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Pantalone feels watched.
He’s felt watched since he stepped out onto the beach for the first time, bare feet sinking into the hot sand. The sun is beating down on him. He’s always been watched, but it was never as intense as this inescapable staring. There have always been eyes on him, gawking and ogling him like he’s a piece of fresh meat. First, because of how ragged he looked. Now, because of his wealth and undeniable physical appeal.
This staring… It’s different. He doesn’t feel envied, nor does he feel judged.
The watchful gaze feels ravenous.
He wrings his hands nervously and stops himself from glancing out at the ocean. To be quite honest, he’s afraid of what he might find if he stares out at the glimmering horizon for too long.
He’s heard stories. Stories of sailors being called into the boundless waters in the dead of the night, only to disappear and never be found again. He’s heard of creatures as large as whales, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for unsuspecting prey to drag them down. He’s heard stories of the abyssal deep that stretch back centuries.
The Abyss, the locals call it.
They say that all the creatures of the sea, whether they live in it or crawl out of it, come from the Abyss. Wretched monsters that reek of deathly catastrophe. That’s how they’re described.
Pantalone never quite feared them until the little boy who lived just by the water went missing. His dagger was found half-buried in the sand, forgotten just like he was.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Pantalone sees the water completely still, sunlight shining off the glassy top, and his heart jumps into his throat. Goosebumps rise on his arms as he subconsciously takes three steps back, away from where the ocean meets land. Away from where dangers lurked.
He’s certain water doesn’t do that, usually.
He’s really not sure why the town hasn’t closed off the beach. Sure, it attracts tourists who care so little for their lives and think the stories to be myths, but it’s really not worth risking everyone else’s safety. Who knows when a tourist will irritate something enough to have it come onto land to wreak havoc?
Never mind that Pantalone, himself not being from the nearby towns, is walking alone along the beach.
It’s not like strange things haven’t happened to him, either. Throughout the years that he’s been around, things have always gone missing. A charm on his keys, given to him by a potential suitor, had disappeared once. The engagement ring his now-ex-fiancé had gifted him magically vanished another time. Even the rings on his fingers would always go missing anytime he set foot in the water.
Then, there was that one time he was nearly drowned by some bastard who was a little too jealous of him. Whether it was for his money or the people who fawned after him that triggered his wrath, Pantalone hadn’t wondered about that too much, more preoccupied with fighting for his life. It was nothing short of a miracle that he got out relatively unharmed, save for the small scar on his forehead from the struggle.
The guy was found a week later, bloated and pruned, his white rotting skin peeling off his body. Pantalone hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from the yellowed corpse that had been recovered from the water, face down. It wasn’t like he was recognizable anyway. He looked like a lion—or something—had mauled him. There were gashes stretching from limb to limb, and his face looked like someone had attempted to tear it off.
Pantalone thinks he threw up. He can’t remember.
At some point, he just stopped making contact with the ocean. He can’t seem to stay away, though, like something kept calling him back. His feet in the sand are enough proof of it.
The feeling of staring still hasn't gone away.
He gulps and glances back at the path leading through the trees. He should leave. He’s starting to feel that signature apprehension settling over him like a blanket of thorns, prickling at his skin like it always did whenever he lingered a little too long. He should get out before something happens. He just knows there’s something waiting right around the corner. But surely it wouldn’t attack in broad daylight?
A breeze ruffles his loose linen clothes.
Join me.
Pantalone’s head snaps back around. His eyes frantically scan the beach. There’s no one else but him. What—
Riches beyond your imagination.
Now he knows he’s hearing things. The whispering is right in his ear, right in his head, echoing as if it were shouted into a cave. Pantalone feels his heart hammering in his chest. What is he supposed to do? Should he ignore it? This has never happened to him before.
Come in. The water’s nice.
The water.
A fog fills his mind. All his thoughts blur. He can’t seem to think for himself.
It’s safe.
Pantalone finds his head slowly turning to the ocean, against his will.
There’s someone staring at him.
