He wasn't obligated to like it, he supposed. Though, it bothered him that he was so intrigued by the green of its eyes. He hadn't gotten to see them when it first washed up on shore, and it had been asleep all day.

At first, he'd felt the smallest pinch of concern about that, but when he'd consulted his grandmother's notes, they informed him that humans were quite fragile beings and healing it like that would have exhausted its energy — or what little it had. They were used to growing their strength back slowly over time, with the help of rest and nourishment, so having all of its injuries wiped away at once had most likely been a shock to its body.

It seemed fine now though, albeit incredibly unfocused and nervous.

Haru didn't like the way it had stared so distractedly out at the ocean, as though it was something dark and ominous, as though it was to be feared.

"I don't think it's very fond of you," he said, leaning in the open doorway with a cup of tea, gazing out at the sleepy calm of the waves.

The human was still in the bath and Haru was fine with that, though he rather wished it would go back to sleep so that he could do some harvesting. It exhausted him to think that he would have to go into town to find the human something to wear, and he didn't exactly want to visit while there were other humans around, but they would only be out in the daytime, and they were the ones with the items he needed.

He very briefly contemplated simply finding a clothesline to snatch items from. It wasn't as though he'd never done it before. But it would be a hassle, riffling through a limited selection, trying to find something that would fit the human — and this one seemed extra large.

His grandmother had scolded him the first time he'd taken something, said if he wanted the humans' belongings then he would have to sell fish at the market with her to earn his own money for buying things. He'd complained about being in town during the day time, and her response was, "Then by all means, Haruka, give them a reason to chop off your tail." Then she'd chuckled at the look he'd given her and ruffled his hair.

She'd always been odd as a guardian, but he'd learned more from her than from anyone else that had ever so briefly been a part of his life. They'd kept each other company, and all the while she'd taught him how to be self-sufficient, showing him how to farm sea greens and crustaceans, how to forage for fruit and bamboo and mushrooms on the mountain, how to cook and care for the cottage, what fish to market for the humans and how to interact with them when they made trips into town.

They used to go all the time, and though he was never afraid, he stayed intentionally close to her side, so much so that their arms had always kept pressed together and he never lost the scent of the shore.

"They're simple creatures. They eat, they sleep, they mate, and sometimes they go out dancing. As long as you respect their space, they will respect yours in return, though don't be startled if one grumbles at you. All they're looking for is life with as little chaos as possible. They have good days and bad ones, just like you and I do. We're not so different."

"They smell like dirt."

"And you smell like the ocean."

He distinctly remembered his grandmother smiling at him and poking him in the nose, and then they'd sat back behind their table of mackerel, and mussels, and kelp, and watched the humans come and go, occasionally taking their items in exchange for paper and coins.

After his grandmother had passed, he'd stopped going to town — as much as he could help it anyway. The humans had rice, and fabrics, and other such nonsense that he'd grown accustomed to depending on, so he couldn't stop going entirely. But it turned his stomach sour whenever he had to.

He sighed, resigning to the fact that tomorrow would just simply have to be one of those days. He would try to get it all done at once, if he could.

A soft knock had him turning to find the human Makoto standing timidly just outside of the bathroom door.

It was indeed a tall human, with an impressive structure quite honestly — broad chest, wide shoulders, a back that could probably hold up the cliffside — and yet it made itself small, as though standing at its full height would be the biggest bother to anyone in the vicinity.

He didn't understand that — why anything with that much power would try to shrink.

"I hung the towel on the back of the door. Do you want me to leave it there?"

"It's your towel," Haru responded, quirking an eyebrow at it.

The Makoto's fingers fidgeted again. "Well … technically it's your towel. I mean, you own it, that is."

"If I pass ownership of the towel over to you, will you do with it whatever you see fit, or will you keep asking me for my opinion?"

The Makoto bent its brow, back standing just a bit straighter, green eyes blinking. "Well … will you give me ownership of your cottage too, in that case?" It propped a hand on its waist. "Then I wouldn't have to ask your opinion about your other items either."

"Do whatever you want."

"Maybe I will."

"Maybe you should, because I just told you to."

