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For Jo, life starts when summer does.
He's jittery all throughout May, finishing his classes and leaving Spring with them. June is when everything blooms again, when the colors outside start to look brighter.
With June comes a lot of things, like the grace of the sun setting later or Jo's mom sending him garden updates, but most importantly: June comes with Jo's road trip.
Or, that was most important at one point or another. Now, even with the heat rapidly approaching, Jo has yet to touch his suitcase.
It's not that he doesn't want to go, he just… isn't sure. He wants to, and he doesn't all the same.
“Staring at it isn’t going to help you make a decision.”
“It might.” Jo doesn't look at Nicholas, gaze stuck on the open suitcase. It lies on his bed, tempting him into tossing clothes into it or shoving it back under.
Nicholas scoffs from Jo's desk chair, rolling his eyes. He spins in the chair, but still doesn't fully catch Jo’s attention. “You've never thought this hard about it before.”
Jo frowns, the brown leather creasing back at him. “Because I've never felt this way before. Something just feels off.”
Nicholas has helped him pack for this trip for years, just to send him off alone. Jo has never hesitated like this.
“Ask your mom to go with you,” Nicholas suggests. “Like when you were a kid.”
The idea makes Jo's heart swell. He'd enjoy that more than anything, a week with his mom, sharing the beach with her like he did when he was only just big enough to sit in the front seat. But still, it doesn't feel right. Maybe this year just isn't it for him, maybe this will be the first time he's ever skipped this road trip.
“Just think about it.” Nicholas says, shrugging at him. “You'll figure out how to get out of here.”
Jo likes to leave for his trip on June fifth. He likes to finish packing and loading the backseat of his truck on June fourth. On June third, he cleans his house.
Three hours into June fourth, Jo is woken up by a series of rapid knocks on his door. He barely checks the time before dragging his body from the bed and pushing it toward the front door. He's still half asleep, only registering a second set of knocks before swinging the door open.
“Oh-!” Jo freezes when he hears the voice, staring at the head of blond hair in his doorway. “I didn't think you were going to answer.”
Jo feels wide awake now. “Yuma?”
“Can I come in?” Yuma asks hopefully, rocking back on his feet.
Jo opens the door wider, stepping aside. “Oh, yeah, uh, come in.”
Yuma is wearing a smile despite the late hour, Jo notices first. He notices second that Yuma’s hands are shaking.
They step into Jo's disheveled living room, the aftermath of packing and unpacking everything before deciding he just isn't leaving. It doesn't matter now, not when Yuma clearly needs someone despite the state of his home.
“Are you okay?” Jo asks, slow and hesitant. He glances at the clock, then back at Yuma.
Yuma’s smile falters, his hands wringing together. “I'm sorry. I didn't have anywhere else to go.”
They're not close, not anymore, but they had been not long ago at all. Lab partners turned temporary roommates when Yuma couldn't handle staying at his own home anymore. Yuma never explained, not really, anyway, but Jo understood. He understood when Yuma showed up at Jo's apartment the first time, shifting nervously on his couch. Jo briefly wonders if this is just deja vu or a horribly vivid dream.
Yuma is real though. He's real and sitting on Jo's couch for the second time in a year. “I had to get out of there, Jo, you know how it is. I know I didn't call, but I don't have anyone else.”
Jo nods, sitting on the opposite end of the tattered couch. He picks at a loose thread on his pajama pants, cheeks puffed out with an awkward sigh. He's unsure what to say, how to comfort Yuma, just like the first time he’d shown up.
He only knows Yuma’s parents as an unfortunate situation, he knows Yuma never got the chance to move out like his sister did.
Yuma lived in Jo's guest room until the semester ended, those couple months long enough for Jo to grow a second heart, reserving a second pulse just for Yuma.
They haven't talked since Yuma moved out, not even in passing. He didn't even know Yuma was still living around here until now, yet he feels the beat of his second heart pick up with every breath he takes in Yuma's presence.
Jo looks over at Yuma, who has his eyes trained on the floor. If Yuma needs to get out of there, out of here, then Jo can do that. He looks at the suitcase on his living room floor and feels everything fall into place.
“Do you want to go to the beach?” He asks and Yuma looks at him, lips itching to stretch into a smile.
“The beach?”
“California,” Jo swallows, nodding. “We can make a trip out of it.”