There’s a pair of eyes staring directly at him just above the unnatural stillness of the water. Flashing red pierces right through him. The feeling of being watched doubles in intensity, and Pantalone’s shriek gets caught in his throat. It’s like the cloud in his mind has forced its way down to his throat to suppress his cry for help.
Against the glare of the sun, he can see a wicked grin spread across the thing’s face, all pointed teeth.
It’s a mer. A creature of the Abyss.
Pantalone tries to run back to the path. His feet guide him towards the water.
Come join me.
Never in his years of visiting this rumour-filled beach has he heard the whispers of one of those cursed beasts from the Abyss. Never has he felt the pull on his mind, reeling him in and sucking absolutely all of the fight out of him.
It’s not a horrible feeling.
Red eyes with spiralling white irises stare at Pantalone, unblinking. The thing’s grinning face doesn’t budge either.
It just stares.
Dazed, Pantalone feels the sand dip under his feet as he takes step after step forward, getting closer and closer to the water. No matter how much he knows this is wrong and dangerous, he can’t seem to form another coherent thought through the muddiness of his mind.
He’s just a step away from touching the ocean when a particularly large wave washes onto his feet.
Suddenly, there are overlapping whispers and clicks and trills, and it’s overwhelming, but all he can hear is—
Come to me.
Pantalone just barely has time to hold his breath before the force in him yanks him deeper into the ocean, just as the hold on his mind releases magically. He gets completely submerged, and he has to screw his eyes closed to keep the saltwater out. Panic surging now that he can think straight, Pantalone flails and bubbles escape out of his mouth when he yelps in surprise at the current changing around him.
Whatever is circling him lazily is large, and he feels like cornered prey. The mer looping circles around and around him is definitely a predator, and almost—if Pantalone had to put a word to the behaviour it was displaying—catlike. It’s toying with him. Something brushes against his bare ankle, smooth. It feels like the stingrays he’d briefly touched in the petting tank when he was younger.
He prays to the gods that the stories of people disappearing are exaggerated.
Pantalone moves his leg away with the subtlest movement possible. He mustn’t be too deep in the water if he can still see faint sunlight through his eyelids. He pushes himself up with his hands but freezes when the creature tightens the circle, and Pantalone can feel it swimming with how close it is.
He’s not sure how much longer he can hold his breath.
It’s getting darker and darker, and his lungs are burning for air.
Suddenly, it clicks that the creature is waiting for him to pass out. It brushes against Pantalone at random intervals, clicking and wailing forlornly. He’s not sure what the sounds mean. Pantalone feels claws as sharp as knives brush against his neck, barely grazing. He still jerks back.
Bad idea.
Everything happens too quickly for him to think his actions through.
Pantalone moves back too suddenly. The claw pierces his skin and slices cleanly. The mer didn’t get his jugular or any other important artery, but he feels the wound seep out blood, and that speeds up his pulse. It seems the monster patiently waiting for him to drown (or whatever) senses it, too, because it goes still.
There’s something very wrong about the sudden lack of movement.
Pantalone takes that opportunity to kick up, desperate for oxygen and to get away from the horror whose appearance he doesn’t even know. He only manages one push upward before a monstrously large hand—if he could even call it that—shoots up, wraps around his calf, and yanks him down.
He hears his gurgling scream.
A feral snarl rings out perfectly, even underwater, too close to him for his comfort.
At the sudden sound, he gasps, and water rushes into his lungs. Instinctively, Pantalone snaps open his eyes as he tries to cough. Even worse idea.
What he sees when he looks down is a large creature that faintly resembles a shark. It’s huge and looks about what he expected from a mer, with the top half of its body humanoid and the tail of a sea creature. Tattered fins line its tail, and another large one sits atop its back. Surprisingly, dull pink scales freckle its collar and scatter down along its torso. On its sides, two large sets of gills flutter as the creature tilts its head up, mesmeric eyes boring into Pantalone.
What startles Pantalone the most is the monster of the deep’s distinctly human face.
