Opening his eyes took no effort at all this time. It was simply like waking up after a refreshing night's sleep. Only, judging by the gold-orange glow on the ceiling, the sun must have been on its way out for the evening.

Makoto breathed in an easy breath, lungs full and revived, and for a moment he just lay there, staring up at the white wood panels, marveling at the way the sunset washed them in warm colors. It didn't register for a good long moment that this ceiling was unfamiliar to him, that the cushion of the bed, though billowy and soft, was a foreign structure.

The caw of seagulls and the gentle roll of waves danced in his ears. There was a fan rotating slowly overhead, but the breeze drifting through the room was definitely fresh from outside, thick with the scent of the sea.

What a pleasant dream, was what he thought, unhurried and with no desire to get up. He was marvelously comfortable, maybe more than he'd ever been in his life, and he wondered how long he could stay in this dream, how much time he had left before his alarm would inevitably go off and wake him for …

Oh. That's right. He'd just graduated university. There were no classes anymore. That was a relief. Most especially when he remembered he'd decided to take a week's vacation back in Iwatobi with his family and friends before starting his new job.

Well that was perfect then. There were no alarms to worry about. He could rest. He could just relax here in this lovely dream, staring at the sunlight on the ceiling, and listening to the —

He shot bolt upright, suddenly gasping, hands raking at his chest and wandering frantically over his body, searching for injuries, for broken bones, for lacerations. He could hear himself breathing, heavily and loudly — without the strain of water blocking his airways — but panicked, because he remembered. Only that he'd been drowning, but he remembered.

That, in fact, was his last memory, outside of taking the train home to Iwatobi. He didn't remember how he'd ended up drowning, and he had no idea how he'd ended up here in this place. But for sure he remembered suffocating, dying …

His hand reflexively jumped to the back of his hair, fingers still searching for damages. His eyes darted around the room. It wasn't terribly large, but there also wasn't much of anything in it besides the bed he was sitting on, which was tucked against the backside of the room. The opposite wall was made of a set of sliding glass doors that were wide open and led straight out to the beach beyond.

Makoto's breath caught, softly dropping back out of his lips as the panic died almost immediately. The view of the sun making a slow decent down over the water directly across from him was a mesmerizing sight. The surface of the sea glittered with jewels of light, the shadows in the sand crested with the same gold-orange glow. The silhouettes of birds flocked by across a clear sky, and wading knee-deep in the tide was the silhouette of a person — too far away to make out in detail, but their back was to the cottage, and the movement of their hands suggested that they were talking. Though, when Makoto peered toward the direction they were facing, all that was to be found was an indistinct shape way out in the water.

He thought he heard a noise, an echo of something familiar, and he found himself pushing the duvet to the side and slipping off of the bed.

When his feet touched the hardwood floor, he was surprised that there was so much strength in his legs. He thought his knees might feel weak, that his thighs would shake, that he would feel a bit woozy even, but no. He stood perfectly upright, feeling impeccably healthy and unscathed, better than even.

He found himself facing an oval mirror on the wall and tilted his head back and forth, finding nothing out of the ordinary except skin that was maybe a bit tanner than usual. He didn't stare very long.

He turned away from the mirror and cautiously picked his way to the open doors, pausing on the threshold for a moment, eyes darting left and right at the stretch of beach on either side, walled in on both ends by soft-jutting cliffs full of green. He stepped out hesitantly, feet reaching the sand after only a couple of strides. He looked over his shoulder at the little cottage, which was modest and quiet-looking, beach blue on the outside, with windows everywhere that would fit. Behind it was a forest of trees that gradually climbed up a towering mountain in the backdrop of it all.

Makoto walked backward a few steps, ogling the setting, before he turned back around and felt his knees beginning to tighten with resistance the closer that he got to the water.

The ocean was calm at the moment — harmless it seemed, with small, barely-peaking waves that wouldn't so much as knock over a flower, but his heart started to beat heavily, uncomfortably, as he took in the vastness of the sea stretching out beyond the horizon where his eyes stopped seeing. Endless. Growing darker as the sun dipped lower and lower toward the edge of the world.

