Love Hina

Changing Tides


The sand was an almost shimmering white powder, similar in texture to snow it was so soft. It must have taken ages to get that way… centuries, or millennia of being pounded by the sea and punished by the sun, ground up, scorched, until rock and coral eventually yielded into what it had become. Walking on it was like floating on a cloud.

And then there was the sea. It was a shining rich turquoise, barely frothing, and quite temperate in the bay—especially now when the tide was low. Farther out, the current remained tame and it was easy to swim out a hundred or so meters, then go snorkeling in the shallow sea.

This was the paradise Urashima Keitaro found himself on. Him, and his fiancé, Narusegawa Naru, and a token of esteem she'd left on his cheek.

He couldn't even remember what the slight had been, or if it had even been real. Maybe he'd left the toilet seat up, or maybe he had put the glasses on the bottom of the dishwasher and not the top. Maybe he hadn't jumped to his feet quickly enough when she had made a too-subtle-to-notice bid for attention, or maybe he had jumped to his feet too quickly when she just wanted some damn space, was that too much to ask for?

Despite himself, he looked at her, in her sheer summer dress with its patterns of watercolor flowers. She was gorgeous—and when the wind caught her hair like that, his breath caught in his throat. And then his heart caught in his chest when she caught him looking at her and glared at him.

"What the fuck," she seethed, "were you staring at?"

"I-I-I-you're just so beautiful," Keitaro said.

"Then why did you start to say something that started with 'I'?"

"Because I'm a… lucky man?" he eventually managed.

Her shoulders lowered about an inch. Something made its way across her face, something that might have become a smile before she wiped it off with a sneer. "Lucky is right," she said. "Lucky is right…"

For what felt like the umpteenth time, Keitaro found himself in an uncomfortable silence. He always wondered what to do at a time like this. Naru was clearly angry—what else was new—and anything he did or didn't say would be held against him. Ask her what was wrong and she'd deny it a few times before biting his head off. Stay quiet and she'd explode anyway, this time for not caring about her feelings. Maybe the only move—or the least bad move—was to say something inoffensive. Innocuous.

"I'm glad we finally got to come out here," he said. She seemed to perk up at that—great, he was on the right track. "Imagine, non-stop tickets for that price? We struck gold."

Naru just sighed. "Cheap bastard," she observed. "On your stipend, we could have gone ages ago. But no, you have to save money because you're insecure about your family situation or whatever, and you don't have employment lined up for when our studies are through."

"Yeah," Keitaro said. "Exactly."

There must have been an edge in his voice, either that, or Naru imagined that there was. Either way, Keitaro found himself on his ass in the sand, vision blurred. There was pain too, but it was a dull, blunted sort of sensation, its effect dampened by habit.

This was actually… a habit. And he was starting to get used to it.

And now she was really laying into it. Shaking, crying, hands balled into fists, the whole nine yards. Couldn't he be more emotionally available, or do more emotional labor or something, and her emotions were important and on and on and on and on. Now and again he tried to get in a word edgewise, or gently point out that regardless of what he said or didn't say, she didn't need to hit him. It was useless though—he couldn't talk and even if he did, she didn't listen. She just didn't listen.

Eventually Keitaro found himself outside of himself. He was watching himself be berated on the beach, regardless of the other tourists casting worried glances at him, regardless of the sun's slow journey over the bay and down toward the sea.

It wasn't healthy, he knew it. But it was less unhealthy than actually sitting there and actually being abused for… too long.

"Keitaro. KEITARO!"

She was yelling. He snapped back into it, re-entered himself and looked up at her. She'd burned through her seemingly infinite reserves of anger, now all that was left was sadness.

"You're not even listening, are you," she said. "You fucking pig. I bet you don't even love me anymore. I bet you won't even say you love me anymore."

She turned her nose up at him and haughtily looked away. A blatant display of hurt and sadness, an obvious bid for attention.

Normally, this was where Keitaro would utterly get to his knees in front of her. Assure her of his affections, promise to do whatever it took to make it better. A fine bottle of wine, a ring, yet another hall pass, whatever it took, anything, sweety, my darling baby, you're the love of my life, period dot.

Now, Keitaro found himself looking to the sea. The water was darker, now. Foreboding. Frothier and with a stronger current. Dangerous, and yet… strangely alluring. There was no certainty there, but that was the Hell of it. Because in the uncertainty, there were possibilities.

The waves were lapping at his feet, he realized. Naru had him by the hair, he realized. Yelling again, screaming, crying at him to do something, to stand up, to just fucking say something. She raised a hand—but he was too quick for her. He grabbed her elbow and yanked down, taking her off balance and taking her down to the sand. From there he could have pressed the attack—pummeled her, kicked her, or choked her out and fucking killed her, as she had nearly done to him so many times.

Instead he simply stood. Straightened his shirt and dusted his shoulders off.

"The tides are changing," he said. In dropping her, he realized he had taken her ring. His ring, now. It had never really been hers to begin with.

And so he walked away. She called out to him, but he kept walking. She yelled at him, but he kept walking. She threatened to throw herself into the sea but he just kept walking and he didn't stop. Not for her, not ever, not anymore.