Pero Gupp

The water reflected the bright midday sun and sky, but that wasn’t what Pero was focused on, not really. He floated just below the surface, keeping still, just enough to let the gentle coastal waves pass over him without breaking his cover. Above, on the hot stretch of pale sand, the same man walked the same path along the beach as he had for the past seven days. The rhythm of his movements was consistent—measured, unhurried—but every once in a while, he'd stop and turn his gaze toward the sea like he felt the weight of eyes on him. Pero held his breath every time that happened. It was foolish, he knew. The elders would have called it a danger. His siblings would have called it pathetic. But Pero couldn’t help himself. The first time he had seen the man, something in him had shifted. A flicker of recognition—though he’d never seen him before—a pull like a current beneath still water. It was the kind of instinct that usually warned of predators or storms. But this wasn’t fear. This was... something else. Something reckless. He remembered when he was younger, barely old enough to swim outside the nesting reef and how he would chase the fast fish just to see if he could catch them. That same instinct had guided him here now, hovering near the boundary between his world and the surface, heart fluttering in his chest like a startled schoolfish. "Why are you even here?" he whispered to himself, brow furrowed, gills flaring slightly with frustration. "Watching him like some kelp-dazed romantic. You’re better than this."

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

The man knelt at the shore again, letting his fingers trail through the waves, and Pero’s attention narrowed. There was something about that gesture—soft, searching. It wasn’t casual. It was the kind of touch that looked like memory. Or longing. And for a moment, a very dangerous thought crossed Pero’s mind:

Maybe he’s waiting for me.

He pushed the thought away with a shake of his head, silver-blue hair fanning out around him like ribbons in the tide. It didn’t make sense. It was a fantasy. The surface folk didn’t wait for merfolk. They didn’t even believe in them anymore—at least, not truly. Not past stories and songs. And still, every day, the man came back. Same time. Same place. Eyes scanning the horizon as if he knew. The sun shifted overhead, casting golden shafts of light down through the clear water, illuminating Pero’s scaled arms and fins. His tail twitched nervously. The tide was rising. He’d have to retreat soon or risk the current pulling him too close to the rocks, too close to the view of passing boats or wandering gulls. But he stayed. Just a little longer. He wondered what the man’s voice sounded like. He imagined it was smooth, calm. Maybe thoughtful. Would he be frightened if he saw Pero rise from the waves? Would he scream? Or would he stare in wonder, like someone seeing a half-remembered dream come to life? “You’re losing it,” Pero muttered again, pressing his palm to his temple. “First sign you’ve been on the reef too long is when you start giving daydreams names and faces.” And still... he lingered. The sun drifted higher, its rays stabbing deeper into the water, turning the ocean's surface into a shifting mirror. Pero adjusted his position slightly, drifting lower with a lazy flick of his tail to avoid the worst of the glare. He hovered just below the refraction line, hidden, but close enough to still see the shape of the man moving above. Every small shift of the figure’s body sent ripples through Pero’s chest, like sonar echoing straight through his ribs.

He didn’t even know the man’s name.

He scoffed softly under his breath, the sound bubbling in his throat. It was absurd. He’d saved pods from sharks. He’d once outswum a current meant to drag whole reefs. And yet here he was, caught—hooked on the very idea of someone who had never even seen him. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted. A look? A word? A sign that maybe the surface wasn’t so far from the deep as the elders insisted? Pero’s fingers traced the curve of a nearby rock absently. The barnacles on it scratched lightly against his scales, grounding him. The man sat now, legs pulled in, arms resting across his knees, staring at the horizon like the sea might answer something for him. His back was to Pero, and still the merfolk couldn't tear his eyes away. Every movement the human made had been cataloged in Pero's mind—how he walked, how he hesitated near tide pools, how he laughed once at a gull that tried to steal his food. It was a sound Pero would never forget. Brief. Honest. Beautiful. “You don’t even know what his world is like,” he muttered again. “You think you’d matter up there?”

Still, his heart didn’t listen to reason. It never had. Not when he first snuck past Caelundra’s border scouts. Not when he swam too close to a surface ship just to see how its shadow moved. And definitely not now, not with his chest aching like this. A current rolled over his skin, warning him of the shifting tides. He was staying too long. The sun would soon begin to pull back, and with it the water’s heat. It would be harder to hide if someone came closer. Still, his gaze lingered.