He stopped walking eventually, and then just stood there, lungs squeezing as though anticipating a flood.

The person he'd seen was closer now, but still several yards away, enough that he still couldn't hear whatever they were saying but could make out the black hair and slim silhouette of a young man who couldn't be much older than himself.

Makoto looked out at the shape in the water and caught another breath.

"The dolphin!" he exclaimed, much louder than he meant to. Really he hadn't meant to say anything at all, and his hands flew up to cover his mouth at his mistake.

The shape in the water jumped back with a graceful, twisting dive, and the boy in the tide snapped his head over his shoulder. Makoto froze, immediately stuck under such a sharp gaze.

They just stood there staring at one another through the sea breeze for a good long while until the boy's shoulders dropped with a tired sigh and he trudged his way out of the water, walking in Makoto's direction. The closer he got, the more arrested Makoto's pulse became, struggling to comprehend.

The stranger wore only a washed out pair of shorts and a hooded blue vest that was left open, exposing his bare chest. His skin was paler than Makoto's, but flawlessly so, like porcelain. His hair was black black and lay flat on his forehead and against his temples. His features were like that of a doll's, or at least something that didn't quite look real, but he was stunning, with striking cerulean blue eyes that also glittered with something trancelike and otherworldly.

"So you're awake," he said, walking past Makoto toward the cottage.

There was a song in his voice. It seemed to echo in the wind, soft in Makoto's ears, even though his tone was rather irritated. Makoto found himself following automatically.

"I … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare it off. I just …" He glanced over his shoulder where the dolphin had long since disappeared. "That dolphin …"

"Not the same one you're thinking of," the boy said, bypassing the open doors of the bedroom to enter through the main door instead, brushing the sand off of his feet on the way in. Makoto did the same.

"It wasn't? I mean, wait … How- … Where am I?"

"In my house," was the flat response that he got, and the boy tossed a look over his shoulder.

Makoto stopped just inside where the entrance opened up into a living area with a small open kitchen on the left, a door leading back into the bedroom on the right, and more windows on the opposite wall, this time facing the trees.

"I'm sorry," he said, bowing in apology. "I didn't mean to intrude."

He glanced up where the boy was scrutinizing him with an odd look. "It's not like it's your fault — though an argument could be made," he added under his breath. "I promised I would take care of you. It's fine. You can stop doing that." His eyes glanced down and then back up, gesturing to Makoto's posture, and Makoto straightened his back, immediately fidgeting with his fingers.

Did he just say he'd promised to take care of him?

"What do you eat?" the boy asked, venturing into the kitchen.

"Oh, um … Anything really. I'm not picky."

He was picky. That wasn't even remotely true. He just didn't want to inconvenience his host or be so bold as to ask for something exhaustingly specific. He hadn't even realized he was hungry until just now.

The boy didn't say anything further, he just opened the refrigerator and pulled out a huge slab of fish that he dropped onto a wooden cutting board and began filleting like he'd completed the process a thousand times before. Makoto was quiet, watching him anxiously — between glancing around at the collection of seashells and dolphin paraphernalia in every corner of the room.

He very slowly inched toward the island separating the kitchen from the living room and gingerly took a seat on one of the stools. He remained silent while the boy seasoned the fish and set it sizzling in a grill pan, and put rice in a cooker, and started shucking pre-boiled bamboo shoots. Makoto shifted on the stool, fingers pinching together on the counter top.

"You- … You have a lovely home," he tried, already feeling utterly stupid for not knowing how to approach any of this. Was small talk even acceptable to start with in a situation like this?

The boy looked back over his shoulder once, then returned to what he was doing. It wasn't until a good thirty seconds later that he mumbled a quiet, "Thank you."

"Do you live here by yourself?"

"Yes."

Makoto tapped a finger on the counter, biting at the inside of his lip. He refrained from asking invasive questions just yet. "It must be nice living on the beach," he said instead, looking back toward the windows — which were all open. The sun was just a red sliver on the horizon at this point. "I mean, I wouldn't, but I understand why so many people enjoy the aesthetic. It's nice — when everything's calm."

