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The HMS Pogue bobbed gently on the darkening water, sunlight fading as the wind shifted with a restless energy that hinted at the storm to come; it wasn’t rough yet, but the air carried a tension that made it clear it would be soon. JJ clutched the side of the boat, knuckles white and jaw set, as the first uneasy waves lapped against the flat-bottomed hull. His other hand pressed firmly over his heart, clenching and unclenching as the storm churned closer, each gust of wind making the waves shudder and tilt the deck beneath him.
His stomach tightened as he watched the horizon darken, every ripple and shadow in the water setting his nerves on edge. JJ knew the water—more than anyone else could. It was a part of him, something alive beneath his skin that both called to him and warned him to stay away. He knew just how unpredictable and restless it could be—the water and he were mirrors of one another, equally wild, equally uncontainable. He knew the dangers, and he knew just how vulnerable he was in this moment—trapped on a small boat in open water with a storm bearing down, along with the fact that he wasn’t alone.
JJ’s gaze shifted from the threatening waves to the bright smiles of his friends surrounding him, blissfully unaware of the storm building both around them and inside him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, JJ’s eyes flicked over each Pogue, and not for the first time he couldn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in: What if they find out? He imagined their eyes widening in fear at his true appearance, the shock twisting quickly into something harsher—disgust, maybe even hatred. He shook his head, returning both his hands to his lap as his leg bounced beneath them, keeping his distance from the edge of the boat; unwilling to let the water come too close.
“Hey—yo!” JJ shouted over the laughter and chatter of slightly drunk teenagers, pulling most of their attention toward him.
“What’s up?” John B. shouted back, grinning and taking another swig of his drink, oblivious to the storm gathering on the horizon.
“We should probably head back,” JJ said, voice tight with urgency. His eyes flicked to the darkening waves, each one rolling with restless energy. “Storm’s coming—and fast.”
“Ah, c’mon, JJ, you’re just scared of getting wet,” Kie teased, nudging him. “We’re fine, man. The water won’t bite.”
JJ’s stomach twisted. That was exactly what they thought: that he was scared, weak, just some kid who couldn’t swim properly. He swallowed hard, pressing a hand to his chest to steady his pulse. “This isn’t just about me,” he said, keeping his tone sharp. “It’s not safe. We need to get back before it hits.”
A few of them laughed nervously, unsure if he was serious or overreacting, and JJ clenched his jaw, frustration and fear knotting together. If only they knew the truth—if only they knew why he had to stay away from water, why the storm mattered to him in a way no one else could understand.
His aversion to water wasn’t new, though it had long been a favourite topic of gossip among the Pogues—and practically all of the Outer Banks. He had heard all the theories: he never learned to swim, he was afraid of sharks, maybe he was just lazy, or worse—dramatic for attention. None of it came close to the truth. He loved the water—how alive it made him feel, the way it pressed and flowed around his tail, a reminder of the part of himself that belonged entirely to it. But he had learned early that that part of himself had to stay hidden. He remembered his childhood being filled with harsh words from his dad—that JJ was dangerous, broken, nothing to be proud of, and he believed it. Every single word. As he got older, JJ stopped listening and began believing it less and less, but the fear lingered; that one day, if his friends ever saw the truth, they might turn against him too.
JJ couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself complete freedom in the ocean, the kind of careless, unguarded swimming that made his chest light and his mind quiet. Years of fear and habit had built invisible walls between him and the water, keeping him tethered to the boat even when every part of him longed to dive in. But even with the walls he’d built, small hints of his true self still found ways to surface in his everyday life—it scared him, having parts of himself he was unable to control.
It would surface in arguments, when his voice subtly wavered, carrying a pull he didn’t intend, as if it longed to reach out and influence the people around him. It appeared during fights with the Kooks, when scratches and bruises seemed to mend at a pace far beyond normal, leaving him baffled and the others none the wiser. It stirred when emotions ran high, causing the water around him to stir and shift as if alive, leaving him tense and the others completely unaware of what had just happened. It went unnoticed by everyone else, but each time it happened, JJ felt those invisible walls shake, a reminder that he could never truly keep that part of himself buried.
A sudden gust of cold wind whipped through his curls, snapping his attention back to the storm that was steadily closing in. He took notice of the water seeping in from the harsh waves that crashed against the boat, drawing his knees up to avoid the puddle circling around his shoe. It was then he realised that the sounds of bashful laughter and clinking drinks had ceased, giving way to a tense silence. As he lifted his head, he saw the others staring at the horizon, their smiles gone, the playful energy replaced with unease. The wind tugged harder at the boat, and the waves pressed against the hull like fingers testing its strength.
