A/n: Hey guys, I'm making a slight change with the mers: to change into a human they have to be fully unsubmerged from water, not just by touching air. To turn back, they have to be fully resubmerged for at least five seconds. I'll be going back to change chapter 1 to fit that~ Hope you like these quick updates, I felt bad for not getting chapter 2 out in a week so I've been trying to really get the plot moving. Love ya 💕
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Above him, the waves were crashing on the rocks. Lance could hear the storm raging on the surface, and it helped to drown out the calls of Ulaz, Thace, and his father. The first two called with caring voices, reaching out, but his father's voice was a threat. Lance sat, huddled in the secret cove, only this time it didn't provide him laughter and smiles and warmth, only the silky kelp stroking his scales and providing him a hiding place.

The calls of his family had ended what Lance could only estimate half an hour ago was, but he stayed still anyways. What was he supposed to do? Go home and never be able to go to the surface again? His father would ground him, of that he was sure, and Ulaz and Thace would be sent back to their tribe nonetheless. Carlos was probably furious with them. Lance didn't care. Maybe he'd escape to the Marmora tribe, become a warrior and kick ass. That option was crossed off, though- as much as Ulaz and Thace loved Lance, no doubt they'd tell his mother he was with them.

Another option was hiding on shore, but that was more dangerous than Lance was ready for. The only other option that he could think of was staying with Hunk (Allura's dad would turn him in to his family on sight) but even that was a stretch- his mom would get beyond anxious and his father would only get more angry the longer he stayed away. However, there was no chance of Lance going home tonight, not with his father still drunk, so Hunk's was the best option. And hey, Hunk was good at giving advice. He'd know what to do, even if his huge heart sometimes clouded his sound judgement. Lance smiled a little as he could already hear Hunk saying, "Just swim on in and give your dad a hug and some boiled clams. He'll have no chance but to forgive you!".

Lance knew the way to Hunk's, and he'd have to do a lot of groveling for waking them up so late anyways, so he unfurled his tail from underneath him and poked out of the cove, looking around for the luminescent glows of other mers. The storm above him was loud and full of thunder, and he could already feel the fresh water soaking through his skin, clean and oxygenated.

After securing the clear coast, Lance swam out, but immediately regretted it. The currents were wild and ragged, pulling him in every direction. He was immediately thrown against the rocks and he shrieked in pain, ricocheting off before he was able to stabilize himself. He flared his sail, trying to regain balance, but he was hurled upwards, smashing off the rocks again and feeling a flash of white-hot pain down the side of his tail. He struggled desperately against the currents, flashing his luminescence spastically, trying to get someone's- anyone's- attention.

Aware that he was being carried towards shore with the ocean's giant, crashing waves, Lance scrambled for hand-holds on the rocks beneath him, but he was torn loose. Hyperventilating, he tasted his blood through his gills, but it was too dark and frantic to see the actual wound. Instead, Lance curled into a ball, retracting his sail in to protect it, and squeezed his eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest. Soon enough, the stabbing rocks transformed into sand under Lance, and his limp body was slammed into its grainy floor over and over again. The only thing he could do was continue to breath.

Lance didn't realize he was being washed ashore until he felt the pain of his tail splitting. Exhausted and struggling to hold his breath, Lance dragged himself onshore, clawing the sand with bleeding hands. "You can't be up here! You have to go back into the ocean! You're not safe!" His conscious screamed at him, but as he woozily looked back at the vicious waves, he knew that he might not even survive going back in. Disoriented and dizzy with pain, Lance dragged himself to a cluster of rocks a few meters away that stuck 4 or 5 feet out of the sand, tucking himself into a nook in their spaces, and promptly passed out.
...
"Shiro, I swear to god, this is the last day in our dorm room, and you're not even letting me sleep in? It's-" Keith squinted at his clock, "5 in the morning! On a weekend! Why am I friends with you?! I revoke our friendship, go away."

"Sorry bud, I only heard 'weekend' and 'friendship'. Get up or I'm pouring my coffee on you. Don't question my motives, I've always wanted to when you're lazy like this."

"WANTING TO SLEEP UNTIL 7 IS NOT BEING LAZY!" Keith shrieked, but dragged himself out of bed anyways, moping around as he got ready. "Towel," Keith muttered, packing it in his bag, "Sketches. Pencil. Water. First Aid." He frowned. Wetsuit? "Honey?"

Shiro responded easily, "What?" They did this almost every time one of them lost something, and had every word perfected. They'd seen The Incredibles together, and had kept it a tradition to watch it every year on Shiro's birthday since. Learning to recite this scene was just one part of how weird their bond was.

"Where's my supersuit?" Keith grumbled, searching through the laundry basket for the black fabric.

Shiro was making eggs, complete with an unironic pink apron his mom gave him. "What?" He added cheese to the scrambled gooey goodness.

"Where?" Keith looked under his bed. "Is? My? Super? Suit?"

Shiro was grinding salt and pepper into the eggs, getting paper plates out of the drawers. They had their own little camping stove, only two burners, and usually made breakfast in the morning on it to save time. "I, uh, put it away," Shiro replied.

Keith picked through the pile of laundry on the floor they had yet to do. "Where?" He asked, exasperated. He didn't expect Shiro to actually know where his wetsuit was, let alone disrupt their script recital, but it helped him think of places he could've put it.

"Why do you need to know?" Shiro poured orange juice into glasses and placed them on the bar counter. The counter was possibly Keith's favorite thing about the dorm, they had a nice little table-that-wasn't-a-table/counter with tall stools seated next to it and no clunky foldout table like some of the other dorms had.

