5. A Spur in Hand is Worth Two in the Deep

CHAPTER FIVE

A SPUR IN HAND IS WORTH TWO IN THE DEEP

The Past: Patrick at Bay L’Ours

“I’ve been summoned.” Sato was looking out at the still waters of the bay. Sitting on the empty beach, long human legs sprawled out like he still didn’t know what to do with them.

Patrick was drawing shapes in the sand between them, playing around the borders of Sato’s fingers, pleased by the strange shape Sato’s hands made because of the webbing. Patrick’s own hands, when he was not an otter, looked entirely human. Poor Sato, having to wear those black leather gloves even in the summer heat. There were rumors he was a serial arsonist with hands covered in burns. Sato never bothered to correct rumors, quietly amused by the idea of a merman playing with fire.

“What?” Patrick barely registered the casual comment. But then he did, and processed the implication.

Still Sato repeated himself. “The summons. It’s come.”

“What!”

“I’ve been called-down by the Deep to serve my time as a vangill. A debt of spurs.” Sato raised his forearms and slapped them together, as if to remind Patrick what lay beneath the skin there.

Patrick stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Hawaii, apparently,” Sato added, as if the location mattered when he was casually referring to years of separation.

Three whole years!

“How can you just tell this to me out of the blue all of a sudden?”

Sato’s lips twitched. “We’ve known this would happen from the moment I developed spurs.”

Patrick thumped the sand. “You should’ve kept them secret!”

“I had no choice. Sire thought there was something wrong with me.”

“I know. I was there.”

Sato gave Patrick a look that said as clearly as anything, Then why are we talking about it?

Patrick remembered it well, three years ago. They’d been swimming together, probably too far out, and the shark had thought (if sharks thought at all) that Patrick and Sato looked tasty and easy. Apparently, that’s all it took to give a merman spurs. Well, to give a merman like Sato spurs. One of the rare ones. Made special by fear and anger and the desperate need to protect. And Sato, who had, until that moment, been just a plain unwanted merman – sterile, and useless, and rejected by his people – had sprouted evil thorns up and down each forearm.

And those thorns changed everything.

They’d gotten away from the shark, with the shark the worse for the encounter, and because Sato didn’t know what to do, and because Patrick was freaking out, Sato had asked his father what they meant. Those spurs. His father, who was, if possible, even more stoic than Sato, had said nothing at all. He might’ve known. He might’ve been warned. Or he might not’ve. It was impossible to tell with that man. But he’d done exactly what he was supposed to do as the sire of a merman. He’d sent a message to the Deep. To the people who had rejected both of them.

And the Deep responded.

When he’s old enough, we will summon him back. Three years he owes us, for those spurs.

It was a message that came in the shell of the Soteria and it could not be ignored. For the Soteria controlled the sea. If Sato wanted to continue to swim in it, he’d do what they told him.

Sato had looked it up, of course. What exactly it meant to be a merman with spurs .

Patrick had looked it up, too. This wasn’t the Dark Ages. Everyone had the interwebs now. Things had changed a lot since Sato moved in next door. Even merfolk were known to exist, although of all the shifter species they kept one of the lowest profiles. Still, it meant there were articles and studies online. Blogs hosted by obsessive mermaid fandoms, and even a WooTube channel or two dedicated to the mysterious and gorgeous people of the sea . Mermen weren’t rated the hottest of the shifter species (mermaids were, but that’s typical human gender bias for you) but they certainly had their groupies (who called themselves guppies ). So there was at least some speculation over those very few mermen who had been spotted with spurs .

Patrick had read all about it, avidly. But none of it told him when or why Sato would leave him. Only that he definitely would.

The spurs, or the shark, or the knowing he was leaving, or the knowing that the people of the sea wanted him back, changed Sato. He watched Patrick much more closely whenever they swam together after that. Like the act of becoming weaponized forced Sato to become a protector whether he liked it or not.

Well, more of a protector.