“Whoa—this is getting bad,” Pope shouted, gripping the side of the boat as it rocked harder under the rising waves.
“Hold on!” John B. yelled, bracing against the rolling deck as the engine strained against the choppy water.
Kie’s eyes were wide, her usual teasing smirk replaced by genuine concern. “JJ… maybe you were right,” she called, glancing at him as a wave sloshed over the side.
His gaze lingered on her, taking in her fearful appearance as she clenched her teeth and took sharp, panicked inhales. JJ’s chest tightened, a hot ache spreading through him as the waves tossed her like a ragdoll. Not her. I can’t let anything happen to her. His hands itched to reach for the water, to bend it to his will, and he felt a pull sharper than fear alone—a protective heat that had nothing to do with the storm himself.
He swallowed hard, heart hammering, trying to steady his racing thoughts. Every instinct screamed at him to act, but he held back, forced to stay restrained, aware that any sudden movement could draw attention, or worse, reveal the part of himself he had spent years hiding. And yet, even as he fought to stay still, his mind lingered on her—on the curve of her shoulders, the tension in her stance, the way her eyes flicked toward the horizon, full of trust and fear alike. He hated that he couldn’t protect her fully, couldn’t show the strength he longed to give her without exposing himself.
The wind tore at their hair, whipping rain across the deck in sharp, stinging sheets. The boat pitched violently, slamming down into a trough before jolting back up. JJ’s heart hammered in his chest, every nerve screaming as he watched the water thrash against the hull. Each wave seemed alive, restless and impatient, and though he forced his hands to his sides, he could feel the tiniest swirls gathering around the boat, subtle nudges he alone could sense.
John B. shouted something, his voice hoarse, but JJ barely registered the words over the roar of wind and water. His gaze flicked to Kie, gripping the railing tightly, boots sliding on the wet deck, eyes wide with alarm. Sarah clung to the side, pale and frightened, shouting over the wind. Pope scrambled to stay upright, hands braced against the slippery deck, shouting instructions to anyone near him while trying to keep his balance. JJ’s chest tightened at the sight, his protective instincts flaring hotter than the fear coiling inside him. He wanted to reach out, to steady them, to push the water back—but he couldn’t.
JJ froze as another wave slammed against the flat hull, water spilling across the deck as the boat titled sharply beneath them. He barely registered how the raindrops seemed to dodge him, how the puddles swirled around his feet without ever touching him—all he could focus on was the way Kie stumbled, caught off balance, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to slow. His breath hitched, blue eyes locking with her brown. A flash of panic and dread ripped through him. No—
JJ watched as her eyes widened, her hand shooting out towards him as she staggered backward, thrown further off balance by the next, stronger wave. He lunged instinctively, fingers slicing through the spray—but it was too late. The storm swallowed her scream.
JJ scrambled to where she had been, hands gripping the slick edge of the boat as he scanned the churning waves. “KIE!” he shouted, his voice nearly drowned by the roar of the storm.
His voice gained the attention of the rest of the Pogues, who froze mid-action, eyes widening as they followed the direction of his frantic shout. JJ didn’t notice when they started desperately searching and calling for her as his heartbeat echoed in his ears, silencing the storm around him. JJ didn’t notice their frantic calls or movements; his heartbeat thudded in his ears, drowning out everything else, even the roar of the storm. He knew what he had to do, and fear wouldn’t stop him this time.
Calls of his name echoed from the deck as he hauled himself up onto the boat’s edge, heart hammering, eyes darting across the thrashing waves before he lunged forward and disappeared beneath the dark, surging water.
The moment he hit the water, it wrapped around him like a living entity, pulling at his limbs in ways that felt impossibly familiar. His legs felt strange, heavy and alien, as if the water itself was reshaping him—instinctively, he tried to fight it, but the movement was automatic, inevitable. Fear twisted in his stomach, but beneath it, a fierce, wild joy surged—the ocean was alive in him, and he was alive in it. He was weightless, unstoppable, but exposed. He tugged his shirt free, letting the water cling to his bare torso while the lower half of his body glinted with emerging scales. With a final shuddering pulse, his legs fused, scales ripping into existence, a tail lashing through the water. Gills opened along his neck with a soft hiss of bubbles, and suddenly, he breathed not air, but ocean itself.
