Eyes now wide awake and fixated on the creature before him, he watched as the other reached out for the shell. The creature's fingers were unnaturally long; the skin looked rough, and his claws could probably tear off a man's throat with one swift movement. With that in mind, he memorized the creature's every movement. The primal part of him not mesmerized is screaming at him to get away from the water, but the sight of the other holding the shell to his heart and curtly nodding at him, as was tradition for merfolk apparently, was amazing and he could only nod back and smile at him softly, understanding that his gift was accepted. His heart fluttered in his chest, an emotion different from sadness sparking up. At peace, maybe. Excited. 

If this was some fever dream, some byproduct of his own carelessness towards himself, at least it was a nice one. At least it was harmless, and at least there was some mutual understanding existing there. Keith noticed that behaviorism wasn't so different between them, and that once they understood one another, they would be as equal as any two different species can be. The boy held on to that little fact, the same stubborn way his mother and father held on to whatever got them hooked, even if it meant leaving, disappearing. Perhaps he was destined with that same fate, perhaps it's hereditary. 

It was only when he felt those curious gazes at him and wanted to melt under this uncalled for attention, that the merman finally approached, readjusting his grip on the dock carefully. The spiked appendages bit deep enough into the wood to splinter it. The man could only watch as the creature pulled himself closer. There was something sinuous in the way the muscle rippled under his skin. Keith is within reaching distance now, frozen like prey, but he didn't want to move. It was out of the question. Instead, he turned so he could face him completely, focusing on nothing more than his face and his hand on his chest.

And that was when he heard the whispers again. Sounds accumulated from centuries ago, words unspoken and voice ethereal. Keith imagined himself sleeping to this voice, and he yearned to hear his name being said in such a spiritual way. His heart hammered in his chest, and he found he could easily understand what he was communicating to him. It made him feel strange and weirdly nostalgic, though, that voice. It was familiar, but he couldn't quite pinpoint where and when he'd last heard that same heavenly tone. But, a part of him took in the sounds and translated them smoothly into words, like it was nothing at all. It was highly suspicious, but also very convenient. 

"Shiro.." he murmured, letting the name roll of his tongue, burning it into his mind. The name was enunciated with care, like speaking was a hard task right now, mostly because of how stunned he still felt being so close to this creature. It was such a sweet name for something that could kill Keith with a whim and a touch. “Call me Keith,” he replied faintly a few seconds of silence later, by habit more than anything else. His eyes trailed over the more exposed skin, and Shiro still looked huge compared to his own body, and strong. 

Though with that came the bruises, the injuries all over his chest and stomach, and not too far from his gills laid the mark of an awful bite on his shoulder. Keith didn't touch. As a rule, he hadn't since his father died because a hug and a pat on the shoulder were still too close to home and no one was leaping to hand out better. He missed it in rare moments, but he never needed it. He hadn't, until this moment. But he stopped himself, kept his hand still in place. Not now.