Patrick resented it. Resented those spurs. Resented Sato protecting his otter form. After all, he wasn’t without claws or teeth. Never had been. And both of his were sharper than any merfolk could boast. Not as strong as Sato’s new spurs, but at least Patrick knew how to use his defenses. He’d had them his whole life.

“They sent a message by dolphin,” Sato explained.

Patrick knew his friend well enough to ask, “When did it come?”

“About a month ago.”

“And you decided to wait and tell me now ?”

“You had finals.” Sato had graduated (only just) with a strong sense of senioritis. Patrick, on the other hand, was stressed about grades even though he was only a sophomore. It wasn’t just finals, either. Patrick was in the school play and on the track team. He liked to be busy, anything to keep him away from his own house and in the company of others. Also he needed good grades. They made him different from his family. Better than them.

Sato had no intention of going to college. “You’re the smart one,” he said whenever Patrick tried to make him study. “It’s a human institution anyway. The merfolk will summon me back now that I have spurs.”

And they had.

“It’s no big deal,” said Sato, still staring at the sea and not looking at Patrick.

Of course it was a big deal! Patrick’s best friend. His only shifter friend. The only person who had stuck by him through everything. Was leaving.

“You should’ve said something the moment you got summoned. Does your father know? You aren’t going to just tell him the day before you leave, are you?”

Sato was like that. With his father. With most people. Sometimes even with Patrick. That thought made Patrick suddenly terrified.

“How long do we have before you leave?” Before you leave me behind was left unsaid, but the whine in Patrick’s voice implied it.

Sato wrote the number three in the sand with one webbed finger.

“Three days!”

“Three weeks.”

Patrick threw a handful of sand at him.

Sato’s eyes were almost cheerful. “Are you trying to start something?”

“How could you keep this from me for a whole month ?” They’d wasted half of their last summer vacation.

“We spend all our time together either way.”

“Daiki!” Patrick was driven to use Sato’s given name. “Sato Daiki, seriously?” Patrick cast himself dramatically back onto the sand, flailed his arms open. “You’re tired of me, aren’t you?”

“You are exhausting.” Sato wore that tight secret smile that he only ever let Patrick see. “Why are you being dramatic about this? You have tons of friends. You claiming you’ll actually miss me?”

Patrick sat up. “Of course I won’t miss you! You’ll be gone, so I won’t have to worry about sleeping on your tiny futon or how hard it is to wake you up in the morning. You’ll be gone so I won’t have to coax you into cracking a book or actually eating vegetables. You’ll be gone so I won’t need to persuade your lazy ass to get a job or do something useful with your time.” You’ll be gone, said the refrain in Patrick’s head.

You’ll be gone. This annoying taciturn steadfast companion that Patrick hadn’t asked for but had clung to desperately for seven years.

“You won’t be able to hide out at my house eating everything in the fridge and chittering about how great my sire’s cooking is.” Sato said it like it was a good thing, but Patrick could tell he was worried.

“I’ll miss his katsu.”

“Greedy,” said Sato, calm as ever, but that look was in his eyes, the new one. The one that was the opposite of deadpan.

Recently, Sato’s stoic face had changed. It became no less stoic, but a tiny glitter had entered those kelp-brown eyes that said Sato had decided, at some point and without notification, that Patrick meant something different to him.

Patrick, who previously found Sato’s blank expression comforting, became nervous. Sato had been a restful and unchanging mooring point for years. How dare he alter? Patrick was overrun by teen angst and family drama. That Sato would change too was unacceptable. Especially changing now, right before he left!

Patrick felt like he was being teased. As if Sato had decided not to tell him about the summons because he wanted to see Patrick overreact. He wanted Patrick to be upset that he was leaving. He wanted to mock the ache Sato’s absence would cause. Sato wasn’t meant to tease. He was too easily cruel. Teasing was Patrick’s job.

Patrick scrubbed out his sand drawings and the number 3 in annoyance. “Can’t you get out of it? Ignore the summons? Refuse?”

“Like dodging the draft? As if I were some human with all their vast numbers and landbound populations to hide in?”