He didn’t allow himself to revel in the rush of being alive again—every ounce of him focused on finding Kie. His tail began to propel him through the choppy, storm-tossed waves, each powerful sweep cutting through the water with a force he hadn’t dared to unleash before. His eyes scanned the roiling water, the darkness broken only by the whitecaps of waves crashing over one another. Then—a flash of movement, a hand flailing against the swell.
Kie.
His heart slammed, every muscle tensing as adrenaline surged through him. Instinctively, he kicked, the tail beneath him responding as if it had always existed, propelling him faster than he could have imagined.
The water seemed to part slightly, currents bending around him, carrying him toward her. He could feel the water responding to him in ways he had only ever sensed before—he didn’t have time to understand it, only to let it carry him toward her. Each stroke brought her closer, yet the storm tried to tear her away, waves slapping her like fists. Her eyes met his, wide with terror, and a pang of something deeper twisted in his chest—affection, protectiveness, fear all tangled together.
He reached for her just as a sharp shell, lifted and spun by the currents he’d unknowingly stirred while propelling himself towards Kie, sliced into his side. He jerked as a searing pain ripped through his side, instinctively clutching the wound as crimson stained the deep blue of the sea. He bit his lip, vision blurring as he powered through the short distance to Kie, ignoring the searing pain as salt bit into the deep wound.
He reached her at last, arms locking around her as he drew her close, tail lashing through the stormy water to push them toward the surface. A low, instinctual hum escaped his throat, subtle and melodic, reaching for her fear and drawing it back into a trembling calm. As they broke through the surface of the water, she gasped for air, shivering from the cold and the terror of the storm. He wrapped her tightly against him, using his own body to shield her from the cold and the chaos of the waves.
As her eyes met his again, he saw them still wide and sharp with fear, and a pang of shame and terror twisted in his chest. She wasn’t afraid of the storm—his voice made sure of that. She was afraid of him. The gills along his neck, the webbing between his fingers, the tail coiling beneath him—everything that marked him as different, as something otherworldly, was laid bare in her gaze. He had known this day might come, but feeling it now, seeing it reflected so clearly in her eyes, made him shrink inside himself. The friend he cared for the most, the one he’d risked everything to save, looked at him with fear, and it hurt far more than any storm wound could.
He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze from her, scanning the turbulent waves for the boat, unaware of how Kiara’s eyes darted to the deep gash on his side, red spreading into the water as she remained rigid with fear. His chest tightened with every surge of the current, muscles burning as he pushed them toward where he saw the distant silhouette of the boat, moving backward through the waves. Her wet, tangled curls rested on his chest, and a sharp pang of hurt cut through him. The thought that someone he cared about so deeply could look at him with that kind of apprehension twisted inside him, and even as he pushed forward, a shadow of doubt crept in: how would the others see him once they knew? Would the Pogues still trust him, still want him by their side?
She remained silent against him, eyes wide and unblinking, and though he could feel the tremor in her body, he couldn’t hear anything over the roar of the storm. He caught her lips part as if she wanted to call out, wanted to speak, but the wind and waves swallowed any sound she tried to make. Each attempt at communication he couldn’t hear twisted something sharp in his chest, a pang of hurt that rivaled the searing burn of the wound along his side.
Every stroke felt heavier than the last, his muscles screaming with the effort, his chest burning as the currents he summoned fought against the storm and his own body. The wound on his side throbbed sharply with each movement, salt stinging like fire, but he couldn’t slow down—not with her in his arms. A dizzying pull of exhaustion swept over him, each beat of his tail harder to force through the waves, each surge of water he manipulated taking more from him than it should. He could feel his powers rebelling against disuse, the strain magnified by the deep cut, leaving him lightheaded and trembling.
Yet he pushed on, eyes fixed on the outline of the boat as he neared closer. Every surge of energy, every jolt of pain, every labored breath reminded him how long it had been since he’d allowed himself to use this part of himself—and how dangerous it could be. But there was no choice. He would get them back, no matter the cost.
Shouts tore through the roar of the storm sharp and frantic, “JJ! Over here!” John B.’s voice cut across the wind, followed by Pope and Sarah, their words barely carrying above the waves but enough to guide him. It wasn’t long before his body collided with the side of the boat, hands shooting out to steady him. Despite the warmth and relief in their grips, he pushed gently away, forcing himself upright to lift Kiara onto the deck. He could feel her body trembling as she clutched the side, hoisting herself up with the Pogues’ help, finally back into the precarious safety of the boat.