"You're a bit standoffish, you know that?" The tops of the Makoto's ears were red, and Haru saw the first sign of defensiveness in its green eyes, though he could imagine this wasn't its normal way of doing things. There was the faintest quiver in its shoulders.

"Never heard it," Haru said.

"You must not have had a lot of conversations then."

"As a matter of fact, I haven't."

The tiny spark of a fire that had appeared in the Makoto's eyes fizzled out just that quickly and was overruled by a surprisingly intense look of both remorse and concern. "How long have you been by yourself?" it asked.

Haru didn't frown, but the inclination to was present. "Why are you concerned about it?"

The Makoto dropped its gaze again, hands folding in front of it. "Sorry."

Haru didn't stop himself from scoffing. He looked back out at the ocean and sipped on his tea.

There was a long stretch of silence that was filled only by the breathing of the sea, and then the Makoto crossed the room with tentative steps. Haru didn't look back at it, not even when it came uncomfortably close and leaned against the opposite side of the doorway. Though, he was very aware that it intentionally did not face the water, but instead studied the walls of the cottage.

"It's a bit awkward of a situation, isn't it?" it said after the silence had gone on for a sufficiently long time. "I'm sure you didn't wake up this morning expecting to find another person washed up on your beach, but you've been kind enough to share your space and care for me anyway."

Haru said nothing. He took another sip of his tea, longing for the moment he'd be able to shake the human loose to get back to the water.

"I can tell you're annoyed by me," it said, and it was the small hint of a laugh in its voice that got Haru to glance over at it. It had its head tilted back, staring up at the ceiling now. It smiled. "You're probably a good person though." It turned its greens eyes back down to look at Haru directly. "Thank you for everything you've done today."

Haru couldn't tell what exactly it was, or why it was there, but something about the way that the Makoto kept his gaze made him uncomfortable. And after long enough of it, all of a sudden, he felt … bad. Like the human Makoto had just transferred its remorse over to him. It was a very akin feeling to staring into the eyes of a sea turtle whose nest he'd accidentally stepped on. Except it smiled at him like he wasn't to blame, and for whatever reason he thought that ridiculous.

He didn't want to look at it anymore, because his skin was starting to crawl, and all of whatever was going on in his stomach was very foreign to him. He looked back to the sea for peace, but also couldn't help but respond.

"You've had a long day. Don't feel bad about it."

He could feel the Makoto relaxing, and its smile followed suit. Haru felt quite surely that if he looked back at it, he'd be even more unsettled, and he was already blushing, so he stayed staring out of the doorway, and drank the rest of his tea.

"Did you collect all of these seashells yourself?" it asked after another long moment.

Haru pulled in a slow breath, doing his best not to let it weigh him down, but his voice was quieter than he meant for it to be when he answered. "No."

He could feel the tenderness of it's gaze walking all over the side of his face. It didn't say anything, but Haru knew the silence was its way of giving him room to speak if he wanted to. And he didn't want to — but no one had ever asked.

No one had ever asked, because no one had ever been in this space that used to be theirs.

"They were my grandmother's," he said. "She was obsessed over them, knew them all by name, could spot them from a mile off, even when they were half buried in the sand. There was a point in time when I was sure there would be no seashells left to find because of her."

The Makoto hummed a noise that sounded oddly empathetic, and yet it was so light and unburdened at the same time. "Was this her cottage?"

"Yes."

"How long has she been gone?"

"A while."

The silence returned, but it was strangely the very opposite of the awkward tension in all the other silences before it. Haru felt the turmoil of being held under the Makoto's gaze poof away, and the stress of all the new things was all of a sudden gone. He breathed a real breath for the first time, and it hit him — only when the weight lifted — that he hadn't spoken to anyone about her.

The only one who knew of his grief was the sea. But the sea could never look at him with green eyes like that.

"It's not an apology," it said. "But I am sorry."

Haru allowed the frown this time, and just simply nodded.

A cool breeze danced through the doorway, brushing their hair around their faces. Haru breathed in the comfort of its scent, and willed the small knot of longing to disappear from his throat. He closed his eyes, just long enough to settle back down, and then glanced disgruntled into his now-empty mug.