“You pass as human most of the time.” Patrick pouted.

Sato lifted and examined his webbed hands. “But I would miss the ocean. And you know the moment I swam, they’d find me and drag me down.”

“Human form, swimming in rivers or lakes, that wouldn’t be enough?”

“All rivers flow to the sea. So too goes information. But no, fresh-water swimming wouldn’t be enough. You know how much I love my tail.” Sato put one webbed hand to Patrick’s sand-burnished knee. “It’s already scheduled. This is supposed to be an honor, remember?”

“There will be others, won’t there, training with you in Hawaii? Other mermen. Other vangill. Other people. Strangers. You’ll hate that.”

Sato grunted in agreement.

So far as Patrick could tell, Sato only really liked two people. His little sister, who he hadn’t seen in years, and, for some strange reason, Patrick.

“What will I do without you there to stop me from killing all the idiots?”

Patrick smiled at that.

Sato seemed calm, but he had a terrible temper. Only Patrick seemed to notice when it started boiling over. Only Patrick could tease Sato out of it.

“You really think you’re prepared, Sato-san?”

“Prepared?”

“For three years without me?”

Sato snorted.

It was so frustrating. Nothing phased Sato. Not even being conscripted to serve as some weird warrior bodyguard to a shifter species that had rejected him.

Patrick flopped back again. Glared at the rapidly darkening sky rather than his annoying best friend. Tried not to cry. Not sure if that was because Sato was leaving or because Sato apparently didn’t care that he was abandoning Patrick.

Patrick who had two more years of high school with no Sato.

“Aren’t you just cooler than a cucumber?” he accused the sky.

“Sea cucumber?” suggest Sato.

“If I pick you up unexpectedly and squeeze, would you spurt?” Patrick said it before he really thought about it, because his mouth was like that sometimes.

Usually Sato just laughed at him.

Not this time.

Sato was suddenly looming over him, one brow arched in an extremely annoying way. “Wanna find out?”

Patrick found himself being wrestled on the sand in a crude parody of early childhood tussles, when they first became friends. Before Sato had developed spurs. Before Sato started looking at Patrick differently.

They ended with Patrick trapped under Sato, pinned by his bigger, denser body. Human skin cooling and pricked by the evening breeze. Burning hot where they touched. Too hot for water creatures to withstand.

Sato flicked Patrick’s forehead sharply with his forefinger. “What did you think would happen? I can’t defer it, this isn’t a college waitlist. They summon. I go. No discussion. No other option.”

Sato was probably thinking, What else am I good for? He had no prospects in their small human town. What would he do, get a shit job and wait two years for Patrick to graduate? Then what? It’s not like Patrick had grand plans for his own future.

Maybe I should fix that .

Patrick didn’t want Sato to see the fear or the disappointment or the tears near the surface.

Patrick was still a shifter. He was svelte and nimble in either human or otter form. Sato may be bigger, faster, and stronger, but Patrick would always be more slippery. Also, he’d been on the wrestling team freshman year. He’d enjoyed torturing the closeted boys and he thought the tight spandex uniforms were sexy.

So he easily wriggled out from under the merman. Twisted around so that Sato ended up being the one pinned.

Patrick expected to simply be bodily lifted up at that point. Except, for once, Sato just lay supine beneath him, a slight smile teasing his lips, that new scary spark in his eyes.

It was a shock.

Sato studying his face.

Sato’s gaze drifting to his lips.

Fire was buried in this creature of the sea. It probably wasn’t a good idea to let it flame up between them, for it would scald their friendship. Then Patrick would have no Sato and no friendship either.

Patrick was a teenager. He was gay. He was utterly familiar with this need in himself, especially when wrestling. He knew what he felt was desire. He just wasn’t sure if Sato knew that’s what was happening.