Her eyes remained locked on his, still wide, although the fear wavered, replaced by something softer—concern, relief, and a flicker of awe that made his chest tighten even more. Her eyes—and those of the others—made him feel exposed, vulnerable, as if every heartbeat was on display, even though he wasn’t sure they had noticed the tail still submerged beneath the water. As hands reached out to pull him aboard, a rush of embarrassment and panic made him recoil, just out of reach.
He watched as their faces contorted with something between confusion and concern, their hands still reaching, frozen mid-air. But JJ couldn’t take it. The water around him churned violently, a sudden surge pushing him away from the boat. The panic that had been simmering in his chest boiled over, making his breaths sharp, his tail thrashing reflexively. It’s then that he knows he messed up. His chest tightened as he watched the Pogues freeze, wide-eyed, mouths half-open, at the sight of his fin breaking the surface. Heat rose in his cheeks, a curse slipping unbidden from his lips. Without another thought, he twisted, letting the water pull him down, surrendering to the descent. The surface rippled violently, and his tail arced above the water behind him, spraying a gentle splash across the boat.
He didn’t go far from the boat, letting the water cradle him. His tail drifted lazily behind him, each flick half-hearted, as his thoughts swirl with quiet regret. I shouldn’t have… I wasn’t ready… The words echoed in his mind, soft yet relentless, but he knew that was only half the truth. No, he wasn’t ready—but he should have saved Kie, and he will never regret that.
The surge of thought and reflection faded, replaced by the heavy, insistent pull of his own body. His tail felt leaden, every flick of it a labour, as though the water itself resists him. The exertion of using his powers after so long—bending the currents, staying afloat, battling rising panic—weighed on him, leaving his muscles trembling and his lungs burning, even as the water flowing through his gills refreshed him.
And then, a sharp tug of awareness: the wound along his side. Submerged in the sea, it had begun to knit and fade, the waters embrace smoothing and restorative—but now, under the strain of exhaustion and the stress knotting his chest, the healing falters. A hot sting shot along the cut. The gentle magic of the water wasn’t enough, and for the first time since he submerged, he felt the precarious weight of his own limits pressing down—his powers faltering, his body trembling, his wound refusing to heal as it should.
His limbs grew heavy, each flick of his tail weaker than the last. The sting of his wound blooms sharply, mixing with the ache of exhaustion until his senses blur. Far above, the storm thundered, its fury fading, distant and muffled through the water. The boat drifted somewhere beyond his reach, a shadowed shape he can barely make out. His eyelids fluttered once, twice, and then the world tilted and slipped away—
A sudden arm wrapped around his waist, and a jolt of adrenaline shots through him. His eyes snapped open, heart hammering, and he came face-to-face with a figure hovering in the water before him.
John B.
His panic pulsed through him, and he thrashed instinctively, tail flicking weakly against the water, arms pushing against the steady grip. But exhaustion sapped his strength, every movement sluggish and clumsy, the sting of his wound flaring with the effort. His eyes hesitantly met John B.’s, bracing for disgust or anger to flash back at him. But the face before him held none of that—only steady concern, the kind that made his chest tighten in a strange mix of relief and shame.
“Bree?” JJ’s voice rippled through the water, unnaturally clear, the pain in it softened by the sea around him.
John B. didn’t release him. Instead, the arm around his waist held him firm but gentle, guiding his drifting body with the ease of someone used to moving through water. JJ’s heart still raced, adrenaline and confusion coiling in his chest, but beneath it all, a faint, reluctant awareness began to seep in: he wasn’t alone, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't sinking entirely by himself.
He allowed himself to sag against John B. as exhaustion overwhelmed him, the tension in his body loosening ever so slightly. Fear still hummed in his chest, but he let it be, letting John B. take the lead, guiding him toward the surface. His limbs were heavy, his tail sluggish, but he tried, feebly flicking it whenever he could to help propel them upward, knowing the added weight of his tail slowed their progress.
The water around them churned with each effort, and every push left his muscles trembling, but John B.’s steady hold never wavered, carrying them upward, toward the muted light breaking through the waves—and toward the boat waiting just out of reach.