The boy did not respond.

Makoto, cheeks already burning, drew in a courageous breath and looked back at him. "What's your name?"

"Haru."

Ah, like spring.

He couldn't say how exactly, but it suited him, the name. And Makoto was relieved by it, truthfully. He used to be made fun of when he was little for having such a girly name. He wondered if Haru had ever experienced the same thing.

He only realized a long bit of silence had gone by when Haru looked over his shoulder again. Makoto blinked back at him. Haru's shoulders seemed to sag with some kind of defeat.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Makoto smiled. "Makoto."

Haru nodded once and faced forward again.

Makoto pulled his hands into his lap and rubbed his palms together. "Um … I'm sorry — for intruding on your space, Haru."

"I told you, it's fine."

He dropped his eyes to the counter. "If it's not too much to ask … How did I get here?"

"You were washed up on the beach this morning, and I was forced to take pity on you. Why would it be too much to ask?"

Makoto's brow furrowed slightly on its own, stuck on that middle part for just a second, until Haru turned and sat a beautifully plated dish of grilled mackerel and takenoko over steamed rice in front of him. His stomach growled immediately.

"Thank you," he said, glancing to catch Haru's responding nod. He accepted the chopsticks he was given almost too eagerly, and mumbled his gratitude for the preparation of the meal under his breath before he took the first bite, and then nearly inhaled the rest.

He was only vaguely aware of Haru watching him, leaning back against the stove with his own plate in his hand, taking his time.

So, Makoto was usually quite picky, and he had vivid memories of shoving chunks of takenoko into his pockets during dinner to feed to the cats outside once he got the chance, less so for the sake of feeding the cats than for just simply not having to eat it. However, whatever Haru had given him just now was unquestionably the best thing he'd ever eaten, and he gratefully accepted a second full plate of food when he was offered more.

He didn't slow down until he was caught by a hiccup and brought back to reality, where he realized he was being horribly rude and sat up out of his hunch to wipe his mouth with the back of his wrist and shortly bow his head to his host.

"Sorry. I was hungrier than I thought. Thank you, Haru. This is … honestly the best meal I've ever eaten."

Haru took another bite of his own food, eyeing Makoto in a way that he couldn't quite read while he chewed and was quiet for another good long while.

"That's annoying."

"Oh, sorry … What is?"

"The apologizing. Can you stop that?"

"Oh. S- …" He got stuck there with his mouth open for a second, tongue struggling, because he didn't know how else to respond. "O-okay," he stuttered eventually.

Haru chewed for a while longer, still staring across at him, and Makoto tried not to fidget under that gaze — or look away. As much as Haru was mesmerizing to look at, doing so was causing his pulse to jump all over the place.

"What were you doing out in the middle of the ocean?" Haru asked before taking another bite.

"Oh, um …" He scratched at the back of his head, trying to remember — but it hadn't come to him yet, not since he'd woken up. "I'm not sure, to be honest. Or well, I don't really remember."

"Where did you come from?"

"Iwatobi … I guess. Or at least, that's the last place I remember being. Where are we now?"

Haru gave him a blank stare for a beat of a moment, then looked away long enough to set his plate to the side. "Far from Iwatobi. This is an island — a tiny one — off the coast of Chibu."

"Chibu?!" Makoto exclaimed, half rising off of the stool. His head shook on its own. "No, that can't- … But that's not- … That's like two hundred kilometers from- …" He plopped back down with a huff, eyes staring wide at the counter, mind reeling. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I," Haru said, taking Makoto's plate away. When he spoke next it was over the rush of the faucet. "However it happened, you're lucky you managed to make it out alive."

Makoto blinked rapidly, as though this would make it make sense. That statement sank down into his very bones, and now understanding the gravity of the situation he'd been in, he felt a knot of more than just gratitude swelling in his throat. His skin prickled with a cold heat, and he curled his suddenly trembling fingers into fists on his knees, shoulders tense.

The fragility of his mortality was there, staring him right in the face, and he had come so close to watching it break — missed it by a millimeter. And he barely even knew how, what was more why.

