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Nicke loved the water, it was his home. He and his kin swam the coasts of Maryland, spooking sailors and delighting children as they dragged themselves out of the water, fins slipping against rocks and pelts glistening in the sun. Nicke loved the sun. He loved laying out in its rays, whether covered in his pelt or his human skin. The warmth would seep through his body and warm his bones as he laid against the land, just breathing. Nicke loved the land, the feeling of rock and sand against his belly, or his feet if he was lucky enough to find a safe place to hide his pelt. He loved the night, and the opportunities it gave him to safely walk across beaches and to run through the waves, his legs unable to withstand the power of the ocean. Andre would often accompany him, and he loved the way their laughter sounded, ringing through the night underneath the stars and the moon. Nicke’s hair reached his shoulders when he had two legs, and he loved that, too. Andre kept his hair shorter, and Nicke loved that too. Nicke loved the way his body glided through the water, no matter what form he took. He loved the feeling of water rushing over him, the ocean surrounding him and holding him close. There wasn’t much that Nicke didn’t love, and he could never bring himself to be angry about it. Nicke didn’t know if he loved his sailor. He didn’t know if he could call him his sailor, but that didn’t stop him from doing so. Nicke surfaced near his boat for the first time a few seasons ago, his pelt quickly warming in the sun, and the sailor spoke to him in a tongue he didn’t understand. Nicke loved the words he spoke, but he was wary of the man, as all of his kind knew that humans could not be trusted. Nicke loved the way he sounded when he laughed, though, so he swam around his boat and splashed him only to see his face light up. Nicke found him in the same spot whenever he looked, and he came to love the time he spent with his sailor, and he hoped his sailor felt the same. Nicke came to a beach one night without Andre trailing after him. He pulled himself onto the sand, faced the ocean, and stripped off his pelt, gently picking it up and holding it close against his chest. His heart nearly stopped when he heard a gasp, and turned to see a familiar figure standing on the beach. His sailor approached him slowly, hands out as if to prove that he wasn’t dangerous (as if Nicke didn’t know that his hands were his most dangerous weapon) and spoke softly to Nicke in the tongue he had come to love. Nicke stayed rooted to the place he stood and his sailor approached, stopping less than an arm’s reach away. Nicke took him in, his hair the color of a stormy sky and his eyes the color of a clear one, his arms strong and his legs only a bit longer than his own. His sailor reached out, gently placing his hand on the side of Nicke’s face. Nicke didn’t flinch, and was rewarded by his sailor running his hand through his hair. They stood there and looked at each other for what felt like an eternity before his sailor murmured something soft and gentle and pulled away. Nicke watched him walk away until he could see him no more, before donning his pelt again and slipping once more back into the ocean he loved.