Pastel blue hair swirls around in the water, framing its blue-grey face that Pantalone would have pegged to be a forty-year-old man’s. Hypnotic red eyes that seem to swirl like an optical illusion meet his own eyes, and the thing bares its teeth in that sharp grin again.
Then Pantalone feels pressure build in his ears, and he realizes two things. One: he’s being pulled deeper into the ocean. Two: he’s going to pass out.
The claws tighten around his leg. There are going to be marks from that, he thinks deliriously, before his body gives up on him.
Everything goes black.
Pantalone can’t remember much of what happened between losing consciousness and waking up. What he can remember is being dragged to the bottom of the ocean.
He jolts up and winces at the soreness in his back. He’s not as young as he used to be, that’s for sure. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. The air feels damp, and everything smells like sea salt, with a tint of something rotting. He’s not particularly eager to find out.
Then, realizing he’s not in immediate danger, Pantalone takes a second to get his bearings.
He’s somewhat intact.
There’s something slimy over the side of his neck where he was nicked by the creature, almost like a cream. It’s sticky, and Pantalone refrains from touching it too much. His clothes are muddy and soaked, clinging wetly to his skin, but they’re completely fine. That’s… strange. He expected the struggle to have at least torn his pant legs.
Whatever that monster is, it’s definitely careful with him.
Pantalone trails his fingers down to his calf, where he remembers it gripping his leg, claws digging into his skin. He can barely see them, but there are faint marks imprinted on his pale skin. It’s not sore. Nothing is, actually, except maybe his throat and back, but the latter is typical.
His throat must be sore from hacking up all that water in his lungs. Again, it’s a miracle he survived. Whatever that mer is, it seems it’s not seeking to harm him, or it would’ve already done so.
He takes the chance to squint into his surroundings now that he knows he’s not about to die. The room—that’s what he’s calling it for lack of other words—is dark. There’s glowing goop in some areas, a deep chrome purple. There are small lights hung on the ceiling and on stalagmites that rise from the ground.
Stalagmites?
Pantalone blinks to clear away the fog in his vision.
The darkness lifts just enough for him to understand that he’s in a cave. The lights are bioluminescent plants stuck to the rocks.
He clears his throat and ignores the burn of it. It echoes back at him. Okay, so the cave isn’t too large. His palms are starting to get clammy as the realization of his predicament dawns on him. How far below the water’s surface is he? Where is he? Does anyone know he’s gone?
No. No one knows. It’s not like anyone would care either.
There’s a sudden splash of water a little ways from where he lies.
Pantalone tenses up again and shrinks back onto the “bed”. Somehow, that’s the only thing that doesn’t seem horribly wet. Pantalone gingerly brushes his finger against it and finds that it’s actually quite soft on top. It’s almost like a blanket.
A gurgle comes from his left.
He hesitates. He doesn’t think he should call out to it because it might irritate it or trigger something. But— He’s already made a sound. Whatever’s out there knows that he’s awake and alive. What does it want from him?
“Hello?”
Hello, the cave whispers back to him in his own voice.
Of course. It’s a creature of the Abyss. Why would it reply?
There’s another sound of water being agitated, then a heavy sound of skin hitting something flat.
Pantalone whips his head around to his left, only to see the creature hauling itself onto a slight platform. It’s still half submerged underwater, long tail swaying back and forth, causing little waves to lap against the floor. Those red eyes are fixed on Pantalone. When he accidentally makes eye contact with it, that Cheshire grin is back.
He can’t look away, even as the monster sets two large hands on the stone in front of it. Its claws dig into the crannies in the ground to stabilize it. The faint light of the plants hanging around it makes its pale grey skin look almost blue. It croons at Pantalone, but it sounds raspy and guttural.
Pantalone’s not quite sure what to make of this thing that practically just kidnapped him.
“What do you want?”
It tilts its head. Perfectly dry hair tumbles over its face. Yeah, Pantalone’s not sure why he was expecting it to reply.
Then the smile widens.
“My beautiful specimen,” it purrs in a rumbling voice. The sound of it grates at Pantalone’s nerves, and not in an irritating way.