༄
Yuma is still in the bathroom when Jo works up the courage to call Nicholas, glancing nervously at the gas station doors from beside the payphone. He tugs on the cord, getting antsy around the third or fourth ring.
“Hello?”
Jo breaths out a shaky sigh of relief.
“Hey, it's Jo.” Swallowing down his anxiousness, he presses on before Nicholas can interrupt him. “I'm, uh, on my way to California. I just thought I'd let you know so you can stop by my house, water the plants.”
“Oh. Okay, yeah. What changed your mind?”
“I left with Yuma, you remember him?” Jo pulls his jacket tighter around his body, sandwiching the phone between his ear and shoulder. “He stopped by my house this morning. I just thought… maybe I shouldn't go alone this time, I don't know.”
“Yuma? Nakakita? I thought you said you haven't heard from him in months?”
Jo frowns, he's running out of time, both with the phone call and before Yuma comes out of the gas station. “It's complicated. I'll talk to you next time we stop, okay?”
“Okay. Be safe, yeah?”
The line goes flat before Jo can return the sentiment, just as Yuma comes up to the payphone.
“You okay?” He asks, holding out a candy bar. Jo pockets the candy with a dismissive nod and slings the phone back into its spot.
“I'm good.” He says, starting back toward the car. They haven't quite left the state, but they're close enough for Jo to feel anxious about whether he's doing the right thing or not. He wants to call it off, more than anything. He's already exhausted, the heat of Nicholas’ doubt giving him a headache.
Yuma slides into the passenger seat, pulling his seat belt on with an excited smile. “I've never been on the highway before.”
“Really?” It's not Jo's favorite route. It doesn't take as long as the back roads, sure, but it's less scenic, less exciting. To him, at least.
“We're taking it, right?” Yuma asks. “I looked at a map in the gas station.”
Jo starts the car. He guesses it wouldn't be that big of a deal. A little while on the big roads before getting back between the trees, through towns with more tiny shops than their population can handle. “We can, I don't mind.”
Yuma isn't much of a conversationalist, Jo knows from when they lived together, but an hour of driving must have bored him. It's abrupt, the way he turns to lean against the window and gaze at Jo.
“What made you want to go on this trip?” He asks, ripping open his candy bar from earlier. Jo's still sits in his pocket, but he's not hungry.
Fishing it out and holding it out for Yuma, he shrugs. “Wanted a change, I guess.”
“Why California?” Yuma presses on. “I mean, I've never left South Bend, so I don't exactly know what's so great about driving across the country.”
Jo doesn't really know. He doesn't know why his mom chose California all those years ago, why she continues to choose it. He doesn't know why he does, why he doesn't just go somewhere on the East Coast.
“I think,” Jo isn't really sure how to word it, tapping at the steering wheel like it'll create the words for him. “The drive is just as important as being there.”
Yuma just nods, leaning his head back against the window. He accepts the answer easily, with a quiet, “Okay.”
It's dark by the time they're a few states over, the only light being the lamps glowing over the Wal-Mart parking lot.
Yuma is already curled up in his seat, Jo's blanket tucked around him. It's not an odd sight, not with how often Yuma fell asleep on his couch covered in the same cloth, but it still makes it hard to focus on sleeping.
Jo's a little greedy, he knows. He's been greedy since he debated begging Yuma to keep living with him, he was greedy when he invited him on this trip, and he's greedy watching him now.
It rains on their next stretch of road. It rains so hard Jo pulls over, pulling snacks from the backseat to use as an excuse, even though Yuma eats most of them.
“Do you think we'd still be friends if we weren't lab partners?” Yuma asks, mouth full of granola bar.
Jo scrunches his nose, turning his focus to the ingredients on the wrapper. He shrugs at Yuma, “Sure we would.”
Truthfully, he thinks he'd be friends with Yuma under any circumstances.
“Really?” Yuma sounds genuinely shocked, a laugh bubbling out of him. The sound mixes well with the rain, making Jo smile. “We're so different though.”
“We're not as different as everyone pretends to be.” Jo puts the truck back into drive, just as the drops on his windshield slow to a stop. “We're all just bone eventually, right?”
The sun is high when Jo speeds up onto the empty highway. Yuma has the window down, hands stuck out to feel the sharp wind. He's over the moon, Jo can tell even if Yuma wants to contain his excitement.