"I need it!" Keith looked in the bathroom, checking his reflection and putting on deodorant while he was at it. He was already in his swim trunks.

Shiro plated the eggs, and sliced some avocado slices over them, ever the aesthetic guru. "Uh-uh! Don't you think about running off doing no derring-do. We've been planning this dinner for two months!" That was Shiro's favorite part to say. He was grinning.

Keith pulled a sweatshirt out of his dresser and whipped it over his head, all the while calling back, "The public is in danger!"

His roommate scrubbed at the pan at the sink, bubbles rising over his hands as he washed the leftover egg off the metal. "My evening's in danger!"

Keith fussed with his hair, then walked over to the coffee pot and poured himself a mug of steaming black bean juice, smelling it and immediately feeling more awake. "You tell me where my suit is, woman! We are talking about the greater good!"

Shiro packed away the camping stove and grabbed forks, settling down at the bar in front of his plate. "Greater good? I am your wife! I'm the greatest good you are ever gonna get!" Keith suddenly rushed into the bathroom and smacked his forehead with his palm, rolling his eyes as he lifted his wetsuit off the hook on the back of the bathroom door, marching into the kitchen.

"Found it!"

...

Keith yawned, stretching. He squished his toes in the wet sand and wrinkled his nose. He kind of hated when there were rainstorms at night, as much as he loved the rain, it made the sand feel squishy and gross. Shiro was tying his Nike's- how he ran on this shit, Keith would never know. He loved to surf, but kind of sucked at running.

The sun was just beginning to rise, bathing the beach in red, pink, and orange. Keith smoothed back his hair, looking out over the ocean. The waves were calm now, but he had no doubt that they'd been wild the night before in the thunderstorm. He'd been down here before when a storm had hit- waves twice as big as usual, but grey and angry and crashing with enough force to toss someone around like a doll. He'd probably just sit out on the water on his surfboard and sketch since there weren't any waves.

"Meet back here in an hour and a half? We gotta get back to the apartment by 8 to start packing- oh, shit." Shiro's head jerked to the side, eyes focused on a swatch of rocks by the shore.

Keith looked to where Shiro was and his eyes widened. "C'mon," he muttered, then jogged towards the rocks. A person's body, hidden between the jutting stones, lay on the sand, and upon a closer look, they were bleeding. "Shit, Shiro. Help me pull him out."

Shiro bit his lip. "What if he's dead?" He whispered. Keith rolled his eyes and grabbed hold of the person's wrist, gently pulling him out from the rocks. The person turned out to be a boy, and the boy turned out to be bleeding from a large gash traveling from his hip to his thigh. What's more, he was butt naked and seemed unconscious.

Shiro started stuttering. "Oh, shit, Keith we have to take him to a hospital, we gotta get him some help, what if he's-"

"He's not dead, dumbass, look, he's breathing." Keith knelt next to the guy, maybe his age, and brushed some sand off his chest. The guy's breath came in short, ragged breaths, and his hair was messy and sandy. He was really banged up, bruised everywhere. "Do you think he was in the water when the storm struck?" Shiro shrugged.

"Hospital," he replied.

The dude apparently didn't like that. "Ugh," he groaned, stirring. He brought his hands up to his eyes and rubbed them, then looked up at Keith, still hovering over him. "Woah," he murmured, and Keith froze for a second. Blue eyes, wide and curious, glowed in the sunrise as they looked up at Keith, and he found himself looking away, slightly embarrassed.

"Hospital," Shiro said again, like a six year old saying 'bathroom'. He was even hopping from one foot to the other.

Blue Eyes sat up, then groaned again, looking down at the bleeding wound in his side. "Nuh-uh," he slurred, "No hospital."

"Yeah, man. Did you get caught in the waves or something? You need help."

Blue Eyes slapped the wet sand, also alike to a six year old throwing a fit. "No hospital." He leaned towards Keith, wincing, "Please," he whispered. "Just a... tub. Some water."

"Keith, this guy's nuts," Shiro said, but scooped Blue Eyes up in his arms, cradling him to his chest with distaste.

"Woah times 2," Blue Eyes cooed, looking up at Shiro. His wound had reopened, and Shiro's arm was trickling with blood.

"God, I hope you don't have HIV or anything," Shiro grumbled.

...

Blue Eyes had been in the bath for an hour and a half so far, and hadn't said a word. "Maybe he died," was Shiro's guess. The boy had bled all over their towels, but Keith didn't really know what to think about him not wanting to go to the hospital. He and Shiro had spent their time packing up what was left in the apartment, loading the bags and boxes into Shiro's Jeep, and seeing who could make a better smoothie out of the ingredients in the fridge.

Keith made a pretty good kale-mango-spinach-honey smoothie, but of course Shiro took the cake with some sort of pink, strawberry-raspberry-mint milkshake, topped with cool-whip that they always kept in the freezer and a leaf from outside that was supposed to be a garnish.

Keith was now slumped at the counter, head rested on his hands. "I should go in," he said to Shiro, who sat next to him. Shiro nodded. Keith could tell he wasn't exactly all for having a stranger in his dormroom-that-wasn't-really-his-dorm-room-anymore-because-they-got-kicked-out-today, but he begrudgingly accepted it. "I'll be right back. Hope he's not dead."

Keith padded over to the bathroom and tapped on the door lightly. "Bud, you okay?" He called. No answer. Shrugging, Keith put his hand on the he doorknob. "I'm coming in," he said loudly, and then walked inside the bathroom.

What met his eyes was-

Keith slammed the door closed.