The Makoto peeked back over its shoulder out the door, and Haru was not oblivious to the way that it tensed.

"I don't suppose you have a phone I could borrow?"

Haru didn't bother to look at it, but he did shake his head in response. "No one to call."

It sighed and shifted its weight uncomfortably. Its shoulders sagged. "This island doesn't have an airport, does it?" It was less a question than it was a statement for confirmation, spoken through dread.

"Only way to Iwatobi is to take the ferry from Chibu. Only way to Chibu is to find a sailor in town. Only way to town is either half a day's hike over the mountain, or by taking the waterway to the nearest port." He pushed himself out of his lean and turned back for the kitchen. "I don't have a boat. And something tells me you're not going to want to swim."

The Makoto heaved a giant sigh, and Haru was caught slightly off guard by the way it so sullenly slid down the wall to sit on the floor with its face in its hands, knees tucked in close to its body, which was back to turning against the view of the ocean.

Haru found his lips pinching to the side as he wondered if he should feel bad for it. Maybe he kind of did already … He definitely did already, but he wasn't going to admit that. It was a little bit irritating how actually pitiful it was. It seemed like such a young and sprightly creature. It was probably quite physically strong, and it had to be some kind of resilient to have made it all the way from Iwatobi to Haru's little cove through a storm. But it was so … tender, and meek, and thought itself much smaller than it truly was, and now it was curled up in a ball of distress. And all of this was forcing Haru to feel some type of way about it, like he should actually put the effort into continuing to help it.

He'd promised the bottlenose that he would take care of it — but he hadn't anticipated that it would require so much sympathy from him.

He breathed a quiet sigh out of his nose, closing his eyes again as he prayed to the sea for patience and the right kind of attitude not to unsettle the poor creature even further.

"I'm going into town tomorrow," he informed it, opening his eyes again to wash his mug in the sink. "I'll find clothes, a phone, and someone who can give you a ride to Chibu before the end of the week … Is that sufficient?"

He looked up from the faucet, and the Makoto looked up from its knees. There was a bend of uncertainty on its brow, but it nodded. "I … Thank you."

Haru nodded back curtly and turned his attention back to what he was doing. "There's no need for you to fear it."

The Makoto was quiet, but Haru could feel its green eyes staring across at him.

"The sea," he clarified, turning the water off.

The human didn't respond, just dropped its head and looked away at something in the corner, arms wrapped around its knees.

"It's difficult to see for those who spend all of their time on land, but the sea gives more than it takes. It's a source of life and far more wisdom than you'll ever be able to understand. Just like a god can be trusted with your prayers, the sea will listen to whatever you ask of it. But being afraid will only make receiving what it offers you difficult. And it can't find favor with you if you don't respect it."

The Makoto looked back, meeting Haru's gaze with both thoughtfulness and trepidation. The corners of its lips set into the smallest of frowns, and it glanced away only long enough to let Haru's words settle somewhere deeply — hopefully to consider again later. Then it looked back.

"Have you lived here your whole life?"

Haru shook his head. "Not exactly. I'm from … somewhere far away from here."

The Makoto's expression shifted just slightly, as though unsure whether or not to voice whatever it was thinking, then it asked, "What happened to your parents? If you don't mind me asking."

"Nothing happened to them." Haru shrugged. He looked out toward the water again. "They didn't agree with the way that my grandmother lived her life, and I didn't agree with them, so I decided to leave them."

The Makoto's brow furrowed deeply, as though disturbed by this. "Have you spoken to them at all since then?"

Haru turned his eyes back to it. "I have no desire to."

"Not even when your grandmother passed?"

He clenched his back teeth, only for a moment. "No."

"Do they know what happened? Did someone else tell them?" The Makoto sat up suddenly, legs bending out to the sides as it straightened its back with concern.

"They know," Haru informed it.

All beings of the sea knew when one of their own was gone. It was an unspoken shift. Because those that belonged to the ocean always returned to it — no matter what. This he didn't say out loud.