He doesn't recognize the song that's playing, the CD probably being one Nicholas burnt and forgot in his truck, but Yuma knows every word. Jo has to remind himself to look at the road, to not get caught up with the wind in Yuma's hair.
༄
Actually getting to California makes Jo nervous again. It makes Jo nervous every year, but it's worse now. He's only ever been here with his mom, and now suddenly he has an almost stranger in his passenger seat.
He feels a strange sort of need to impress Yuma, to prove to him that California is worth it, that coming here with him was worth it. Jo taps his hands against the steering wheel and looks at Yuma at a red light, wondering if maybe he doesn't need to try as hard to impress him as he thinks.
He calls Nicholas at the first gas station he sees, but he doesn't get an answer. It's nothing to think too hard about, and he doesn't really have time to when Yuma is so excited beside him.
“There's so many people.” Yuma is clinging to Jo, matching his quick pace through the parking lot. There are quite a few people, even just outside of Los Angeles.
It's familiar though, reminding him more of home than Indiana ever has. Jo's a little more reserved than most, sure, but he appreciates the busyness of everyone's lives clashing here.
Honestly, maybe that's what draws him back to California, how individual everyone is. Back at home, everyone lives the same life. Over and over again.
“Come on,” Jo mumbles. He isn't sure if Yuma hears him, so he tugs on his arm to speed him up. Yuma follows, just as eager as Jo to get to wherever they're going.
Back in the truck, Yuma has his eyes glued to the window. He's pressed against the door, head resting on the glass. Jo can just barely see his eyes darting from person to person, car to car.
He's wildly fascinated by Yuma’s need to drink everything in, despite how fast the world moves on this side of things. He still takes the time to look at as much as he can.
The gasp that tumbles from Yuma when the ocean comes into view isn't something Jo thinks he'll ever get out of his head. It's a noise of such deep-seated wonder it almost makes Jo shocked to see the water too.
It's not unfamiliar, far from it, really, but the way Yuma looks at it makes it feel brand new.
“I just stay here, normally,” Jo pulls into a parking lot, one a short walk from the sand, but secluded enough that they won't be bothered. Reserved, sat on top of a perfect little hill. He can see the waves from behind the wheel, and if he rolls the window down, he can smell the salt.
With the sun setting again, Jo thinks the ocean looks exceptionally beautiful. It's hard not to think so, with the waves and the clouds and the families still soaking up the last of the light.
“I want to go.” Yuma says quietly, tucking his knees to his chest. “Can't we?”
‘Now?’ Jo wants to ask, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to question Yuma, nor deprive him of anything. Really, this trip isn't exactly for him. He sees the ocean every year, has felt the water on his skin enough times to last his entire life. Yuma, though… Yuma hasn't even been on the highway.
“Okay,” Jo nods. He can't look away from the water, away from the orange hues the sun throws onto it. In the back of his mind he wonders if he glows like that when Yuma is around him. It makes him feel silly, makes his face feel warm like Yuma’s hand clasped around his wrist.
They're ankle deep in the water when Yuma laughs, knuckles white where they clutch Jo's tee shirt.
“What's funny?” Jo's smiling, his own grip on Yuma’s arm. The water is nice, the waves calm enough to not bother them.
“I can't swim.” He looks up at Jo. His eyes bounce between Jo's features, his smile unwavering.
Jo's own smile drops into a surprised expression, a laugh of disbelief escaping him. “What?”
Yuma nods, the wind blowing his hair across his forehead. Instinctively, Jo holds him a little tighter, pulls him a little closer. “I never had a reason to learn how.”
Jo's never been a good teacher, especially not here in the ocean. He can only hold on to Yuma as the waves get a little rougher, the only thing louder than the crash of them being Yuma's laugh.
“Don't let go of me.” Jo tries to yell and Yuma nods enthusiastically. Jo belatedly wishes he had his camera, but decides staring at Yuma until the image of him sticks is his next best option.
They tired eventually, though Yuma is still laughing all the way up the beach and to where they wash the sand off.
Jo takes the blankets he packed and piles them into the bed of his truck, inviting Yuma to climb in.
“I like this,” Yuma is staring up at the sky, voice rough from the yelling they'd done in the water. His exhaustion bleeds onto Jo, his hand twitching where it almost touches Yuma’s on the blanket. Jo looks over at him, eyes ghosting over his still damp hair and pink cheeks. He can hear the waves and someone's music at a hotel a couple buildings over.