Sato had never done anything to indicate he liked sex, let alone boys – not a single word or deed. He’d tolerated Patrick’s wildness and open confessions and crazy talk and blatant flamboyance as if it were as unalterable as a hurricane. Perhaps it was. Perhaps Sato had known Patrick was gay before Patrick did. Perhaps this was how he’d known. Perhaps he’d always recognized in Patrick some tiny part of himself. Perhaps the burn had always been mutual and it was Patrick who hadn’t noticed. Too tied up in his own identity and burgeoning needs.

Patrick wasn’t sure if he wanted to deal with this plus Sato leaving. Everything safe, changing at once. If Sato had to leave, shouldn't he do so with them staying exactly as they’d always been?

Patrick leapt up, elbows flailing, and trotted forward into the water, allowing his otter form to take away the human self – the human skin that burned with want, the human heart that hurt with loss. His otter was plain brown and very cute, nothing special, whiskered and mischievous, with dexterous hands and clever instincts. Just a large, silly river creature. Just one of the elusive dobhar-chú, tricksters of the waterways. His otter form made no demands but liquid fun.

He was confident that Sato would follow him into the sea.

Sato did. Catching up easily, his tail a massive glistening spectacle of dark blues, as flamboyant in the water as Patrick was on land. As animated, with its trailing delicate fins and flicking movements, as Patrick could get at his most outrageous. In Sato, any liveliness was only ever there in his tail in the ocean, where only Patrick got to see the beauty of it.

They stayed that way for longer than they usually did. Swimming together, avoiding mankind, the otter and the merman, both of whom had run out of time, neither of whom was ready to grow up.

The Past: Sato at Bay L’Ours

Sato watched Patrick out of the corner of his eye.

He was always watching Patrick. He tried to remember a time when he didn’t feel compelled to watch over him – tracking sparkles, tracing the shine in his eyes. Pleased by the way his cheeks flushed the color of a conch shell in embarrassment, or delight. Sato was bigger and older and Patrick was such a sweet, inquisitive little thing. He’d demanded attention and care. The cutest creature Sato had ever seen. Still the cutest, years later.

His sire was home and puttering in the kitchen when they arrived back. The human barely glanced at them, so accustomed to their comings and goings and the salt smell of a recent swim. Both of them in board shorts and flip-flops and nothing else.

Patrick went immediately into the kitchen to see if there were snacks.

Sato’s sire casually passed over a small plate piled high with takoyaki.

Patrick, big dark eyes glistening with pleasure, issued a cheerful thank you which Sato’s sire barely acknowledged. They clattered up the stairs to Sato’s room like they’d been doing for seven years. Sato’s whole history among humans was him and Patrick, together like this.

Patrick popped two takoyaki into his mouth at the same time, cheeks protruding like a hamster.

“I think my sire won’t miss me at all,” said Sato, sitting down in his desk chair and spinning it slowly.

Patrick cast himself onto the futon front first, nearly lost the takoyaki off the edge of the plate. Had to stop catastrophe with a hand that instantly got covered in sticky sauce. Patrick started licking it off with his pink tongue, making pleased noises.

Sato had to look away fast and focus on his empty desk.

“Of course he’ll miss you. You’re his only son.”

“I’m his only connection to the Deep.” They had argued over this before.

Patrick genuinely believed that Sato’s sire loved him. Like some mythical human father was supposed to love his child. But that was because Patrick needed to believe that the restful calm, cold, simplicity of the Sato household was normal and safe. Since it was his only place of refuge.

But Sato knew it was not.

Sato knew this house was merely a box he’d been trapped in for a while. His sire was one of those who had been taken by the Deep. When a human loves a mermaid, there is no coming back from it. There is no love left for anyone else, even a biological child. His sire looked after him because it was his duty. His sire looked after Patrick because Patrick was there. There was no genuine love or care behind any of it. There was just obligation and the hopeless fantasy that someday she would come back for him.

Stupid human.

“I’m going to miss this too.” Patrick popped another takoyaki into his mouth. Vibrating with happiness but also clearly sad. He had no subtlety. He showed every emotion on his sweet, currently sticky, face. He would have to learn to stop that and protect himself.