“Me?” Pantalone somehow snorts despite the suffocating fear and sheer shock at the thing actually being able to speak the human tongue. “I’m nobody’s. Especially not yours, you— What are you?”
“Unimportant,” it replies simply. Its voice is masculine, and it speaks with a thick accent that is anything but human. “What I am is unimportant,” it continues. “Who I am, you will be much more interested in.”
It moves its hands from the ground to its jaw, cupping its cheeks and batting its tail. The pose reminds Pantalone of a little girl kicking her feet as she lies on her bed. It’s eerily human. It makes his skin crawl.
Pantalone pulls his knees a little closer to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible. “And who are you?”
“Dottore! I am he who—”
Before he can stop himself, Pantalone blurts out, “Seriously?”
Irritation flickers in the monster’s eyes. The white spirals seem to spin faster as the aggravation settles in. “What?”
You’re ridiculous, Pantalone thinks.
“Nothing,” he mutters instead. He must admit: he’s afraid of angering the monster. It’s not like he has anything to live for, but to die in a cave to some legendary monster would just be pathetic. He eyes Dottore, as he calls himself, and watches him smile in that wild way.
“Your eyes are like jewels,” Dottore whispers in a way that slips into Pantalone’s head and clouds his thoughts again. “I want them.”
Pantalone’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean it in an envious way.
“I need them to see,” he forces out. It’s a struggle to piece together any thought.
Dottore tilts his head the other way, contemplative. “No, you do not,” he says with a shake of his head. “You will never need to see again. I will be your eyes.”
The words hang above Pantalone like an executioner’s axe.
He changes the subject. “You dragged me down here. You almost drowned me and— Saved me at the same time?”
“I took what was mine.”
He grips the soft blankets tightly. “I’m not yours. I don’t even know you.”
“We will have plenty of time. Forever. An eternity!” Dottore’s red eyes glint, and he pulls himself a little higher onto the ledge. Pantalone briefly wonders if he has a human form. “You can take your whole life to know me.”
“I don’t want that!”
“You do not have a choice,” Dottore snarls.
He heaves himself onto the floor, and the scene that unfolds in front of Pantalone’s eyes, he doesn’t think he can even process it. Dottore’s body shrinks, and his tail splits into two. It looks like his writhing body is cracking and crumbling bit by bit. Pantalone thinks the bones are rearranging themselves. What else would that sickly crunching noise be?
When Dottore rises from his knees, he’s no longer a monster from the Abyss but a regular middle-aged man, just like Pantalone had guessed. His blue hair is the exact same, but his skin has changed from a pale grey to a rich tan. He’s dressed in clothes similar to Pantalone’s, old linen draping over him loosely. Dottore’s eyes are still that same shocking red. However, his unique irises are missing. Now, his eyes look relatively normal, albeit a little sunken, like he hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest in a year.
He looks incredibly… human. Pantalone guesses his unasked question has been answered.
Dottore also looks irritated.
He takes a few staggering steps towards Pantalone before seeming to find his balance. Then he stalks right up to the bed and gets way too close for comfort.
“I have waited for you for years,” Dottore proclaims fervently. Pantalone notices that he kept his sharp teeth. “I have watched you all those years. Every time you walked along that beach, I was there. I was watching. You are a beautiful creature, you know that? I want to pick you apart, limb by limb, piece by piece. You are mesmerizing. It took me too long to finally get a hold of you. Now, you are mine to keep.”
“I— I’m flattered,” he says dumbly, “but I truly want nothing to do with you. You’re a stranger.”
Stranger is an understatement.
Dottore wrinkles his nose in distaste and leans a little closer. He’s so close that Pantalone can feel the surprising chill of his body. His hands are planted on either side of Pantalone’s legs, caging him in, as he looms over him. Pantalone can smell blood on Dottore, mixing with the salty tang of ocean water. There’s also another wretched odour he doesn’t recognize, but it makes his head spin with nausea.
