“Mu tut, you better not be empty.”

The rope slips from his fingers, water splashing as it almost disappears back in the deep.  Naoki shoots forward. He wraps his hands around it, skin digging into the damp material. 

More struggling; His feet dig into the wood of the boat, and then it’s done. Naoki’s body sags against the railing. His breath comes heavy, chest stuttering up and down. The last time he was heaving like this, he watched a dream of his come true right in front of his eyes. 

That’s not exactly what he’d call the crustaceans writhing on top of his boat right now. The first ones he’s found today.

He sighs. Naoki knows full well he should be focusing on the money, or even just that spark of generosity that grows within his chest whenever he manages to fulfill a task for his Cytau. And yet, he can’t help but imagine the sun reflecting off deep water, a tail winding around him; little clicks travelling throughout the air. Shaking his head, he stands and begins ushering the animals into his crates. “You’ll meet it again,” Naoki mumbles, “hopefully.”

A strange feeling bubbles up within his chest — he can’t pinpoint it, this overwhelming numbness that crawls up his veins. It travels up his spine, spreading over the back of his head. He forces his eyes shut as scorching pain explodes at his temple, punching the air out of his lungs. The darkness that comes with it reminds him of the very depths of the ocean, the kind of dive that leaves you breathless and frightened all at once. Without preamble, or any further warning, it disappears. 

Breath coming short, Naoki shakes his head and finds his hands clinging onto the railing.

He shrugs. It's probably the thirst. 

“Forgot my water bottle,” he mumbles in denial as his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, “some diver I am.”

Slowly, his eyes adjust to the bright light of the sun. The sounds of the ocean drone within his ears; calming him in ways that are intricately familiar to him. Ever since he was a child, it’s been his refuge, a home more than any of the temporary places he’s lived in before. With a sigh, he looks out into the sky. It’s longing, maybe, for something that is finally his alone. Waves crash against the hull of his boat, and across the horizon a shadow comes into view.

It takes a squint and a lucky ray of sunshine to decipher the logo on the unknown vessel.

“Oh, qixa,” Naoki breathes, “not the fucking tide guard.”

The boat bobs closer. Naoki flinches as its horns blare; once, twice, obviously having spotted him immediately. The sound is more grating than Naoki remembers it to be. He scoffs. “I can see you,” he mutters, “no need to deafen me, Noca.”

He straightens as his boat wobbles in its wake. Lips pull into a caricature of a grin, skin stretching into what looks like a grimace rather than anything remotely as charming as he had hoped. Leaning against the railing, Naoki flits his eyes across its advancing form. Zias’ki should be here again — she’d let him off, for sure. He raises his hand in a salute, a simple ‘Cais’ on his tongue, fingers gracing his cheek before freezing mid motion. 

“This area is for merchant boats only.”

The man at the helm is definitely not Zias’ki, Naoki notes and swallows hard. He watches as the guard looks expectantly down on him, arms crossed. The movement accentuates the logo on his chest. Aixewos. “I’m aware of that,” Naoki grumbles and gestures to the crates of crustaceans behind him. The guard’s brow pulls up, unimpressed.

“Oh, it’s you,” the guard sighs. He looks up into the clouds for just a moment, before focusing back on him. Naoki’s not sure if he should feel offended or not. He does, anyway, and makes the decision to be particularly irritating. “Xa. Naoki, was it?”

“Uh,” Naoki says, “we’ve met before?” 

The man’s eye twitches. 

Collecting himself, Naoki laughs; it’s more high-pitched as he’d like it to be, “Well, then you know who I am.” He turns, fully ready to go back to his crates. Can we get this over with already, he thinks.

“This is not a merchant’s boat,” the guard insists, his voice a grating baritone. Naoki is reminded of his teachers in Gos; the thought causes the smile to fly from his face.

“I’m also aware of that,” he says, not even turning around. The guard scoffs.

“This is a restricted area in which only registered merchant boats—”

“I just said ,” Naoki repeats, “I am fully aware.” The annoyance bubbles up within his chest, up and up until it is fully visible on his face. There’s no need to be charming, it seems. “I’m just here,” he continues, words slowing as if he were speaking to a child, “to pick up Kanai’s crates.” With a big, over the top, flourish, he raises his arms and gestures to his crates once again. “Obviously.”

The tide guard stares. “I’m going to need to see some paperwork.”

Throwing his head back, Naoki groans into the air. “Okay!” He turns, grumbling all the while. “Fine.”

Just where did he… Naoki’s gait doesn’t slow, or stutter, despite finding himself at an impasse. Paperwork is what he usually doesn’t have to search for, always managing to talk himself out of it in one way or another. For that reason, he didn’t bother remembering just where he stored Kanai's receipt when he got onto his boat earlier. Qixa, he thinks and feels his palms dampen, what did he do with it? Without hesitation, he reaches under the wheel; the place where his Ohy taught him to keep anything remotely important. Rummaging through it, he feels the tide guard’s eyes on the back of his head. Sweat gathers at his temple.

Just as his fingers close around a piece of paper, a head bobs out of the water in front of him.