“You can always come back and demand he make them for you.”

“Without you? Will he even stay in this dumb town?”

“Of course he’ll stay. He’s waiting for her.”

“And in the meantime he’ll make me, some stray otter, takoyaki? I think not.”

Sato didn’t argue further. Patrick was probably right. There was a good chance his sire would forget Patrick existed entirely. There was a good chance he would forget Sato existed.

They were talking about takoyaki because neither of them wanted to talk about Sato not being there anymore. Because Sato didn’t want to think about the fact that in going away Patrick would be alone, with no Sato to take care of him, and no place to hide where his family could not get him.

At first, Sato hadn’t understood why Patrick was so against his own parents. He hadn’t really cared, because it meant Patrick spent all his free time with Sato. But in high school he began to suspect that it was because Patrick’s family was involved in something not just shady, but dangerous – all the time. That Patrick was half afraid of the people, strangers and criminals, who were always in and out of his home. That the loud house full of chatter and angry laughter was actually no home at all because of that. Although Patrick always said he was just avoiding the chaos. Since Patrick was an agent of chaos himself, that seemed a weak excuse.

Patrick changed the subject. “At least you’ll get to see your sister again.”

“If they let her come visit me in Hawaii.”

Sato admitted to looking forward to that possibility. His sister was one of the only things he missed about his pod. Half sister by human standards – different sires. Meymey was three years younger than he was, only a little younger than Patrick, and just as good-natured and pleased by life. He thought if he had to go back to the sea and train to be a protector, at least he might get to protect her. Increase her reputation with his vangill status. But really he was mostly interested in the training itself. Vangill were supposed to be the biggest badasses of the ocean. Sato wanted that. He wanted to come back to Patrick stronger, better able to protect him, more worthy of him.

But in the interim, what would Patrick do without him?

Probably be fine, actually. Patrick had loads of friends. Patrick was popular. Sato was the one who struggled to fit in. He expected it would be the same again among the vangill. Just because they all had spurs wouldn’t make them like each other.

The real question was: What would Sato do without Patrick?

“Will you swim me out of the bay?” Will I get a proper goodbye?

Patrick flopped over, reached out a skinny arm, and pulled at Sato’s chair so it rolled and bumped into the futon.

He offered him a takoyaki between two delicate little fingers.

Sato contemplated the offer for a moment. Took it carefully with his teeth.

Then, before Patrick could pull his hand back, Sato grabbed his wrist. Keeping the hand there. Carefully licked those sticky fingers, watched Patrick’s dark eyes fill with confusion, and lust, and fear.

The dobhar-chú jerked his hand back fast, stared down at it like it had betrayed him. Looked at Sato with huge eyes.

Sato was delighted to see his little pink tongue dart out to wet dry lips. Sato wanted to bite him (and it) so badly. Way more than the takoyaki.

“I… what were we talking about?” croaked Patrick.

“You’re giving me a proper goodbye.”

“Of course I’ll swim you out! Who else would? Gotta make sure you actually leave and don’t wimp out and follow me home.”

Patrick probably thought that all along he’d been the one tagging after Sato. Sato knew that it was always he who’d followed Patrick. Trailing behind the shiny one, this lucky piece of adorable he’d landed next to and never been able to let go.

“You’ll be fine without me,” he said, more to reassure himself.

“Of course I will!” Patrick actually looked offended, which was good. “Maybe I’ll finally start dating.”

“Over my dead body,” replied Sato.

“You won’t be here, who’s to know?” Patrick was taunting him.

“Get a job, not a boyfriend,” suggested Sato.

“Why not both?”

Because you’re mine, not some stupid human’s who doesn’t understand you and can’t swim with you and won’t protect you. That was what Sato wanted to say.

Instead he said, “Greedy. Feed me the last one.”

“You gonna tease me again?”

“Was I teasing?”

Wary, Patrick offered up the last takoyaki. This time Sato used his lips, not his teeth, sucking the two fingers that held it.

Patrick gasped and then started to cough. The now empty plate tilted as he flailed about.