“What is stranger are those people who follow you around like dogs. They think they are yours and that you are theirs.” Dottore shakes his head like he just thought of something awful. “You are foolish to think that they only mean well.”
“I know they don’t,” Pantalone retorts.
Dottore makes a noise in the back of his throat, guttural and disgruntled. “Then you are a fool for allowing them so close to you,” he says and raises a hand—his claws have turned to perfectly manicured nails—to Pantalone’s face.
He flinches away, hesitating, but Dottore presses on. He touches a deceitfully gentle finger to Pantalone’s forehead. It feels like an ice cube has just been placed against his bare skin. Dottore reverently traces his finger down Pantalone’s tiny scar, his face a mix of sickening admiration and barely-contained fury.
“That man will never hurt you again,” he promises.
It sounds like a threat.
Pantalone swallows thickly. His face is burning at Dottore’s proximity and at the freezing touch tracing his scar. Disgust pools in his stomach.
“I know. He’s been dead for a while.”
For some reason, Dottore brightens at that. “Yes. He has been. And the others?”
“What others?”
“The others who thought they could have you.”
Pantalone’s eye twitches in irritation. “What does it matter to you? They’re gone. They left a long time ago. I’ve lost my use for them, so I got rid of them.”
Apparently, that’s not satisfying enough because Dottore reels back. “Then why,” he snarls, “do you keep these trinkets?”
Dottore hand balls into a fist. Pantalone thinks for a second that he’s going to die until Dottore opens his hand. All of Pantalone’s old missing jewelry and accessories come tumbling out of his hand, like magic. He can’t help but gape.
That’s where all his things went?
“You— You stole my engagement ring?” Pantalone tries not to think about how that’s the most shocking thing to him, and not the fact that this man—thing—has been stalking him for years. “Do you know how much that cost? How much I could have sold it for?”
“Your human currency does not matter anymore. You will not need it down here,” Dottore shoots back and picks up the glittering diamond ring. He brings it up to his eye, inspecting it. It seems he decides it’s not interesting enough because he flicks it into the water. It falls in with a little sploosh.
“Wait—!”
Without thinking, Pantalone shoves Dottore off of him and dives after the ring. He plunges headfirst into the chilly water, hand stretching out to snatch up the rapidly sinking jewel. He doesn't know why he went after it. Maybe some little part of him still cherishes expensive things despite having all the money he could ever want.
There’s a louder splash above him just as his fingers wrap around the tiny shine that almost disappeared into the murky depths. Sharp claws hook into the collar of his shirt, and he feels himself being dragged back upwards.
Expectedly, Pantalone is unceremoniously dumped onto the cold stone floor. A weight lands on top of him, cold as ice, forcing the air out of him in a quiet wheeze. That’s slightly unexpected.
“Get off of me,” he hisses at Dottore, who’s reverted to his original form. His hands scrabble to shove him off, but they just slide off his slippery skin. Gods, why is he so heavy?
“What are you doing?”
Pantalone punches him. It doesn’t affect Dottore at all. “You can’t just throw my belongings into the water!”
Dottore grabs his arms roughly, careful with his claws, and pins them down above his head. “Is it really yours? I do not see that little—” He makes an unintelligible noise that doesn’t sound earthly. It’s probably a curse. “—anywhere around you. I have not, for years. Have you not—what is the word—broken him?”
“Broken up with him? Yes, I did. That still doesn’t make it okay to just throw people’s stuff around like that.”
“Why do you care?” Dottore echoes Pantalone’s own words back at him. “You did not care when I first took it.”
“Because it’s expensive. Now I know it’s not actually been lost and I can take it back and pawn it, so get off of me!” He thrashes futilely for another few moments. “Archons above, you are so—”
“Abnormal? Inhuman?”
Pantalone grimaces. “Annoying.” He flexes his wrists under Dottore’s firm grip and finds that he can hardly move them. Damn it. “Why were you even taking my stuff? Why’d you take me? What are you going to do with me?”
“Many questions. I have answers. I simply need you not fight, and I will answer all that you ask if I can,” Dottore says.
Something about him makes distrust churn in Pantalone. He takes the bait.
