the tide that pulls from the moon
Title: the tide that pulls from the moon
Pairing: Yixing/Lu Han
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2k
Summary: Yixing has always been fond of the sea.
A/N: written for the lovely and super cute zeerafuu, who also worked as my beta and sang me songs on vocaroo until my heart burst in confetti and happiness.
Yixing likes to sit on the edge of the cliff near his grandfather’s bungalow, legs dangling and skin growing dark under the sun. Sometimes he takes a book and a bottle of coconut water, and sometimes he doesn’t take anything at all; he simply throws his head back and lets the heat sink into his pores while the breeze gets caught in the tangles of his hair. There is something beautiful about the shades of blue and green playing on the surface of the ocean, a mosaic of colours shattered by foamy white when the waves come crashing against the rocks below, and Yixing swears he can almost feel the drops of saltwater pepper the soles of his feet as he wiggles his toes in delight.
It’s only when the sun sets that he returns home, leaving a trail of sandy footsteps that he knows will get him in trouble with his grandfather later. He changes into a clean shirt and heads to the kitchen, opening cupboards in search of instant noodles, but is interrupted by his grandfather’s arrival. The old man takes off his hat and chuckles at the way Yixing’s nose curls at the smell of food.
“I brought dinner,” he says.
Yixing frowns but reaches for plates and cutlery anyway. “What’s the occasion?”
“I talked to Miao Li’s parents today.”
Yixing halts, hand halfway into the paper bag with the takeout box.
“They’ve agreed to the wedding.”
“What? But Granddad-”
“No buts, Yixing. This is for the best.” His grandfather runs a hand through his thinning hair, the wrinkles in his face deepening. “We won’t argue over this again. You’re going to marry her and take over her father’s fishing business and make a future for yourself.” He looks down. “Don’t want you turning out like me, working from dusk to dawn well into my seventies and still too poor to send you off to the city to get a proper education.”
Yixing’s eyes focus on his grandfather’s weathered fingers and battered features, and his stomach churns. His fingers play with a hole on his shirt as he says, “I understand. Let’s eat.”
He feels cold in the oppressive heat.
That same night Yixing stands by the cliff and contemplates the immensity ahead of him. It would be easy to take a step forward and fall, he thinks, flip flop dipping over and back. The air smells salty and sweat pools in the hollow of his throat despite the cooling wind, and he squints when something glimmers near the shore.
It’s gone when he blinks and in its place is a person, body dangerously close to the water.
Yixing has never been one to consider things carefully, and so he begins to climb down, following a path he made many times as a child.
“You-” he cries out, watching his footing and gripping at slippery surfaces. “What are you doing-”
He pauses to catch his breath and loses it once again when he sees the young man in front of him. He feels laughter bubbling inside him when he remembers calling the ocean beautiful earlier. The sea has nothing, nothing on this man, a person whose eyes are the colour of aquamarine and whose hair shines silver as moonlight, with ghostly pale skin and plump pink lips, cheeks dusted red by a faint blush and face seemingly made of the finest porcelain with a touch of the most precious pearl.
Yixing coughs. “Are you-are you all right?”
The man tilts his head.
“You shouldn’t be sitting here, it isn’t safe. Are you from the village? I haven’t seen you around before.”
“Your name,” the man says. Bells jingle along with his voice. “What is it?”
“I’m Yixing,” he replies. “And you?”
“Lu Han.”
“That’s a, um, very pretty name,” Yixing chokes out, scratching the back of his head.
“You’re an earthly being. One of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“You worry.” Lu Han shakes his head. “You thread your own destiny, Yixing. The spindle spins only for you.”
Yixing opens his mouth but the words die on his tongue when Lu Han dives. The lower half of his body is made of multi-coloured scales that disappear underwater as he, slick as a fish, swims away.
Yixing lies awake until the cracks in his blinds struggle to contain daybreak, and then heads outside to see his grandfather off.
“Take care,” his grandfather says and is about to hop on his old truck when he turns around and adds, “Don’t forget the ceremony is going to be held a month from now.”
He leaves and Yixing waits for the dust to settle and the world to go silent. He lets his heels scrape against the ground and pictures himself tugging at the collar of his suit while Miao Li holds his free arm and smiles up at him in adoration, her childhood crush turning into full-blown infatuation.
It’s a frightening prospect, Yixing thinks, when he feels nothing more than slight fondness for the thin, scrawny girl he used to play with years ago. That’s coupled with a strong sense of duty to his grandfather, who raised him after his parents passed away. It’s with a heavy chest that he concludes that perhaps it’s time to play the role of obedient grandchild, and to abide by societal rules and seize this so-called opportunity to make something out of himself.
Still, he returns to the cliff and performs his daily ritual of sea-watching. Twilight comes and goes but Yixing stays, dirt gathering under his fingernails and salt clinging to his eyelashes and the corners of his lips. Moments later there is a flash, or a sparkle, or a shimmer, and he goes down to the rocks, mouth dry and skin peeling at the hint of a sunburn.
“Lu Han,” he says, and the man-the creature, fixes his impossibly tinted eyes on him.
“Ah. You have come again.”
Yixing feels the heat creep up his neck but Lu Han’s nearly imperceptible smile is somehow reassuring. He sits cross-legged by him, trying not to stare at his fishtail, and spends the night in comforting silence.
He turns to go at the first sight of sunlight. “Yixing.” With his body already submerged, Lu Han says, “There is always a choice.”
