The rays of the sun glisten over the gleaming undulations of the ocean. In the early hours of the morning, serenity reigns over the waters. When he was younger, it was the one thing keeping Naoki on the shore — the silence on the boat seemed too oppressive, too reminiscent of the loneliness he felt at home. Now, he wishes he could revel in it. He can hear the screeching seagulls overhead as the breeze tangles in his hair, strands falling into his face. Eyes scanning the horizon, he lets out a sigh. 

No sight of the tide guard this time.

Accelerating, Naoki steers the boat back towards the rocky area he fled so abruptly just a few days ago. The hand on the wheel feels clammy, fingers tapping against the metal in a barely-there rhythm. He could still turn back, he thinks, the other hand curling into a fist at his side. His nails cut into the skin; the pain an unwelcome reminder of why he’s here in the first place.

“No drowning, Naoki,” he mumbles to himself, “You promised him no drowning.” 

He can feel the sleepless night nagging at his mind and curses. Going out to sea with eyes that are nearly falling shut must’ve been one of his worse ideas — yet, not the worst, by any means. He huffs when his stomach growls, eyes fixed to the front as he reaches over to rummage through his bag. After a moment, he fishes out the Wahi crackers he bought for moments like these.

Before he can take a bite and still his growing hunger, he spots rocks protruding out of the water. The tide foams up on their edges, blue bleeding into white.

He swallows, his throat dry.

The boat comes to an abrupt stop, billowing on top of the waves. Up and down it rocks; the motion is gentle, reminding him of the silence that holds the world just moments before a storm hits the coast. Naoki huffs. Ridiculous.

He drags his palm off the wheel. It’s damp, sweat drying on the skin. He wipes it off on his diving gear and makes his way to the stern. 

The smell of fresh fish curls into the air, coils around him and sticks to his clothes as he opens the cooler he’s filled up right before he left. Naoki takes a moment to inhale, reveling in the familiarity of the scent. Then, he reaches in.

The fish feels heavy in his hands, sleek against the tips of his fingers. There’s no way anyone could ever resist one of Kanai’s fish — not an Islander or an unidentified sea creature that Naoki refuses to name. He leans over the edge of the boat, just a little, eyeing the darkness of the water below. 

If that thing is here, he thinks, he’ll find it. With that, he launches the fish overboard. 

It happens in seconds.

The fish flies through the air, the motion seeming at a near-stop in Naoki’s tension-filled mind. It approaches the water, almost there, ready to show Naoki the answer he’s been craving for hours, days, even years, ever since he fell into the water and saw — saw? What did he see? A screech rings through the air. Naoki shoots forward, an exclamation on his lips, too slow to be voiced before it strikes.

A seagull snatches the fish right out of the air.

Naoki stops; stares at the surface of the ocean. In his rush, his hair has flicked into his face, dark strands covering his eyes. Seconds pass.

“Okay.” He turns around again, “that’s it. That’s a sign.”

He starts for the bow, boat rocking slightly as he makes his way forward. The motion has lost its serenity. His body hits the wheel hard, rattling him as his muscles tense. Then, he slumps forward.

“I should leave.” The words come as no more than a whisper. Naoki’s nails dig into his palms. He should just go back — his life awaits, nothing would change if he just went back. He’d return to the same errands, the same countryside, the same house that never felt like home. Turn the wheel and go, Naoki. There’s nothing for you here.

For a moment, he stands and listens.

He doesn’t hear much. The waves lick against his boat, the palpitating pulse of the sea steady and strong. Seagulls screech overhead. Metal creeks. It almost bothers him. His home used to be loud, back with his parents, in Nauwai, and then in Gos. Now, nothing. Nothing and no one, except whatever is waiting below the surface of the sea. 

Nothing will change if he goes back.

“Qixa.”

He pushes himself off the wheel, back to the helm. Rummaging through the cooler, his eyes catch on the fish inside. The seagulls circle above. With a huff, he slams the lid close. Instead, he leans over the railing and squints. Too far.

The ladder at the back of his boat is hot against his palm, warmed by the sun. Hissing, he shakes off the pain before alleviating it by sinking below the surface. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to adjust; it’s just enough for his hands to wave away the fish that have gathered at the edge of his boat. His heart hammers in his chest as he seeks out the spot he knows so well. 

Amber eyes flash up at him.