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It was another one of those days.
Kaoru Hakaze hates those days.
One of those days where everything felt dull and grey. One of those days where he just went through the motions. One of those days where he felt nothing more than numb. One of those days where events blurred together in a foggy haze of memories that he wouldn’t be able to recall later.
Kaoru Hakaze is more than used to those days.
He used to cope by spending time in the marine bio club room, accompanied by the soft glow of the surrounding tanks (and later in the day, the occasional club member coming by to attend to the creatures in said tanks). Much like their club leader, the room had a soothing effect that made even the worst days just the slightest bit more bearable.
A year’s passed though, and Kaoru no longer has the luxury of spending his day in a club room.
Instead, he regresses to a different old habit—the one that caused the most annoyance to those around him in the past: he leaves. This time, at least, he doesn’t ditch before practice. Immediately afterwards though, he leaves with little (read: no) explanation. The Kaoru of the future could deal with the consequences of skipping out on the meal UNDEAD had scheduled for afterwards. The Kaoru of the present doesn’t have the energy to care.
He finds himself standing on a beach. He recalls the vague memory of one of his juniors finding him here a year ago, and lets out a short, weak laugh. Back then, it had been one of those days too, hadn’t it? He doesn’t remember the details, but he remembers how it felt.
Looking back, he hasn’t actually changed much since then. Still naive, still flaky, still… stuck. Staying in place even as the sea around him moves and changes. Despite outward appearances, and despite whatever his unit leader said once about his consistency as a person being something his friends “loved dearly” (whatever that meant), Kaoru feels stuck.
Sure, he’s made great progress in letting himself actually form bonds with other people. He can genuinely say that there are people he genuinely cares about who can also (hopefully) genuinely say that they genuinely care about him. Kaoru thinks he’s pretty good at recognizing where he’s grown.
Kaoru also thinks he’s pretty good at recognizing where he hasn’t.
The water laps at his ankles as he takes small steps, his socks and shoes left behind on the dry sand. Kaoru stares down at the water, watching as it rushes forward then falls back. Forward, then back, then forward once again. For a moment, he entertains the idea of following the tide back into the sea. He doesn’t think he’ll return with it to the shore if he does that.
Would that really be a bad thing?
Some reasonable part of him (which sounds suspiciously like that junior who found him here so long ago) tells him to stop thinking about something so stupid, and asks him what the hell is wrong with him. Another reasonable part of him (which sounds suspiciously like that dramatic vampire who he calls his partner) tells him that he has grown, and that it’s just hard to see from his point of view even though everyone around him can see it. Another reasonable part of him (which sounds suspiciously like that kind junior that his partner picked up during their second year) tells him that there are people who are there for him, and that he understands what it’s like to not really know how to verbalize your thoughts.
There’s a lot of reasonable parts of him that speak up (which all sound suspiciously like people he knows), but Kaoru loses focus and unintentionally starts to tune them out in favor of the sound of waves crashing into one another. It’s a rhythmic, calming sound.
Kaoru closes his eyes. He feels the breeze in his hair, and the sand under his feet, and the water at his ankles. He feels the cold sting of the breeze, and the shifting bits of sand, and the brush of water against his lower calves as a slightly stronger wave rolls in.
It feels better than feeling nothing, at least.
When’s the last time he did this? It’s been getting colder, and he’s been getting busier. Kaoru isn’t sure of the last time he came to the beach alone. He kind of missed it. Every time he comes, he remembers how much he misses it.
He misses the warmth of the breeze, and the feeling of the sand, and the way the sea welcomed him each time he came. Even though they’re the same beach, the beach he misses feels different than the beach he’s at right now. It doesn’t feel kind.
He opens his eyes. The area around him is still empty, and he doesn’t think anybody will be coming soon, what with the sky beginning to turn dark and all.
If he wanted to, he really could just take a few steps forward, and…
Kaoru sighs.
That would just prove that he’s naive, and that he’s flaky, and that he has nowhere else to go. That he’s only good for running away (especially when he’s needed most). Even if it’s all true, he doesn’t want to give in and prove it.
But, if he really did disappear…
Kaoru finally decides to stop that train of thought.
How long has he been here? The bottoms of his rolled up pants are wet, and his skin is all wrinkly. That’s annoying. He spares a glance at the socks and shoes behind him. There’s probably sand in them now, huh? That’s also annoying. Kaoru cracks a smile. Now he’s starting to sound like a certain friend from his old class.
Kaoru’s not really sure when all of his friends became such an integral part of his inner thought process. It’s nice, though. Much nicer than being left alone with his own thoughts, he decides.
He brushes the hair out of his face and tucks it behind his ears, dragging himself back to the dry sand. He picks up his belongings, and idles for a moment.
His feet are wet. Sand sticks to things that are wet. He doesn’t want to put socks—much less shoes—onto wet, sandy feet. Damn it. He mentally scolds his past self for not having the foresight to realize that he probably would have gone to the beach later because of his mood.
He’ll just walk along the shoreline until he’s dried off, there’s still a little bit of light anyways. The missed calls and messages from Rei can wait—no matter how sad those crying emotes look because he missed dinner.
At least Kaoru knows his disappearance would be noticed (if it ever did happen).