In person, I stayed the calm, controlled shifter they expected, never letting them see how I released it all into the waves. That part was mine alone, a quiet ritual and my only real escape. It was what reminded me why I kept doing this, even when carrying everyone else’s emotions felt like too much.
From the outside, the whole process probably seemed simple, but the truth was anything but. Stress and fear had teeth that loved to dig in, and sorrow didn’t slip easily from the body. It clung and burrowed deep until it settled into a person’s very bones and soul.
It was hard, but I had my own rules—knowing when to close the books, dim the lights, and walk down to the cove before the emotions I absorbed turned into something that could take over. And because I was very good at what I did—and, apparently, stupid enough to keep doing it—I kept the business running.
The final appointment on the books that evening had been a sea lion shifter named Curtis, whose jaw had been locked so tight for so long I briefly wondered if his teeth might crack under the pressure. He spent the first ten minutes insisting he was “perfectly fine”, as if admitting otherwise would somehow make him less put together, just another shifter in need of a simple massage, no emotional baggage at all. That illusion didn’t last—it never did—as he spent the next twenty minutes completely unraveling.
His words came in uneven bursts as my tentacles worked along his shoulders and neck, easing tension he had likely carried forweeks. The stress touched every part of his life—inventory shortages, a cousin siphoning profits from the business, and a mother who took his independence as a betrayal, convinced that moving out meant he “loved her less”. Together, it formed a heavy mix of stress and guilt.
By the time he left, his breathing had steadied, and the tension had visibly drained from his body. My tentacles took every bit of it, drawing it into me as it threaded through my own body, leaving me tight and on edge.
I remained in the treatment room after he left, my palms braced against the edge of the massage table as my tentacles stretched out behind me. They had deepened to a darker shade of orange after the day’s work, each one twitching faintly from the lingering aftereffects.
After a moment, I pulled them in—not to shift into a more human appearance, that wasn’t necessary here like it had been in Japan—but because I needed to stop watching them move while I tried to breathe through everything I had taken on that day.
I knew I would have to drain it all the moment I closed up.
Luckily, the room itself always centered me. The minimalist design, the lingering scent of salt and amber oils, and the driftwood furniture all carried the same calm, steady peace as the cove.
Suctions & Serenity sat on the quieter end of town. From the outside, the building was modest, with frosted glass windows, a carved wooden sign shaped like a curling wave, and wind chimes strung with shell and silver wire that Minainsistedmade the place feel “peaceful.”
Inside, everything was intentional, from the low golden lighting to the dark cedar walls that blended with the scent of amber and salt in the air. The shop itself was simple, just four rooms: a space for clients beforeand after, the treatment room, my office, and the waiting room, where Mina seemed determined to make it feel like home, adding her own touches every now and then whenever she decided to “decorate.”
Even with the kitschy knickknacks she brought in, I worked hard to maintain a sense of calm throughout the space. It was deliberate, necessary even, because if I was going to spend my days absorbing so many emotions, I needed somewhere to steady myself that didn’t require running to the waves after every single client.
The floorboards creaked lightly behind me, a soft, familiar sound that didn’t require me to turn to identify it. Mina had a particular way of moving, quiet but not subtle, like a tide rolling in under fog, smooth but impossible to ignore. It was probably the sea serpent in her, graceful, fluid, and entirely incapable of being overlooked. Mina never did anything halfway, and that was exactly what made her the best secretary and employee I had—my only one, for that matter,because hell,one of her was more than enough for me to handle.
“You look deeply thrilled to be alive,” she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, no surprise there.
I straightened slowly, rolling one shoulder as I glanced back at her. She leaned casually against the doorway, a stack of freshly folded towels balanced on one hip. Her long hair, silver threaded with deep green, was braided loosely, tiny pearlescent beads woven through it that caught the candlelight each time she shifted. Her skin carried that faint blue-green undertone common among sea serpent shifters, and there was always something subtly luminous about her,as if she had been shaped from moonlight and seawater and just a touch too much curiosity.
She had been working for me for three years now, the only employee I had ever taken on. At the time, it had been less of a choice and more of a necessity. My first year in Crescent Cove had been... overwhelming. I had come here from Okinawa expecting solace and a slower life, just me and my spa where people could come to relax while I did the same and made a profit off the atmosphere.
Instead, word of what I could do spread quickly, and suddenly I was booked solid, day after day. Appointments, requests, paperwork—all of it piling on top of the work I was already doing. The irony wasn’t lost on me, being overwhelmed by stress while running a business designed to take it away from others. It would have been funny if I actually had the energy to laugh at the end of a long day.
I wasn’t trying to hide my ability. I knew it was what made me the most money, but I had no idea how much people in Crescent Cove were carrying. That was when Mina stepped in, just before I burned out completely. She took over the calls, the scheduling, and the endless stream of requests that never seemed to slow. She handled the clients, charmed them, and managed everything I had no interest in. I kept things minimal—small talk when needed, and even then it was always about the task at hand. Mina, however, talked toeveryone, and unfortunately, that included me, too.
She had long since accepted that I preferred quiet, that I didn’t need conversation to fill every empty moment. Silence, for me, was something to be respected, but unfortunately, Mina had never quite embraced that idea. She treated it more like a suggestion, one she felt free to ignorewhenever it suited her. And judging by the look on her face now, this was going to be one of those times.
“I was,” I said flatly. “Then you came in.”
She smiled, entirely too pleased with herself, like my irritation was a personal victory. “Good. Then you still have enough energy left to pretend not to be rude,” she replied, shifting her weight against the doorframe. “Which means I can give you the news.”
“No,” I said dryly, my head already starting to throb.
“You don’t even know what the news is.”
“If you’re smiling like that, it’s definitely bad.”
“It’s not bad,” she insisted. “Maybe just a little... inconvenient.”
I turned fully toward her, reaching for the folded linen at the end of the table so I had something to do with my hands besides pressing my fingers into my temples. “We're closed.”
“Wewereclosed.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