With a final, exhausted flick of his tail, John B. hauled them upward, breaking the surface in a cold spray that stung JJ’s skin and lashed at his hair. Water cascaded down his body, scales glinting in the fractured light, as he gasped, chest heaving. Every movement trembled with fatigue, every breath ached, but John B.’s steady hold carried them through.
The deck is cramped, and when he was lifted fully onto the boat, he ended up pressed against someone’s chest, tail hanging limply over the edge. He felt completely exposed—scales glistening wet, wound aching, muscles trembling under the weight of exhaustion. A shiver of instinctive recoil ran through him at the contact; every touch felt amplified against his raw, vulnerable body.
He noticed their hesitation—the slight stiffening, the uncertain glances—and it made him wince, a mix of shame and self-consciousness curling tight in his chest. He felt utterly seen: injured, weakened, and exposed, the awareness leaving him tense and on edge.
He took a shallow breath, forcing himself to relax, though every nerve felt raw and unsteady. His tail dragged over the edge, heavy and awkward, and he shifted subtly, testing how much he could move without drawing attention. The wound along his side burned faintly, a stubborn reminder that he was not fully healed, and he flinched at even the lightest brush of contact.
Still, he let himself lean a little more, the warmth around him steady and patient. Every tremor and shallow breath was met with quiet understanding, the kind that didn’t ask for words. The ache in his side lingered, but it was softened by the gentle steadiness holding him together.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself soak in the silence, the subtle pressure of support that asked nothing of him. The tension in his body eased fractionally, his breathing steadying as the sharp edge of fear began to fade. For the first time in a long while, he felt held—not just by the water, but by the quiet acceptance surrounding him.
Pope kneeled beside him, a shirt pressed carefully to the wound along his side. JJ flinched at the touch, muscles tensing as a flash of irritation flares inside him.
“I need to go back in,” he insisted, voice tight but determined. “The water… it’ll heal me faster. I can’t just lie here.”
Pope hesitated, brow furrowed. “JJ… i’m not sure, we just got you out!”
“I know, but I’ll be fine,” JJ snapped gently, still trembling. He lifted his gaze to the others—John B.’s steady eyes, Sarah’s concerned frown, Kie’s tense posture—all waiting, unsure. “I need the water. Please, just let me float. That’s all I need.”
Sarah leaned a little closer, hands hovering, as if she wanted to help but wasn’t sure how. “It’s… risky,” she murmurs.
JJ exhales sharply, muscles quivering. He had to remind himself that they don’t understand, not truly about his situation. The water was anything but dangerous. “I don’t care about the risk. I need it. I need the water.”
Kie shifted, fingers brushing near his arm, uncertain. JJ forced himself to meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll be okay. John B. can keep me steady,” he added, glancing quickly at the boy for reassurance.
The group exchanged silent looks, tension radiating off each of them. Finally, Pope exhaled and nodded, letting go of the shirt, and John B. shifted slightly, positioning himself at JJ’s side. Carefully, JJ eased himself into the sea. The water enveloped him immediately, cool and dense, lifting his weight and carrying him effortlessly. His arms spread wide, tail trailing limply behind, and he surrendered to the buoyancy, starfish-like, feeling the subtle push and pull of the gentle current.
John B. paddled alongside him, hand resting lightly beneath JJ’s back, steady despite the tremor in his muscles. Water lapped softly against his scales, sending tiny shivers down his spine, while the sting of his wound eased under the gentle magic of the sea. Around him, he could feel the faint warmth and presence of the others—Pope’s careful stance, Sarah’s attentive watch, Kie’s subtle reassurance—all forming a quiet circle of support that asked nothing in return.
A calm settled over him, and JJ let himself float completely, letting exhaustion, vulnerability, and relief wash over him in gentle waves, the storm above now just a fading murmur. His gaze drifted over the surface, fractured light glinting across his damp scales, the cool embrace of the water coaxing ache and tension from his body. Each pulse of the current carried some of his fatigue away, leaving him a fraction lighter than he’d felt in hours.
Beneath him, John B.’s hand remained a steady anchor, reminding him he wasn’t alone. Even his tail, limp and glistening over the edge, felt lighter, carried along by the water and the quiet, unwavering care surrounding him. In that fragile space, he simply floated—exposed, supported, and unburdened.
JJ closed his eyes, letting himself feel the cool water and the warmth of John B.’s presence. The ache in his side softened, the tremble in his muscles eased, and the tension in his chest slowly uncoiled. For the first time since it all began, he allowed himself to simply float—completely vulnerable, completely supported, and completely seen.