His home is cold when he finally arrives. As is the gust of air that blows in his face when he opens the door to his fridge and finds it empty. With a sigh, he lets himself fall back onto his kitchen chair, the rattan creaking under his weight. “Of course,” he breathes, eyes falling close, “Of course, it’d be empty. Naoki, you idiot.” His stomach grumbles; the sound loud and grating in its anger. “Qixa,” he mumbles as he stands back up, “Fine.”
“Back so soon, Naoki, dear?”
Pouting, Naoki shifts on the spot in front of his aunt’s opened door. He feels his stomach gurgle again at the mouthwatering smell coming out of her kitchen — Naoki would recognize the smell of fresh fish anywhere. His hands fiddle with his shirt as his aunt continues to look down at him, eyebrow raised. It’s obvious that she won’t let him in without an explanation.
“Yeah.”
— or an admission.
Her laughter echoes throughout the night and Naoki releases a sigh of relief when she finally waves him in. Kicking off his shoes, he watches her pause briefly in front of the shrine, pressing out the flame of his candle with two fingers. He swallows down any complaints, hurrying down the hallway into the kitchen without a second glance. Naturally, his eyes are drawn to the table, already set for three people. Naoki’s head swivels around. “You knew I was going to come?”
“Of course, I knew,” Laulis places her own bowl on the table, “When have you ever remembered to buy enough food for the week, Naoki?”
“Hey, I, uh,” Naoki protests, before the smell of food reaches his nostrils again. His mouth snaps shut. “Actually, nevermind. You’re right.” Without another word, he fills up his bowl and sits down. He hears her laugh as she passes him to sit down.
“At least you remembered to do your laundry.”
He swallows down his response, instead opting to focus on the food in front of him. Pressing his talon caps onto his thumb and two fingers, wooden ring fitting snugly up to the first joint, he digs in. The eel melts in his mouth, flavours travelling up to the corners of his taste buds. He moans, only then realising that he’s closed his eyes in pure delight. When he opens them, he’s met by the amused face of his aunt’s, lip twitching at its corner.
“Do you remember,” she's holding back laughter, “when you used to catch these for dinner? You always loved the eels the most.”
He loved the eel— Sputtering, Naoki feels the way the food stays stuck in his throat, lodging itself into it like a heavy stone. Eels? With their sharp teeth, long slimy body, darting towards you when you grab at them just like— He reaches for the water next to him. Its salty taste travels down his throat, a cool and welcome reprieve. At his Cytau’s questioning look, he swallows. “Where’d you get them?” He mumbles, avoiding her eyes.
“Kanai came over earlier today,” still eyeing him, “he told me his child keeps asking about you.” Naoki feels himself freeze. “Lex has been very worried, you know? They're all alone in the Bucket now and you haven’t talked to them at all ever since you came back. You should really call them back. You used to talk every day, do you remember?”
His eyes catch on the glass, water still rippling from the force he used to put it back down. He can still feel the salt on his tongue; not as potent as the ocean it came from, but clearly there; Sweet and bitter, cleansing and not oppressing, or filled with danger. Not like the sea that he swam in when he saw whatever it was that he saw or whatever it could be, whatever he imagined it to be, his childhood mind somehow catching up to him. It couldn’t possibly be the same thing.
He is thrown out of his thoughts when his aunt clears her throat.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Do you still have the box that you put all of my old stuff in?” Naoki swallows, “The drawings and all?”
Startled, Laulis takes a moment too long to answer. “Oh,” the sound is barely audible, before perking up, “I almost forgot all about that! I should have it somewhere. Just a moment.” Standing up, she wanders out of sight. In her place, a Qomiat jumps onto the chair and reaches for the fish.
“Oy, you menace,” Naoki jumps up and tries to grab its paws. Jumping out of his reach, Xi’a slinks away and lands right next to the empty bowl at the other side of the table. The stolen fish plops right into it, the Qomiat raising its head in a silent challenge. Naoki sighs. “Named appropriately, I see.”
Xi’a clicks, rumbles, before digging in. It’s comforting somehow, more familiar than anything else has been ever since he’s come back. He watches the Qomiat eat and when it finishes, curls his tongue to release a loud clicking noise. Perking up, the animal bounces over to him to rub its sleek fur against Naoki’s face, making him sputter. “Not that close,” he attempts to push it out of the way, only to receive a tail right to his face. Xi’a seems to snicker before sniffing at his bowl, paws dangerously close to his own piece of fish. He gives it a look.
“Where have you even been tonight?” He asks, brushing a hand over its head to push it away once more. “No sight of you the whole night and then you’re here as soon as there’s a fish to steal,” he trails off. Fish. Now there’s an idea. It could work, he thinks and abandons that thought as soon as it appears. No need to contemplate something as ridiculous as that.
A box is placed onto the table with a loud tud.
“I found it,” Laulis says before eyeing him with suspicion, “What sparked all this?”