The way back home seems easier than usual.
Yixing’s nights become his days. He visits Lu Han after dusk and sleeps at dawn, and his tan slowly fades along with any rebellious trace he might have had in himself. He abides to the rules and, aside from his odd sleeping pattern, doesn’t cause trouble to his grandfather who brushes Yixing’s actions off as childish behaviour.
That night he sits closer to Lu Han and doesn’t flinch when his knee touches Lu Han’s scales. “What are you?” he asks.
“A water nymph. A sprite, a naiad, a sylph. I think I have many names.”
“I thought mythical creatures didn’t exist.”
“Do you think I’m a figment of your imagination?” Lu Han asks, mouth pursing. He takes Yixing’s hand in his. “Do you, Yixing?”
“I-I don’t,” he stutters. Lu Han’s grip tightens. Yixing’s next words come in a whisper, “You’re so cold.”
Lu Han’s naked chest heaves when he gasps, and he releases Yixing’s fingers one by one and with meticulous and torturous delicacy, almost as if he is afraid he will break him if he lets go too fast.
The silence that drags on is filled with the crashing of waves.
A week later Yixing is made to take Miao Li on a date. He reaches the gates of her house while trying to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes, dressed in his best outfit, a bouquet of daisies cradled in his left arm.
She receives him in a yellow dress and acts surprised when faced with the flowers, thanking him endlessly and placing them in a vase in her living room. Yixing offers her his arm and they take a walk by the woods, following the trail down to a small patch of sand that holds a lonely, sad excuse for a beach.
Miao Li doesn’t say much when Yixing takes off his shoes and buries his toes in the sand. She keeps her sandals on and steps carefully, whimpering whenever the water licks her feet and clinging to Yixing as if he’s the only thing keeping her afloat.
Before they start heading back, Miao Li leans in and kisses Yixing, who clears his throat in embarrassment and collects his shoes with a nervous laugh.
She’s a nice girl, he thinks. But she’s not Lu Han.
He doesn’t meet Lu Han that night, but instead is coerced into having dinner with Miao Li and her family. When he gets home he is so tired of complimenting her mother’s cooking and of pretending to be interested in her father’s fishing business that he goes to sleep.
The night after, when he climbs down, Lu Han is waiting.
“I saw you, Yixing,” he starts. “With that female of yours.”
“Miao Li? How did you-”
“She touched you.”
“I-I didn’t mean to,” Yixing starts, stumbling on his words. “She came onto me and I-”
Lu Han doesn’t reply. His tail moves, the tip emerging now and then and reflecting different shades of forest green, and saltwater drips from his hair and onto his shoulders. Yixing reaches out and clears the few drops clinging to his collarbones.
Lu Han stares at him. “You didn’t mean to?”
“No,” Yixing says, voice quiet and touch lingering on Lu Han’s cold skin. “But this… This I meant to do.”
The furrow in between Lu Han’s brow disappears when Yixing’s lips brush against his.
The wedding day approaches quickly, and Yixing is busy amidst his nightly routine and the fitting of the suit, the receiving of blessings from the villagers and his usual tasks around the house. The dread that set at the pit of his stomach when his grandfather announced the engagement has grown in such size and intensity that Yixing is often awakened by his own heavy sobbing and clogging snot.
“Things will fall into place soon, you’ll see,” his grandfather says, trying to be what Yixing assumes is reassuring. “You should consider yourself lucky, Yixing. Miao Li is the village’s beauty and her family is wealthy, and we’re blessed she picked you out of all of her suitors.”
Yixing nods and stuffs his mouth with porridge so he won’t have to reply.
“The next full moon is coming,” Lu Han says.
“Yeah. It’s on my-” Yixing pauses. “My wedding night.”
Lu Han runs his fingers up and down Yixing’s arm. “It is also the day we part.”
Yixing nods, a familiar lump resting just above chest.
“You will not come see me again.”
“I won’t be able to, but,” Yixing says. “I’ll miss you.”
Lu Han presses his body closer to Yixing’s. “I know.”
“If only I could escape,” Yixing mumbles, nose tucked away in Lu Han’s silver curls. “And be with you forever.”
“If there was a way,” Lu Han says, and when he pulls back the fire in his eyes contrasts with the icy-cold of his touch. “Would you do it, Yixing?”
“I’m a decent swimmer at most,” he scoffs. “There isn’t a way, Lu Han.”
“I could take you with me. I could turn you into one of ours.”
“How?” Yixing asks. “How would you do that?”
“There have been tales of transformation told among my people, tales in which earthly ones became nymphs through belief. Do you trust me? I told you long ago that there is always a choice. You can choose to stay and marry that girl or you can come with me.”
“I-”
“Come and be with me.”
Yixing doesn’t have to think twice.
They meet for one last time as two different beings the night before full moon, when Yixing’s suit has already been laid out on a kitchen chair and the temple has been decorated with rose petals and red and white lace. Yixing stands on the edge of the cliff and breathes in the summer breeze, all salt and sweat and hope, and climbs down.
Lu Han, as always, waits. His eyes have never been so blue.
“I’m ready.”
Lu Han’s gaze rests on Yixing’s face and then, after what seems like a moment of hesitation, he smiles and reaches for Yixing’s hand. The water engulfs them both as they vanish down under.
There is nothing but darkness left.
Yixing’s body floats ashore the day after.
He drowned.