"There was a dolphin," he found himself saying. "It seems crazy when I think about it. I don't think I've ever heard of such a thing, but it saved me." He took a shuddering breath. "I was … I was there. I was dying, I could feel it. I knew it. And I was just going to let it happen, but then the dolphin, she … She got me to hold onto her, and then …" He shook his head. "All I remember after that is being pulled through the water."

"He."

"Hm?" He looked up, meeting Haru's gaze again.

"He," Haru repeated. "That dolphin. It was a male."

Makoto was quiet, blinking a few times, processing this information. It took a long while.

"You saw it bring me in?"

"Not technically. He was still hovering around when I found you though. I promised him I'd take care of you."

Haru turned away breezily, as though it was no big deal, cleaning up more of the dinner mess. Makoto watched the shifting in his shoulder blades.

Is that what he'd meant by that?

"Do the dolphins come around often?" he asked, after another stretched out moment of silence.

Haru's only response was a scoff, and Makoto saw the quirk of his lips pull up in the corner with a you have no idea kind of smugness to it. Makoto didn't prod.

"I suppose you're right," he said instead, head turning to look back to the sea. The sun was gone, and in its place, blinking stars now punctured the deep blue of the sky. Underneath it, the ocean was nearly black. An unsettling tension coiled in his chest as he gazed at it. "Lucky seems like such a weightless word though," he mumbled.

He got stuck like that for a moment, dragged down into the darkness where it was cold and sea salt burned in his lungs. He felt the ghost of rain and waves washing over him, beating him down until he could not get back up. He felt the yank of gravity and the bubble of air leaving him, making his body heavy. He felt the exhaustion in his bones, and could swear somewhere out in the distance he heard a chillingly familiar scream.

The sound of a throat clearing blinked him back, and he found himself breathing — quietly — but as though he'd just broken the surface. He turned back to Haru with a fixed smile, brushing the goosebumps from his arms. His host was still watching him quite intently.

"I wish there was a way to thank him," he said airily. "The dolphin. I suppose that could have turned out very differently."

Haru's lips just barely pinched in the corner. "It could have," he said, glancing toward the windows and then back again. "He'll come back around at some point."

Makoto did his best to will his body to relax. "They do come around often then."

"Yes."

He nodded. "That must be nice. I've seen some before, but never that close up." He chuckled weakly, rubbing his damp palms on his thighs. "They're beautiful creatures."

"Is small talk your way of pretending you're not uncomfortable?"

Makoto blinked back up, not having realized that his gaze had dropped back to the counter. For a moment, he didn't know what to say, staring at those eyes that stared so placidly back at him. He was very aware of the next several heartbeats that passed. And then eventually, something about Haru's incredibly calm demeanor and lack of coyness just seemed to ease the rigidity in him, and he felt his shoulders sag under nothing more than the blue of his gaze.

His smile was a bit more genuine this time, soft as it was. "I suppose it is," he admitted. "Sorry. It's a lot to take in at once."

"You're still apologizing."

"Sorry."

Haru's nose gave a slight wrinkle of annoyance, but he decided not to say anything more about it. He turned away again, this time to wander out of the kitchen and riffle through a closet that had previously been hiding behind sliding wood doors that blended into the walls. He pulled out a bundle of towels, and then opened the door to a bathroom.

"You can use the bath if you like. I don't have any clothes that would fit you, but I can find you something by tomorrow, if you're alright like that until then."

He nodded to Makoto's chest, and Makoto glanced down at his naked torso, not having realized until this very moment that he was only wearing a pair of swim trunks. He didn't want to question it just now, for fear of poking too far back into his most recent recollection of events. So he let it be and stood from the stool to cross the room and accept the towels with a smile of gratitude.

"It's fine," he said. "You don't have to go through the trouble."

"That's just as bad as apologizing," Haru informed him, walking away to leave him to the bath.

Makoto sighed to himself and willed the automatic sorry not to leave his lips. It was awkward, not saying anything at all, but he figured that would be the best response, and so closed himself in the little room and immediately shut the window to silence the sea.