The Makoto breathed a heavy breath and relaxed its body again, looking down at its feet now. "I couldn't imagine not being on speaking terms with my parents," it said quietly, as though just simply thinking out loud. "I know it happens sometimes — and I feel sad for everyone who has to experience something like that. I'm so sorry."

Haru's cheek twitched involuntarily with just the smallest grimace in reaction to the way the Makoto's new gaze pierced something soft in him. He found himself holding his breath, staring back, and finally didn't know what to say.

"Do you ever get lonely out here by yourself?"

"No," he said stiffly, breathing again without making it obvious. He turned his back and shuffled with things on the counter needlessly.

He could swear he felt the Makoto smiling softly at his back, as though it could see right through him. "That can't be true."

"Well it is. I don't know what else you want me to say."

"You have friends you talk to, don't you?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Haru deflected, turning a look back over his shoulder. The Makoto was indeed smiling.

"Would you expect me not to? We're strangers, but I'm sitting in your home. You promised a dolphin that you would look after me, and yet I barely know anything about you."

"Do you need to?"

"I would like to." The Makoto stood, and Haru found that his skin was rippling with goosebumps as it strolled closer and leaned against the island. "Seems like I'll be around for at least a couple of days. We might as well share all of our secrets, right?"

Haru made absolute sure that his face was as flat as it could be, watching the Makoto prop its cheek in its hand and perk up a different kind of smile.

He was not going to call it cute.

As much as he knew it was ridiculous to have such an opinion, humans were generally hideous to him. With legs, he looked exactly like them, but to him there were very distinct differences even so. He'd always known that, always thought that, always held tightly to that judgment, and no amount of fancy clothing, or makeup, or jewelry, or haircuts, or smiling friendly faces had ever changed that.

This Makoto … it was a struggle — to think of it as hideous.

And he didn't like that.

"I live alone in a cottage by the sea. I used to have a grandmother, now I don't. I don't have parents. I don't have friends. That's my life. I've told you all of this already. There's nothing more than that."

"There's always more than that." The Makoto smiled with its teeth this time, and Haru was deeply disturbed.

He propped a hand on the counter by his hip and leaned against it as well. "Well, you've barely told me anything, and you're the one who so rudely showed up on my beach uninvited."

The Makoto made a face, its lips pursed in a pouty kind of way. (He was not going to call it cute.) "You haven't exactly seemed all that interested to know anything about me, except for the one thing I can't remember."

"Fine then. What kind of pod do you belong to?"

"Pod?"

"Family," Haru corrected quickly. "What is your family like?"

The Makoto smiled again. "I love my family," it stated, so confidently in fact that Haru found himself paying attention.

"My mom is Yuna — like kindness. She makes the best green curry in the world, and she'll be the first person to invite you to dinner after she's given you more hugs and kisses than you'll ever need for the rest of your life, just to thank you for taking care of me.

"My dad is Akira — like wisdom. He loves to read, and he has dad jokes for days, but they're incredibly lame. So much so that they're not even funny, honestly. He's really tall — which is where I get my height from — but he's also the gentlest person on the face of the planet. He and my mother have been together since they were teenagers, and they've been happy all the while, which is why I believe in love.

"There's also Ren and Ran — like water lilies and orchids. They're twins, just turned fourteen. They're loud, they argue all the time, they eat far more than I do, they can't sit still to save their lives, and they're the most precious people in the world to me."

The Makoto's smile turned soft and happy talking about them, and Haru could see the excitement in its eyes, could tell that it was attached to its pod and would do anything for them. It barely needed to say so.

"They live in Iwatobi." It took its cheek out of its hand and leaned on crossed arms now. "That's where I grew up. I was coming home to visit from Tokyo. I just finished university and got my EMT certification. I'm supposed to start as a volunteer at the fire department in a week to begin training. My family …" A sudden crease made it to the Makoto's brow as though it had just thought of something, but it took it a minute to attempt to wrangle that thought down it seemed like. "They … wanted to congratulate me … somehow."

It blinked back up at Haru after a moment and fixed its smile back on. "I'm having a hard time remembering. Everything between getting to Iwatobi and ending up here is a blur."

