstop for the past two days is the only one who can match Yuuri’s rank. Is that why the syren had sent Wolfram here? So he’d be unable to demand that he be returned to Yuuri’s side immediately, because that would be a huge faux pas? Wolfram drops his face into his hands.

“And you were lying about being on the phone,” Wolfram realizes out loud.

“Kinda. Sorry.”

Wolfram should be angry, but all he feels is defeated. He takes a deep breath.

“You were right about true love’s kiss though.”

“Huh?” says Murata. Wolfram lifts his head just enough that his voice won’t be muffled.

“The syren gave me six days to prove that demons are capable of love.”

Somehow, admitting it makes it feel much more real. Wolfram fights against the panic that threatens to take over his entire body, evening his breathing so it can’t get the best of him. There’s still a chance to do what the syren asked, as long as he can find Yuuri. If he can do that, everything will be okay, and everything will go back to normal.

Murata puts a hand between Wolfram’s shoulder blades.

“Then we need to get you back to Shibuya,” he says softly. Wolfram nods.

“If I could just get to Yuuri, it would…” And he wants to say ‘turn out fine’, he really does, but the words won’t come. What if it’s not fine? What if they somehow manage to travel to his world, reunite with Yuuri, and as always, Yuuri won’t kiss him? Or worse, what if he does, and nothing happens?

What if Wolfram ends up wasting the last few days of his life pretending he’s not enjoying Murata’s company?

“Look,” Murata says, his voice still gentle, “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see if I can get us sent to the Great Demon Kingdom. Shibuya shouldn’t be too hard to track down from there, don’t you think?”

Despite everything, Wolfram snorts. “No, of course not. He always leaves a trail of good deeds wherever he goes.”

“That sure sounds like him.”

“Has he always been like this?”

Murata takes a second to consider. He shifts his position on the couch, sitting more comfortably and facing Wolfram, who lifts his head just a bit more.

“More or less,” Murata says. “Did he ever tell you how his first trip to the other world began?”

Wolfram shakes his head, and Murata launches into the story of Yuuri’s fateful swirly. It’s the exact blend of amateur heroics and a complete inability to think anything through that Wolfram’s come to expect from his fiancé, which draws a reluctant smile out of him, though it does also have him making a mental note to thank Conrart sometime for protecting Yuuri from his own good intentions.

“When you think about it,” Murata adds at the end of his story, “I’m part of the reason you and Shibuya got engaged in the first place. If those bullies hadn’t come after me-”

“You mean, if you weren’t an even bigger wimp than Yuuri,” Wolfram cuts in. Murata shrugs.

“Fair. Well, if I wasn’t, then you two might not have met when you did.”

“He proposed that same day, you know.” Wolfram sort of figures Yuuri must not have told Murata about the engagement – which stings, but Wolfram consciously moves his mind away from thinking about it. Sure enough, Murata’s eyebrows go up.

“I mean, I can’t say I blame him, but wow. Never thought he had much game, if I’m honest.”

“He didn’t. The proposal was…” Once again, Wolfram’s words run dry, leaving him wondering if this is maybe a little too much to share. Murata waits patiently. Wolfram clears his throat. “It was an accident.”

“Oh,” says Murata. “I take it he slapped you, then?”

“He meant it as an insult, but he swore he’d never take it back. And now here we are.”

“So he proposed to you by mistake, but he never decided to go back on it? Wow. That’s… not what I’d imagined he’d be getting up to in the other world.”

Wolfram has no idea how to respond to that. He stares down at the shimmery scales on his tail, silently wishing for it to go away. Finally, he closes his eyes and leans back until he’s resting against the pillows on the sofa.

“Tell me about him,” Wolfram says.

“Sorry?”

“Yuuri. Talk to me about Yuuri.”

There’s a brief moment when Wolfram’s sure Murata’s going to just get up, shrug, and leave. Then the cushion dips and Wolfram assumes Murata’s leaning back as well.

“He’s a good guy,” says Murata. “Not always the brightest crayon in the box, but always the kindest person in the room.”

“That sounds like him,” Wolfram mumbles.

“Like I said earlier, he’s also not the most popular with the ladies - oh, right. That’s a whole thing over here. Most guys wouldn’t think to hit on other guys, so Shibuya probably had no idea he was even into men until he met you. Like I said, a bit clueless.”

Murata continues to paint a picture of the Yuuri he knows. It’s remarkably close to the one Wolfram himself has formed, over time. The Yuuri in Murata’s stories is clumsy in the way he does things sometimes, but he’s well-intentioned, and it’s immediately obvious that Murata thinks of him very fondly. It helps Wolfram feel a little more anchored in the strange world he’s found himself in, knowing that he’s around someone else who understands what Yuuri’s like.

When Wolfram reopens his eyes, his tail has vanished.

In the evening, Murata comes to let Wolfram know they can try to cross over to the Great Demon Kingdom. He’s not fully confident it’ll work, but Wolfram’s willing to take a chance at this point. Murata runs a bath, and they both step in fully clothed - only to find that nothing happens at all.

Wolfram ends up sitting in the bathtub by himself, this time with his clothes off. The room is quiet. He listens to the muffled sounds of Murata moving around the house and thinks, again, about Yuuri. By now, Yuuri’s probably tried jumping overboard at least once. Maybe he’s already sent Conrart into the water. Hopefully not, Wolfram thinks. His brother’s a strong swimmer, but fighting mer-creatures underwater falls just outside his realm of expertise, even if Yuuri’s the one asking him to do it.

But then again, Yuuri’s not one to recklessly put others in danger. Only himself.

What, Wolfram wonders, would Yuuri have done about the syrens in Wolfram’s place?

He supposes he’ll have to ask Yuuri when he sees him. When, not if - that’s an important note in Wolfram’s head. As long as he can find Yuuri, everything will be fine, and they can laugh about this whole situation after they kiss. Because they will. They’ll kiss, and everything will be fine, and-

Wolfram stands up in one fluid motion, climbing out of the tub and wrapping a towel around himself. He dries himself off quickly and pulls his clothes back on, but the gnawing thought keeps burrowing deeper and deeper: Yuuri will kiss him, but it’ll be out of a sense of obligation.

Wolfram’s first kiss with his own fiance will happen because if it doesn’t, Wolfram will die. That’s what it’ll take.