“I’m just feeling nostalgic, I guess.”
He doesn’t expect an answer, only more of the looks of pity he’s grown used to. Instead, he sees a smile form in the corner of his eye. “There’s certainly a lot of you and him in there.”
The box only grows heavier with every step he takes back home. Nearly looming over him as it stands in the middle of his living room. It’s ridiculous to think that he’d find anything or that it’d have any greater meaning if he did. It was just some sea creature, after all, snapping at him in the darkness of the ocean. “That’s all it was,” he mumbles to himself, staring at the yet unopened box.
“That’s all it was,” he repeats, more insistent this time. A beat, and he turns. “There’s nothing in this box,” he walks off into his room. The door closes with a loud click.
And then opens.
“Qixa.”
Naoki walks right up to the table and throws open the lid of his auntʼs box. In it, colours of all shades meet his eyes — childhood drawings coming to life right in front of him. Dozens of them are sprawled within the wooden confines of the box, but it is the one at the top that draws his gaze. His hand shakes as he picks it up, holding it up to the light. He doesn’t know why, but he feels his heart beat thunder within his chest. His breath quickens. Drops of sweat form at his temple. His vision swims before him as the pressure grows and grows, until bile rises at the back of his throat. The drawing slips out of his hand, drifting to the ground as it sways slowly from one side to the other.
His knees buckle.
The chair feels cold against his skin. More a relief than anything else, Naoki manages to find his breath again, forcing air into his lungs. There’s an insistent throbbing at the back of his mind — lifting up like the tide that floods the island once a month. It feels like something bigger, something that he should know and understand. He opens eyes that have fallen shut and spots the drawing lying at his feet.
It’s messy, the lines not following any obvious pattern, any organisation. A drawing made by a small child with barely any skill. Yet, the strokes are sure, confident of what they’re supposed to express. It’s almost comical, ridiculous even that Naoki feels his breath hitch in his throat.
It’s unmistakable.
The image of a siren grazes the paper - and scratches at the remnants of his memories. His gaze follows the pale yellow eyes, pulled out face, the darkened skin that flares out into sharpened talons, and finally, the tail winding around the creature’s body, not as long as it should be, but close enough.
“Laet,” Naoki curses, bending down to reach for it with shaking fingers. It is here that he spots the writing at the top of the page. A sentence he had long forgotten. “Pot ku xib xoli.”
“But what does that mean, Ohy?”
Naoki squints against the rays of the sun, looking towards the helm of their boat. It’s the first time he’s been allowed out like this, onto the open ocean of the Nauwai waters. His vest sits tight, tighter than he’d like in the too-confident mind of a child. He hears a chuckle, deep and familiar, followed by the telltale sound of a fishing net being pulled out of the water.
“You’ve forgotten how to speak Coukasi suddenly, Naoki?”
“No!” Naoki protests, his too-tight vest ignored in the face of his indignation. Kicking his legs, he pulls his lips into a pout. “I just don’t know what it mean-means. I don’t drown when I stop moving.”
“But sirens do,” the voice says, turning to look over his shoulder when Naoki gasps.
“Really?” Violet eyes widen at the words. Sirens! Naoki’s always wanted to be like a siren. It was just last week when he dragged Lex out to a fruitless attempt at evaluating his latest groundbreaking theory of holding his breath until he would grow gills. His thoughts swirl, weighing the words with obvious care, too absorbed to notice the twitching lips in front of him. Finally, his thoughts settle and the pout returns. “But I’m not a siren.”
“No, you’re not,” the man laughs. It sounds different than usual, less cheery than Naoki remembers. Moving closer, he ruffles Naoki’s hair and kneels before him. The boat sways within the waves.
“Sometimes things in life get really really difficult.” Naoki squints at the words. With its powerful rays, the sun shines onto the the deck, swallowing his Ohy up in darkness. “And all the hardships just pile up. And it’s scary to keep moving because there’s so much ahead of you that you can’t see. But if you stop— ”
“I’ll drown like a siren?”
“Sort of,” his Ohy's voice trembles, but his face remains unreadable, “yes.”
“But what hardships?” Naoki asks, eyes trying to decipher the form in front of him, “I don’t wanna be scared.”
“Let’s hope you never are.” He stands up and rests a hand on Naoki’s head as his face swims back into focus. Sadness gathers at the edges of his mouth. “But if that ever happens, Naoki, just remember this saying.”
“If I stop moving, I’ll drown.”
Light scatters through the open window of Naoki’s house. It basks the floor in orange hues, wood painted with reddened streaks. The rays rise, climbing up the walls as they awaken the day. Naoki’s eyes squint as the sun reaches his face. In the distance, the ocean gleams in a melody of warm shades. His fingers curl against his knees.
“If I stop moving,” he repeats, “I’ll drown.”
As the sky melts into blue, he finds himself on a boat.
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