“Okay,” he breathes out and forces his body to go limp. “I’ll cooperate.”
Dottore understands that he needs to keep his distance, so Pantalone crawls back onto the bed and eyes him suspiciously from where he’s lurking in the water. From there, the exchange goes slightly better. Pantalone learns that Dottore never meant to grow obsessed with him and that he was just captivated by his intricacies one day, then proceeded to never move on from this man, who didn’t even know he existed.
Dottore had taken Pantalone’s things because he thought it would notify Pantalone of his presence, and maybe, maybe, he would’ve finally paid attention to him.
Then he’d taken Pantalone because he needed him so desperately by his side, no longer satisfied with watching from afar.
And finally, Dottore simply plans on keeping him in the cave for the rest of his life.
Pantalone doesn’t want to think about that.
He also learns that Dottore was the one who’d mutilated his attacker. He learns about it in excruciating detail, as if the corpse that had turned up on the beach wasn’t enough. Pantalone’s not sure if he should be grateful, disgusted, or concerned for his own fate should he anger Dottore.
“I would never ruin you,” Dottore assures.
Pantalone doesn’t feel reassured.
After a curt chat that only causes Pantalone’s suppressed panic to rise, Dottore disappears back into the darkness of the water with a flick of his tail. That leaves Pantalone to compose himself.
He doesn’t.
He breaks down, hyperventilating.
Sevens, there’s no one waiting for him up there. There’s no one who cares about him, aside from Dottore, and he’s a monster who literally kidnapped and almost killed him. That says a lot about his current situation. He’s not sure how he can get out either. It’s not like he can see in the dark like Dottore can, not to mention that he would catch Pantalone before he could even try to escape.
Pantalone doesn’t know how deep in the ocean he is, or if he’s even in an earthly realm anymore. For all he knows, he could be in the Abyss if Dottore dragged him down that deep into the core of the world. He might die from isolation in the Abyss.
That’s an even less comforting thought.
A sick, twisted part of him just wants to stay. Maybe being Dottore’s little prisoner-eye-candy would be better than what awaits him up on the surface. The whispers of his mind trickle back in slowly. They remind him in familiar voices that he’s worthless without his money. Look at him: he gets caught, and what does he have left? Nothing.
He is nothing without his earthly riches. There is no one there for him. He has no one he looks forward to seeing again.
You are alone in this world, a distantly familiar voice reminds him.
Pantalone slaps his hands over his ears as if that will stop the whispers. He tells himself that it’s not true, that he’s so much more than his material wealth. He’s more than that. He whispers this to himself over and over again, breathing shallowly.
It doesn’t really help.
By the time he even slightly calms down, he’s dehydrated and exhausted.
Pantalone just hopes that his sanity will last him long enough to convince Dottore to free him.
It doesn’t.
On his third week trapped in that grim cave, Pantalone thinks he’s going to kill himself.
He knows how he’s going to do it. He knows why he’s going to do it. It’s not like there’s anything left to live for. There are sharp rocks everywhere. There is a perfect killing machine always lurking in the corner of his eyes. Hell, the water that almost killed him weeks ago is right there. It wouldn’t be hard.
He could also just starve himself. He hasn’t been feeling hungry these past few days, even if Dottore has carefully brought him his preferred foods. He won’t drink either, no matter how thirsty he feels. It’s like his body won’t obey him.
So it wouldn’t be hard not to make an effort anymore.
Pantalone feels detached from his body. Every move he makes feels delayed, and he’s starting to see things that aren’t there. He’s losing his mind; he knows it.
Pantalone holds a bejewelled dagger in his right hand and holds out his left arm in front of himself. It’s kind of ironic that he’s going to do this with something Dottore gifted him.
Dottore has gifted him many things throughout the weeks. He showers him with shiny trinkets that must cost a fortune up on the surface since most of them are lost antiques. The gifts would be flattering if they didn’t feel so condescending.