Haru considered the moment that he'd found the Makoto on the beach that morning.

He'd woken only with the thought of swimming on his mind, but then he'd sat up and saw a body on the sand. And for the longest while, he'd just sat there, staring at the shape of it a good distance away from the open doors of the cottage, and yet he knew what it was. He hadn't wanted to approach it, and was more so immediately exhausted by the thought that he'd have to find a way to get rid of it before it started rotting and stinking up the beach, more so than he was concerned about the thing at all.

Just as he'd begun to complain to himself though, the waves had caught his attention, crawling softly up the shore. And he knew exactly then that the creature was in fact not dead but still alive, and the sea very much insisted that it needed his help.

So he'd gotten out of bed with a great sigh, and upon walking up to it, the first thing that he had noticed was the blood in its hair.

He didn't mention any of this to the Makoto.

"Why a firefighter?" he asked instead.

"I always wanted to do something where I could help people. I'm not smart or patient enough to be a doctor. I think if I was a counselor or something I'd always be afraid of saying the wrong thing. Being a teacher would be fun, but I wanted to do something more active. Someone told me once that I had the right kind of stamina for a firefighter, and I've been thinking about it ever since." It shrugged and dropped its gaze back to Haru. "I think it's a job where I don't have to be incredibly special to make a difference, and I kind of like that."

Haru was quiet, because he had never heard a sentence that encapsulated so much humility and selflessness all at one time, and he wasn't sure he understood it.

"What do you do?" it asked.

"I sell fish … Sometimes."

The Makoto smiled — as though that was the most interesting thing in the world. "Do you catch them yourself?"

"Yes."

It frowned suddenly. This time the bend in its brow was curious. "You said you didn't have a boat though."

"I don't need a boat."

A beat of silence settled between them as the Makoto tried to make sense of that. It seemed to struggle with what kind of follow-up question to ask, so Haru took the opportunity to change the subject.

"What size are you?"

So they got into discussing what clothes would fit the Makoto, how big its feet were for shoes — and Haru very much doubted he'd be able to find the right sizes, but he wrote it all down. Then the Makoto spent a good minute stressing about how much it would all cost and how it was going to pay Haru back, and Haru tried multiple times to calm it down by informing it that he didn't care about any of that — really. But the Makoto insisted that it couldn't live with itself if it was given food, a place to sleep, clothes to wear, and a way to get back home all for free. So Haru sighed and informed it they would discuss repayment later.

It was right around then that the Makoto started to sag a bit and began yawning.

"Wow," it said, brushing a hand up through the back of its hair, already with half-lidded eyes. "I just got really sleepy all of a sudden."

Haru straightened out of his lean with a silent sigh, already incredibly antsy to be left alone to get in the water. "You went through a lot in one day. You should sleep."

"Okay," it sighed, without even thinking to argue. "I can sleep on the couch, if you want your room ba —"

"No," Haru interrupted, taking the liberty of pinching the Makoto's wrist and pulling it toward the bedroom. "Stop being concerned about me. I live here. I'm used to everything. If I want to share, I'll share, if I don't, I won't. You can have the bedroom."

"Are you — "

"Yes, I'm sure. Go to sleep, please." He tried not to say the last word so tightly, but it came out of his teeth anyway.

The Makoto was reluctant to let it go, but it seemed to accept, given the way Haru was pushing it through the doorway. He leaned through without crossing inside, one hand on the frame, the other on the door ready to close it.

"Do you need anything?" he asked — not by way of courtesy, but more so to confirm that there would be no reason for the Makoto to leave the room.

It stood there awkwardly twisting its fingers. "No."

"Okay then. Goodnight."

"Haru!"

Haru stopped in the midst of closing the door and tried not to burn on the inside as he gave his attention back to the human.

The Makoto bowed deeply. "Thank you."

Haru's lips twitched as he stared at the top of its head. His grip tightened on the doorframe and he again struggled to find the right words or understand the bubbling things in his stomach and in his chest that made him feel so antsy and uncomfortable but somehow simultaneously inclined — as though he didn't mind the Makoto.

But he scrunched up his nose with "You already said that," then he closed the door.