Where The Tide Takes Us

Part 7: Rules And Disasters...

(Will's POV)

The door clicks shut behind him, and I'm left standing there—hand still half-raised in a wave.

The apartment is... quiet now. Too quiet.

I lower my arm slowly, shifting my weight from one bare foot to the other as I take in the space. It's not big—just a small living room with a couch that's seen better days, a coffee table cluttered with magazines and empty mugs, and a TV that I still haven't figured out how to turn on without pressing the wrong thing.

My eyes wander to the kitchen, where Mike's breakfast mess still lingers—plates stacked haphazardly in the sink, crumbs scattered like tiny landmines across the counter. I tilt my head. He just lectured me about cleaning up, and he left that?

A small smile pulls at my lips.

I drift toward the couch, fingertips brushing along the back of it like I'm mapping out the space again. The air smells faintly of Mike's cologne—warm, a little sharp—and it hangs here like he never left.

I stack the last plate into the drying rack and shake the water from my fingers.

That's when I notice it—
A faint shimmer dancing over my skin, scales just barely visible along my knuckles.

"Oh, great," I mutter under my breath, pulling my hands back like I just touched something hot.
I forgot how even small amounts of water could start it.
The tips of my fingers are already iridescent, the kind of blue-green that would probably be beautiful... if it wasn't a giant secret.

Grabbing the nearest dish towel, I scrub my hands dry until the shimmer fades, glancing nervously toward the door—like Mike's going to pop back in just to catch me mid-mermaid makeover.
"Perfect. First day staying here and I'm shedding scales in his kitchen."

Once the last glint disappears, I toss the towel over the sink, ignoring the way my heart's still beating a little too fast, and head toward the hallway.
If I'm going to snoop, I might as well do it now before Mike gets back.

I wander into the living room.
Mike's not home. But the whole house feels still.
Too still.

Which, naturally, means my nosy side kicks in.

I kneel down by the coffee table, pretending I'm "tidying" while my eyes dart around for anything remotely interesting. That's when I see it—wedged under a stack of boring old Car and Driver magazines.

I tug the stack forward and—oh.
Ohhh.

It's glossy. Thick.
Definitely not about cars.
The guy on the cover is wearing... well, technically he's not wearing much.

"Wow, Wheeler," I whisper to myself, fighting back a laugh. "You're so subtle."
I flip it open just long enough to confirm, yes, this is very much an 18+ magazine, before quickly shoving it back like it might explode in my hands.

I should stop snooping.
I should.

So..then why am I in front of his closet right now..opening it?

I notice a box half-hidden in the closet, but before I can reach for it, a sharp sound interrupts me.

"Mrreow!"

Bean's at the door, tail flicking like she's annoyed at me for even thinking about ignoring her. Right. Mike said feed Bean. Task number two.

I stride into the kitchen like I actually know what I'm doing and scan the counters. There it is—an orange bag with a big smiling cat on it. Has to be the food. I drag it down, nearly spilling it across the floor, and pour a small handful into my palm.