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It's a beautiful Hawaiian night. The weather is perfectly calm and the sky is dark and clear. The Goromaru waits patiently at the docks, but most of her crew has left for the island — a small but bustling spot, strung up with colorful lights, the distant rumble of city nightlife warm and inviting.
And yet, Jason lies alone on the shoreline.
He's carelessly sprawled at the ocean’s edge, halfway submerged beneath the tides. His sneakers are already soaked through, and the gentle waves lap all the way up his back, saltwater tangling his hair. His wet clothes stick to his skin, and a breeze brings a passing chill.
But he can't bring himself to care. He just lies there, motionless, like a body washed ashore.
And like a waterlogged corpse, he's perfectly content with being left alone to rot — but he’s brought back to a vague awareness when he hears approaching footsteps softly crunch through the sand. Maybe it's just a good samaritan coming to check on what the sea washed up. Hopefully, they'll see he's alive and decide to leave him be. The last thing he needs is a wellness check from some concerned stranger.
He summons enough energy to turn his gaze up from the horizon, and is hit by an unexpected wave of relief when he sees Masaru’s face in the corner of his vision, smiling down at him. Masaru comes to sit beside Jason, lowering himself into the chilly water without question or complaint. Just like it used to be; Jason leads and Masaru is happy to follow, no matter where.
Jason raises the bottle clutched in his hand as a wordless greeting. He wishes he could look a little more lively, but all he can manage is a flickering hint of a smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
Masaru raises a bottle of his own. “Rough night?”
Jason leans his head back and looks at the stars scattered above him as he considers a response. He used to know a lot of the constellations, but the names escape him now, and the words he tries to form feel too heavy for his clumsy tongue. He eventually settles on, “Yeah. Rough night.”
Masaru is looking at him, but he can't meet Masaru’s eyes. He's thinking about the drink in his hand, wondering if he should take another swig, or if he should just leave it to the waves that keep trying to tug it from his grasp. It's probably the last thing he needs right now. It's warm and tastes like sea salt. He's been drinking a while now, and it hasn't helped yet, but it never helps and yet he always drinks.
Masaru breaks through his haze. “Oh, hey, I got you something.”
Before Jason has the time to glance over, the bottle is being plucked from his hand and replaced with another. He's kind of hoping it's a fresh drink, although the thought of more alcohol makes him a little nauseous, the pit in his stomach aching in protest. But squinting at the label in the dim light reveals the words root beer.
He lets out a sharp chuckle, almost a scoff. It's the kind they bought for Noah, so he wouldn't feel left out when the rest of the crew was drinking, but the kid could never finish a full bottle himself.
“Asshole,” Jason mutters as he looks over at Masaru — hiding a little smirk while sipping his beer — but he can't really be mad. “You knew, huh?”
Masaru shrugs, bumping shoulders with him. “I figured you wouldn't be lying out here on your own unless you were drinking yourself half to death. Thought you could use a change of pace.”
The acknowledgement doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would. Moana would've made sure it stung, but Masaru speaks so nonchalantly, making it feel more like their usual friendly banter. Jason almost wants to argue back just to fill the air, but he can't come up with even a joking excuse for himself. He knows full well that he fucked up. He's just glad Masaru isn't too keen on rubbing salt in the wound.
“Fair point,” he says, and takes a sip of his soda, appreciating the sweetness and spice.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Jason sighs, long and low. How did he even get here, in the first place? Sometimes it's hard to tell.
Tonight, he thinks it started with a random twinge of melancholy, an unexplained feeling that hit him sometime in the early evening. He had started drinking, hoping that it would go away, but all it does is make him feel languid and helpless, resigned to wallow in the depths of it. And now the moon has fully risen, and he still doesn't have a name or a reason for that feeling.
“It's nothing,” he says, and before Masaru hits him with that skeptical look he knows is coming, he continues, “There’s nothing to explain, and that's the damn problem. It's just… one of those nights, I guess.”
Masaru’s brow creases in concern. “I see what you mean. Can't exactly say I know how it feels, though. Sorry.”
His eyes search Jason’s face, as if trying to decipher the emotions that Jason can't describe. He hasn't seen the full picture yet, only glimpses. He had left before Jason hit his lowest, and by the time he returned, Noah and the captain had started to force their way past the walls Jason had built up. But the look on Masaru’s face is one of genuine acceptance and understanding, or at least one that's attempting to understand, reaching out through the distance that had formed between them.
Masaru works up a smile, although it seems bittersweet. “One thing I do know, though, is that drinking’s always better with a friend. Never as fun when you're alone.”
“Ha! Ain't that the truth.”
Jason lifts his bottle, and Masaru clinks theirs together in a toast.
They settle back into the sand together, with Jason leant against Masaru’s side, and watch the ocean as they drink. The waves roll in and pull away, swaying in mesmerizing cycles. Before, the dark waters felt like they could swallow him whole, but now, it comforts him. The city lights glitter off the surface, the soft colors blurring together in Jason’s tipsy and tired eyes.
The sea was his first love, but it never felt the same after his crew disbanded. It's powerful, unpredictable, untameable — and the things that once filled him with awe and wonder suddenly felt foreboding, becoming the cage that locked him on that tiny island. But he never felt quite as alive without a boat to steer or his crewmates to lean on.
“Y’know, the ocean seems real different when you've got friends by your side,” Jason points out. “…A lot of things do, I guess. Either way, I'm glad that the crew is together again.”
“Yeah, me too.” Masaru’s expression has mellowed out. Only a hint of something wistful remains. “It wasn't the same without you.”
“It's good to have you back. I missed you.” Jason speaks quietly, feeling like he's not quite drunk enough to be getting so sentimental, but the words come out without thinking, anyway.
“Wish I could do more for you.”
“Don't. You've done enough.” Jason gives Masaru an affectionate nudge. “Actually, I think this is just what I needed.”
Masaru shifts so he can put an arm around Jason. “I'll sit with you, as long as it takes.”
From somewhere distant, they hear passing voices, the sound of cheers and laughter, but it's soon lost under the waves. They share a soft look and a smile.