“You’ll get crumbs in my bed,” reprimanded Sato, softly, loving the impact he’d had. What did he have left to lose now? He was going away, Patrick would be alone and unmoored once more. He wanted to leave some kind of tether behind, something more than just friendship. Something that would make it impossible for Patrick to forget him.

But of course this was Patrick. He should’ve known to expect what happened next. Instead of retreating or shying away, Patrick grabbed both of Sato’s wrists and tugged, one small foot pushing against the chair.

The chair rolled backwards and out from under Sato. He found himself sprawled half on top of Patrick and half on top of the takoyaki plate.

“So much for the crumbs.”

“Shut up,” said Patrick. And because he was a shifter and quite strong, he muscled Sato over onto his back, the plate now underneath him and easy to ignore. Patrick on top of him and impossible to let go.

He clung to Sato like a barnacle. Like he had when they’d first met.

“So we’re gonna be friends?” he’d asked back then.

Sato, confused by this new land of twos and fours, of dry air and cooked food, had agreed dumbly. And found himself wrapped in the skinny arms of a strange, slight creature full of confidence and hope.

Sato wanted to say, this time, in a cheesy parody of Patrick back then, So we’re gonna be boyfriends? but he was too embarrassed and too afraid that what had been a lifesaver to him, seven years ago, was a spontaneous gesture long forgotten by the boy who’d once wielded it.

Patrick, who always distributed hugs like they were expected. Like they weren’t the only hugs Sato ever got. Would ever get. Like they weren’t important. Like they were some casual thing. Like there had ever been anything casual about what was between the two of them.

Patrick was feather-light atop him. He gave Sato all his weight without question, complete trust. He pressed his face into Sato’s neck. They both still smelled of the sea.

“I don’t want you to go.”

What could Sato say to that?

Sato ran his hands over Patrick’s thin back, strong muscles there and the little bumps of his spine. Would Patrick get enough to eat if he wasn’t at Sato’s house anymore? He was still growing, after all. And shifters ran high energy, especially otters. He needed lots of protein in his diet but he always just ate whatever he could get hold of, usually carbohydrates and sweets.

Sato shifted Patrick so he was cradled more fully against him, so their bodies shelled into each other.

Patrick squirmed and for once Sato didn’t try to hide his response. Just sighed and let him feel how he hardened and heated. Pressed his hips up slightly to remind Patrick he was male.

Patrick squirmed even more, making everything worse, or better. Then he seemed to realize what he was doing, and what was happening.

He gave an adorable little squeak, and tried to jerk away.

But Sato had his arms wrapped tightly around him now. His forearms like iron bands – extra reinforced, even in his weaker human form, by the hardness of sheathed spurs.

“I’ll come back for you,” he said. “I’ll come back to visit if they let me.” Still bitter from the taunting, he added. “You better not date anyone while I’m gone.”

Patrick recovered his snark faster than his breath. “How else am I to get any kind of experience?”

“There’s three weeks before I leave. Get it with me.”

“Sato, what is this? You’re not gay.”

“Says who?” Sato turned his head and nudged Patrick away from his neck, became fascinated by his lips so close.

“I would have known!” insisted the impossible boy. Who should, by virtue of a raging erection, be in very little doubt.

“You’re an idiot.” Sato bucked under him.

“Well, yes, clearly.” Patrick wiggled, intentionally this time. Testing his power.

That was more than enough. Sato flipped them over, and himself off the takoyaki plate, his ass no doubt covered in sauce and crumbs. But at least this way he could start kissing Patrick.

Which he did.

Patrick tasted like sweet sauce and salty octopus. Delicious.

Sato spent a lot of energy forcing himself to stay focused on lips, and face, and neck, and not more or lower. Because they had three weeks to be boyfriends before he left, and while Sato definitely wanted to do everything all at once, Patrick was just fifteen. Sato knew all too well how unpracticed they both were in this matter.

And he still had to contend with his instinct to protect, even now. Against himself.