“Me too.” Jo whispers, honest. Yuma’s eyes are fighting to stay open, his eyelashes fluttering against the dark blue sky.
The sun is warm against Jo's face when he wakes up. He stretches, turning over and wondering if he could get away with another hour of sleep. Belatedly, he realizes the bed of the truck is missing someone.
Jo climbs out of the truck after a moment of debating, squinting against the sun to find Yuma. He doesn't see his figure in the crowd, ready to call out for him, until he feels a tap on his shoulder.
Yuma is wearing Jo's hat, the baseball cap he keeps on his dashboard. It's a little crooked, and doesn't do much to keep his hair out of his face, but it has Jo smiling.
“Hey.” Yuma holds out an orange, face scrunched in the sunlight.
“Where'd you get this?” Jo takes it, pushing his thumb nail into the skin.
“This woman dropped it off. Said it was for you. She told me to tell you she didn't think you were coming this year.”
Jo knows who Yuma is referring to, an older woman that was friends with his dad years and years ago.
Jo swallows, making a point to keep his eyes on the orange. “Oh.”
The smell of the fruit reminds Jo of his dad's wrinkled hands and the shed in his backyard. He tries to smile, but it feels like gravity is pulling down on his expression.
He's aware of the lie he's been caught in, but he's not sure if Yuma will bring it up.
“She left oranges and peaches,” Yuma slides up onto the tailgate, gesturing toward a plastic bag Jo hadn't seen before. “I thought it would be nice for breakfast.”
“I know a place that serves really good coffee.” Jo comments, eyes stuck on the bag of orange and pink hues.
Yuma nods, only letting the silence between them go on for so long until he's tapping his foot against Jo's leg. “Hey.”
“Hm?” Jo busies himself with collecting the blankets and folding them.
“Are you alright?” Yuma asks softly. It isn't what Jo is expecting, but it's nice to hear. Like Yuma actually cares.
He nods, piling the blankets to put back into the backseat. “Yeah, of course. Are you?”
Yuma doesn't look convinced. Jo waits patiently for the questions to come, but they never do. Yuma just nods back at him and climbs into the passenger seat.
Just before the sun has set that afternoon, they bring their leftover fruit down to the beach. Yuma peels the oranges for Jo, handing him a slice every few moments.
There are still a lot of people in the water, people Jo wishes he recognized. With Yuma beside him, Jo wonders how he ever did this alone.
“What did she mean?” Yuma asks, dragging his finger through the sand.
Jo squeezes his eyes shut, hoping maybe he'll just disappear. When he reopens them, Yuma is looking at him.
“About what?”
Yuma presses his lips into a thin line, eyes searching Jo's, like he’s wondering if he should even ask. If he should forget it, or if he should take the chance.
“About you not coming this year. You didn't really choose California for the change of scenery, did you?” Yuma asks like he already knows the answer, and Jo guesses he kind of does.
Jo blinks, looks at Yuma, then looks at the water. Within the second it takes to shift his gaze between them, he decides to be brave.
“My dad left us when I was really little. Maybe four or five.” It's a heavy confession, but Jo thinks he needs to start there. “Me and my mom, we just… woke up one day and he was gone. Never told us where he was going, but he talked about California so often it wasn't hard to guess.”
Jo swallows, staring hard at the waves. “We started taking trips here every summer. I guess my mom wanted to find him. Then, one day, he contacted me and told me he bought me a house here. I could have it whenever I was ready. When my mom got confirmation that my dad was here, she stopped going on the trip with me.”
“Have you been to the house?” Yuma rests his face on his knees. There's sand above his eyebrow, damp hair blowing across his forehead.
“No.” Jo admits. He isn't sure if he's ready. “I keep the address in my wallet though. I'm scared once I see it, it'll be, I don't know, real. My dad still caring about me somehow. The idea of leaving my mom and Nicholas in Indiana.”
Yuma lets his head fall onto Jo's shoulder, a semblance of comfort, maybe. “We should go see it. Maybe you need to, Jo.”
༄
Jo parks his truck a street away from where the house supposedly sits.
He tells himself it'll be quick, just a brief look at what could have been before he can finally let it go. Maybe he won't come back next year.
