Stranded: A Lovestruck Merman's Tale (BL)

Hazy purple, blue, and green lights flickered in the dark horizon, dancing in tune with raging heartbeats echoing in the cold evening breeze.

Geale took a swig of the ice-cold beer in his hand as he made a beeline through the sea of scantily clad bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music.

The familiar bitter taste of the brew drew a line down his throat, making him wince slightly as he ignored the people around him whose flawless skin glowed under the light of the waxing crescent moon overhead.

He felt his body grow warm against the icy wind which was teasing the skin that his unbuttoned floral shirt and black boxers left exposed.

Geale continued to walk through the crowd; his bare feet carefully navigating the sand to make sure he wouldn't trip on the few that had dropped on the ground in heightened passion.

The salty scent of the sea a few feet away fused with the fruity scent of bliss, and the intoxicating ecstasy in the air. It was the first time Geale found himself frowning in disgust at the smell.

A group of seemingly inebriated people suddenly blocked his path. They were clumsily wrapping their limbs around each other; too intoxicated to care about where they were.

Geale paused and stepped back to avoid bumping into them. He released an exasperated sigh and walked around them, squeezing himself into a tightly packed crowd. He took another swig of his drink as soon as he reached the end of the dancing mob.

"Geale!"

He turned around and saw a friend of his, Schell, waving at him. The flushed young man had his arm wrapped around a tall young woman's waist.

The lady had her long, dark wavy hair trailing down her chest. Her green eyes were hungrily eyeing Schell's proud face as her long fingers traced the curves of his toned torso.

Schell motioned toward another woman standing next to them: a shorter one with long green hair smiling curiously at Geale.

Geale tried to smile in response.

He would have gladly joined Schell and his newfound company if they showed up earlier - when he was still in the mood - but a familiar sensation of dread had already washed over him.

Geale raised his beer mug to them and walked away before they could catch up to him.

People called it "going into limbo": a stage in life where they found everything that was once exciting boring. No form of seduction could keep Geale in anyone's company anymore.

He didn't like it, but he could only walk away from the crowd. He hoped that a chance to rest and think properly would help him.

Geale looked around for a spot where he could drink the rest of his beer, probably even get a refill.

He noticed a stretch of restaurants and beach house bars where crowds walked in and out with snacks and drinks.

Geale checked each one of them, cringing slightly at the sight of the gyrating bodies filling each establishment.

He was about to turn around and head for the other side of the beach when he noticed a small beach house bar at the end of the road.

It had flickering fairy lights like the rest of the establishments, but it didn't seem to have a lot of people around it like the others did. It was an was odd sight considering the ongoing festival.

The Crescent Moon Festival was a yearly event where the youth flocked to the island in hopes of finding their fated ones.

Centuries of practice turned the romantic ritual into a popular celebration where the lonely lavished the sensation of fine white sand beneath their feet, the sound of intoxicating music in the air, the scent of potent pheromones in the breeze, and the feeling of intense passion and ecstasy in their veins.

The festival would close with each participant leaving in pairs, convinced that they would be with their newfound partner forever.

The ritual wasn't exactly foolproof. There were participants like Geale and his friends who left the island with "the wrong one" and eventually returned every year for the thrill of finding a companion, instead of actually finding someone he could make a lifelong commitment to.

This was his fifth year, the first time Geale realized he had lost his taste for his lust-filled pursuits. He felt traces of it a few years before and opted to ignore it.

It led him to his shortest relationship yet - one month...three weeks, if he had to consider when he really felt the need to end it.

Geale curiously made his way to the old beach house. He took a peek at the doorway and scrunched his brows in thought. The place was different from the other establishments he had seen.

The beach house bar was cozy and calm with steady warm lights instead of colorful, flickering ones. It also had soft acoustic music instead of mesmerizing dance beats, which wasn't aligned with the festival's overall vibe.

That probably explained the few diners it had.

"Need a drink?" called a mid-aged man behind the bar. He had his long, dark blue hair tied in a bun behind his head.

He wore a red floral shirt underneath a black apron.

Geale warily eyed him from the doorway for a moment before walking inside.

A wave of calm immediately washed over him as he sat down on one of the empty bar stools. He surrendered his almost empty mug to the mid-aged man and scanned the room again.

None of the people inside were dancing.

A couple occupying a table near the doorway seemed busy chatting quietly with each other. Another couple at a table in the middle of the floor sat leaning against each other.

A handful of folks, each occupying a single table for themselves, were calmly consuming their drinks.

They all seemed relaxed and laid back, a stark contrast to the intoxicated crowd outside.

A stage stood on the opposite side of the room where most of the people were facing. It had a chair in the middle, a microphone stand in front of it, and a guitar resting on the floor.

"Here you go," the man behind the bar said, handing Geale a newly refilled mug of beer.

"Thanks."

"Aren't you too young to be sober?"

"Is that what you call it? What about you? Aren't you too old to partake of the festival?"

Mid-aged people rarely participated in the Crescent Moon Festival because most of them had outgrown the event, and the rest had already found their person.

"That's true. I already have a companion."

"And your partner knows you're here?!"

The man chuckled before nodding toward a woman with long flowing dark hair standing near one of the tables.

She wore a floral red dress that matched the man's button-down shirt as she served a plate of chips to a customer.

"Why are you here then? There's no way it's for profit," Geale said.

"Right again. We're here for a friend."

"A friend?"

"Let these words of mine shatter like waves against the shore," a hauntingly gentle voice sang from behind Geale. "My voice fade away like echoes in the breeze..."

Geale quickly turned around and stared wide-eyed at the stage.

A tall man was seated on the previously empty chair.

The guitar which had been left on the floor moments ago was cradled in his arms; his long fingers plucking its strings in a solemn serenade.

His wavy dark brown hair had been cut short, creating a halo of curls around his head. His skin glowed under the warm lights like the pure white button-down shirt he wore.

His eyes - closed shut as if in a fervent prayer - flaunted his long dark lashes.

"Let my screams remain unheard, and my pain sink deep into the ocean," the man continued to sing softly before slowly opening his eyes and catching Geale's gaze. "...until my heart that beats for you withers away."

Geale felt his heart skip a beat.

His jaw almost fell to the ground in awe. Time seemed to slow to a halt.

And Geale couldn't take his eyes away from the singer.