It isn’t always so bad. Pantalone has complicated feelings about the Abyssal monster. Maybe it’s just an effect of him being trapped in this grisly cave for nearly a month, but he’s gotten used to Dottore’s presence around him. Sometimes, he wakes to claws carding through his hair gently, like he’s a little doll. Other times, he eats silently as hypnotic eyes watch him from the water, looking at him like he hung all the stars in the sky.
He tries not to think about the people who know him distantly up on the surface. He tries to distract himself from the knowledge that people have died at Dottore’s hands. It’s Pantalone’s fault, really. If he hadn’t kept allowing people to think they had a shot, nobody would have died.
The dagger glistens as he shifts his wrist and readies himself.
Nobody has ever looked at him like Dottore has. He has never been someone’s precious treasure; always just a goal to achieve—his body, his money, and his titles were always just something to conquer. This monster has never made an advance on Pantalone. He just keeps him around like something to be guarded.
It’s flattering. Pantalone would be a liar if he said he didn’t preen at the twisted affections sometimes.
But every time he finds himself smiling at the creature’s attention, a wave of disgust rushes over him. He’s being held captive. He has no autonomy over himself here. He’s just another trophy to another beastly being who thinks he can own him.
He can’t do this anymore.
There’s a movement in his peripheral vision, and Pantalone immediately whirls towards it, heart speeding up until he can hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
“Who’s there?”
“Who else?” that voice replies dryly.
Dottore slinks out from behind a stalagmite, a dry bag of food hanging from his fingers. He’s in his human form. Pantalone learned that he feels less anxious when Dottore’s in that form. Something about that rubs him wrong.
Pantalone slides the dagger under a blanket. “I’m not hungry,” he murmurs.
“Humans are supposed to eat. The previous ones I took down here told me so.”
If that isn’t a disturbing comment, Pantalone doesn’t know what is. There’s another twinge in his chest that he doesn’t like. What others? He isn’t the first?
He feels the blankets and fabrics dip by his feet and hears a crinkle of paper. He peers at Dottore, who blinks back at him with big eyes. He’s gone most of the day, leaving Pantalone in isolation with nothing to do. It’s like he doesn’t know how to properly deal with humans. It’s almost expected.
There’s a moment of silence. It gets uncomfortable when the expression on Dottore’s face changes.
“What were you doing?” he asks, eyes pinned on a spot by Pantalone’s hand.
“Nothing. As always.”
They both lunge for the dagger at the same time.
Unfortunately for Pantalone, Dottore is much faster. He whips it out from under the blanket and, before Pantalone can even blink, he’s holding it to his neck. Dottore keeps Pantalone pinned down to the bed by his chest, eyes narrowed. Pantalone can’t even move to run the dagger through his neck because of how heavy Dottore is.
“What do you think you were doing? Must I repeat that you are not allowed to leave? This behaviour is intriguing, but it is irritating. Do you not know that you are to stay here forever?”
Well, that just causes the dams to burst.
Tears pour out of Pantalone’s eyes as he begins to bawl. It’s unlike him, he knows. He’s always calm, composed, even in the face of death. But in the face of someone who means to keep him, who cherishes him even in their cruel way, he can’t seem to control himself. Maybe he’s also just too far gone.
Pantalone lets it all out.
He tells Dottore that he can’t handle another moment in the damp cave. He tells him that he can’t live like this; he can’t live at all. There’s no one waiting on the surface; there’s no reason to go back up; there’s no reason to stay down here. He admits that he loves the attention Dottore gives him and the care he shows him. It’s not something anyone has done for Pantalone before, but it’s not something he can handle. He doesn’t want to be an ornament in the background, and he doesn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts.
He just can’t take it anymore.
As he listens, Dottore slowly removes the dagger from his throat with a complicated expression and lets Pantalone collapse into his arms.
They sit on the makeshift bed together, Pantalone curled up in Dottore’s arms. Dottore doesn’t say anything. It’s not like Pantalone cares about that either, preoccupied with sobbing until he passes out from the mental and physical fatigue.
When he wakes up, nothing changes.
It’s the same cycle.