“Jo.” Yuma says gently. Jo expects him to try to convince him, maybe even rush him. After all, this isn't what they're here for. They're in California for the beach and the food and the sun, not a rundown house in the middle of an uneventful neighborhood.
Jo looks at Yuma, who's already staring in his direction. “I'm sorry.”
Yuma ignores him. “I think this trip is the best thing to ever happen to me.”
Jo's lips part in surprise. “What?”
“I haven't felt this human in a long time.”
Jo thinks so too. California is always paired with a weird sort of longing, like something is missing despite it being everything he's ever wanted. It’s different this time. He knows why it's different this time, but Jo can't bring himself to admit it.
“I'm scared.” Jo says softly. He's scared of this house, scared of how he feels for Yuma. His head is spinning and he kind of wants to throw up.
“Okay.” Yuma nods. “When has being scared ever meant being incapable?”
Jo walks the five minutes to the front gate of the quaint house, anxiety swarming him. Yuma is right beside him, their hands clasped tightly, and it does enough to keep Jo from running away.
The house isn't run down. The grass is mowed and the lock on the gate looks new. Briefly, Jo wonders if it's been sold off, the quick image of someone occupying the space making his heart plummet.
But he tries the lock, turning the dial to tick on the numbers making up his birthday, and his breath hitches when it pops open. There's a key under the welcome mat, just like his dad's voicemail had instructed.
The house opens into a kitchen, appliances clean and unused. There's no furniture, no decorations, but Jo thinks it already has a comforting air akin to a real home.
“It's cute.” Yuma comments, looking around the living room. It's a two bedroom, but is barely big enough for two people. A perfect place for when Jo decided to keep it all to himself, he guesses. Whatever his dad figured.
“I guess so.” It doesn't convey how Jo's really feeling, the overwhelming longing he's always felt dispersing into the floorboards. It's perfect, and that scares him. It scares him even worse to think about Yuma. If he chooses this house, Yuma is just another person he's leaving behind. “I think we should go.”
“Are you sure? The sun won't set for another few hours.”
Jo shakes his head. “No, I think we should go back home. To Indiana.”
Yuma gapes at him, eyes wide. He nods eventually, but it's reluctant. With an aching heart, Jo locks up the house and gets into the truck.
They don't take the highway home. Jo stays on the backroads just for the familiarity and keeps his eyes off of Yuma. They only stop to sleep, and even then they don't talk. It's horrible, and Jo feels worse than he ever has.
Jo makes his first stop in Indiana in front of Yuma’s house, parking without a word.
Yuma is quiet too, gathering his little belongings and taking Jo's heart with him.
“I'm sorry.” Yuma says, hand gripping the door before he opens it. “For whatever I did wrong.”
Jo believed, for a long time, that love wasn't more than something physical. Love was his mother's cooking and the vegetables in her garden. Love was calls from Nicholas when Jo focused too hard on studying. Love was Jo pouring all of his time into his major, because he loved it. Because his mom and Nicholas love him.
He never considered it to be a heaviness across his entire body, starting fuzzy in his head and extending through his long arms to the tips of his fingers. The closest he's ever felt to this is wishing he was in the water, but even then, he'd considered it something sad and not worth feeling, not love. Love was actually being in the water, waves wrapping around his body and the sun kissing his skin.
Jo is miserable without Yuma. Without someone to talk to, someone to drive with. He doesn't want to leave his apartment but he doesn't want to be in it either. An agitating, loud voice screams in the back of his head that everything was better in California.
Jo debates seeing Yuma. He debates calling him. He decides not to, and then when he wakes up each passing day, he debates again.
The cycle makes him feel like a dog chained to a fence, running and pushing his feet against the ground to get to the water bowl just out of reach.
It gets unbearable, the longing he feels. It makes him restless, makes it hard to sleep. The absence of Yuma becomes something physical, something he eats dinner with, shares a bed with. It's glaring and angry and, above that, desperate.
July is an arms length away. Jo wakes up with a headache and somewhere deep in his chest he can feel the decision has been made for him.
If he doesn't see Yuma now, the reality is that he'll never see him again. July will pass and Yuma will wash away with summer. If he knocks on Jo's door again, Jo won't answer. He'll let embarrassment and regret consume him and Yuma will open the door to find his withered body.