Dottore disappears for hours, comes back with something Pantalone doesn’t need, and eyes him like he’s a curious experiment. Pantalone paces for hours, stares at the sharp rocks littering the floor, and crawls back to the bed to erase the thoughts that plague him.
He doesn’t move for days except to eat a little and drink whatever Dottore brings him.
Then, one day, Dottore walks back in with nothing in his hands. He looks tired. Bored, even. He looks Pantalone right in the eyes.
Join me.
And the whispers return to Pantalone’s mind like a buzzing hive of wasps. The white noise cancels out all other thoughts. Pantalone feels his body obey Dottore’s commands weightlessly. His feet jerkily drag him to the water where Dottore has already dived in, shifting back to his Abyssal form. There’s a distant look in the creature’s eyes.
Through the fog in his mind, Pantalone feels his heart ache when he realizes that Dottore isn’t looking at him with those starry, attentive eyes anymore.
Then his feet touch the water, and everything goes dark again.
His eyes crack open to find a full moon shining down on him. Waves gently lap at his head, pushing and pulling his hair with the tide. His clothes are filled with muddy sand and water, and he feels the coarseness of the grains rubbing at his skin.
Wait—
The moon!
Pantalone sits upright, wincing at how it makes his head spin.
Did… Dottore let him go? Finally? Was all it took one pathetic attempt at death?
He wrings the water out of his hair, dizzy, and struggles to his feet. On his left hip, he feels something weighted. When he glances down, he finds that there’s a pouch tied around his waist. Fear sinks into him. What’s in there? With shaky hands, he pulls apart the pouch.
There are just little jewels and trinkets. He recognizes one of them as a ring Dottore had stolen years ago. He slips it onto his left ring finger.
Pantalone looks back out at the glistening water and wonders why Dottore let him go. What happened to “forever” and staying there for an “eternity”? Was all of that just talk, or did Dottore really hope that would be the case? Either way, he’s out of that miserable cave, and he never wants to go back.
He looks ahead, up at the beach, exhaustion making his body go slack. He could walk away right now and never look back. He’s free.
But he thinks of the gentle way Dottore held him and of how he always bent to his whims to get him whatever he wanted in hopes of keeping him comfortable. He thinks of that look Dottore used to give him, the one where he felt like he was worth more than every treasure in this wretched world.
He disgusts himself. He was a captive, not a lover. What does it matter that he did not say goodbye?
With a final look at the ocean, Pantalone gathers himself.
On trembling legs, he drags himself back into town, where the locals will find him the next morning, unconscious and dehydrated. They’ll nurse him back to health and warn him not to go down to the beach again. He’ll listen to them and continue about his life.
But he won’t forget those red, spiralling eyes.
It takes him two years to summon the courage to walk back to that beach.
Pantalone stands a good distance away from the water and stares out at the horizon. He’s not sure why he returned. He’s even wearing the same clothes as he was the day he was dragged to the depths of the ocean. On his hand, the ring burns, a reminder of what transpired.
The moon reflects off the surface of the water, pure white. The water doesn’t ripple even as a breeze blows.
It’s a lie that he doesn’t know why he’s here.
Pantalone misses Dottore.
It’s disgusting, but he does. He misses the attention that he was given, and he misses the look in Dottore’s eyes when he smiled at him. In the two years he was away, he’d have dreams of being underwater. He dreamt of those bioluminescent plants hanging on the stalactites above him like his own ceiling of constellations. He dreamt of Dottore wrapped around him possessively, cold from the water, but warm like he was real. Pantalone misses being his captive.
A sudden gust of wind howls in his ears.
The water hasn’t rippled.
He squints at the water and finds that there’s a shadow against the moon. Then he notices it.
Gleaming red eyes stare at him, twinkling once more. A small smirk pulls at his lips, teeth peeking out.
Pantalone smiles stiffly.
Dottore grins the way Pantalone hates.
That’s when he realizes that, in the depths of the ocean, where Abyssal creatures linger like stains on a white shirt, he can be loved in a way that the surface could never offer him.