So Jo gets into his truck and is pulling out of the drive way before he lets himself think about what he's doing. He knows where Yuma lives, knows the route by heart, solidified in his memories after so many trips to the supermarket further away from his house just so he can pass Yuma's.
His truck is the only car in the driveway when he pulls up. The house is dark, and despite the early hour, Jo feels hope.
It takes two knocks for the front door to swing open.
"Jo? What are you doing here?"
With his fast beating heart through his ears, Jo can't even hear himself think. He's trying to focus on something else, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling the wind that blows past them. He doesn't really know what he's doing here.
"Jo?"
"I miss you." Jo says, not looking at Yuma. He can't, it's too much. He already came all the way to Yuma's house, standing on his steps like a loser. Anything more and he's feeling sick.
He hears the screen door shut. When he opens his eyes, Yuma's standing one step closer. "You... you missed me? So you came to my house? You didn't think to call first?"
"You didn't call either." Jo bites. Yuma hadn't contacted him at all, not once since Jo took him on that trip. Jo shared the ocean with him, invited him into his space, and Yuma didn't want to talk at all? Not even to see if Jo had gotten over himself?
Yuma doesn't seem like he's sure what to say. Maybe he doesn't want to have to let Jo down. It's hard to find the right words to reject someone who isn't even confessing properly.
"I know." He says finally. The wind picks up again, rivaling the bass of Jo's heart in his ears. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" Jo asks dumbly, searching Yuma's face for anything disingenuous. He only finds Yuma's flushed cheeks and overgrown bangs that fall out of place when he nods.
He's frowning now, looking down at the stairs with his arms crossed. Jo is grateful to be able to stare at him now, eyes dragging over him while he's focused on something else. It's obvious he was woken up by Jo's arrival, but Jo just finds it endearing.
"I wanted to call, but I didn't think you'd want to talk. You were different on the ride back, Jo."
Different? Different only because of his realization suffocating him, filling up the truck and wedging in between him and Yuma. Realizing he really would rather be in California meant realizing he'd rather be in California with Yuma. He likes Yuma now more than he did when they were living together before, he knows the heartbreak would be worse now than when Yuma moved out and dropped off the face of the planet the first time. And it was. What Jo's been feeling for the last month must really be what dying feels like. He can't imagine the fifteen minute drive turning into days of distance between them.
He doesn't have an excuse. He was different, unable to touch Yuma or look at him too long without becoming wolfish, a hunger he didn't know he had lighting up inside him. His urge to turn around and keep Yuma in that little house, all for himself, felt like something he should be ashamed of. "I wasn't... trying to be."
It's lame, he knows, and it makes Yuma's shoulders slump. "But you were. Why?"
"I'm sorry." Jo doesn't want to explain. He didn't really come here to confess, he came here because he missed Yuma. Yet, isn't that one and the same? "I was different because I felt different. I don't know. I think... I think I've liked you for a long time, Yuma. I liked you when we were lab partners, but it was just a dumb crush, I guess. But in California... it felt like so much more and that terrified me. I liked you as much as I like the ocean."
"What about now?" Yuma asks and Jo looks at him, unsure of what to say. Of course he likes Yuma now, why else would he be here?
"I like you more than I've ever liked anything, Yuma."
Yuma's hands are on his cheeks before he can expect it, tugging him in. Yuma kisses him then and Jo can't think of anything except the boy in front of him. It's gawky and awkward and Jo doesn't know where to put his hands, but above that it's warm. Warm like the sun and the sand and warm like the way Yuma makes Jo feel.
Jo doesn't open his eyes when they separate. He doesn't let go of Yuma, scared he'll float away and rejoin the sun.
"I like you too." Yuma admits quietly, cautiously.
"I think I need to call my mom," Jo blinks his eyes open to look at Yuma, at his pink cheeks. "And I think I need to move to California."
Yuma doesn't try to hide his smile, nodding with his hands still on either side of Jo's face. "Okay, yeah. Let's go then.”
When the house in California is nicely decorated, Yuma's belongings shifting into Jo's until it doesn't really matter who things belong to, Jo lets himself pretend he's home because he's in California. He's always just a five minute drive from the ocean, but he's always an arms length away from Yuma. He pretends he and Yuma are home here.
And they are, technically. But it's not really the house that makes it so, it's the boy with blond hair sitting on the sand beside him.