Chapter Text
Nathaniel never liked the beach. Or at the very least, he didn’t like this one.
He just didn’t understand why his parents were so insistent on going for a walk along it every day - he always ended up with what felt like a small mountain of sand clinging to his feet no matter what shoes he wore, meaning he’d either have to stump around for ages feeling like his skin was slowly being rubbed away until he could wash them when they finally got back to the tiny caravan they were staying at, or his Dad would get tired of his whining about the itchiness and try and brush away the sand himself once they were off the beach (objectively a worse option for both parties - the sensation of the rough sand being practically scraped off of Nathaniel’s feet felt like fire, which would usually cause him to start screaming from the discomfort.) The beach was full of screaming gulls which Nathaniel had never been a fan of ever since one attacked him for his chips, and the wind would always blow sand and sea spray right into his face if he got too close to the edge of the water. And it was always far too loud and cold and awful.
But still, they were two days away from their holiday to Llyn being over and thus his parents had decided that they were going to do a beach day, eating greasy chips out of styrofoam boxes and hoping that the circling gulls were far too interested in everyone else to go for them. Unsurprisingly, Nathaniel was not a fan - but as per usual, he didn’t really have a say in the matter. Such had been his protests that his Mum had grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him aside while his Dad was trying to figure out how to fit the beach umbrella into the car.
“You’ve been whining all morning,” she’d hissed, her fingers digging into his flesh - he tried to squirm away, but she simply gave his shoulders a little shake in response. “You’re not a baby anymore Nathaniel. Act your age, stop whining and get in the car.”
Nathaniel had felt himself tear up slightly at that - who wouldn’t when their parents were mad at them? - but had enough sense not to let anything show. He simply did as she requested, staying completely silent as they drove down to the beach and got set up in a spot near the top (Nathaniel resolving to himself that he wouldn’t go near the water once) before sitting himself down on a beach towel and staring resolutely ahead at the distant sea, down to where the darker grey-blue of the water met the bright blue of the sky above. More than once, his parents tried to get him to at least get off the towel, to build a sandcastle, to go down to the water’s edge, to do anything. But Nathaniel simply stuck to his guns and didn’t move or say anything at all.
He could tell his Mum was mad about it. It was easy to identify that tone in her voice, the sharp “If-you-don’t-listen-we’re-going-to-have-a-stern-talk” warning song that he knew too well by that point. Usually it would have scared him enough that he'd pay attention to her.
Not that day though. He was far too stubborn for that.
His Dad didn’t try to convince him as much. He half-heartedly suggested at one point that the pair of them should go down to the kiosk nearby to get an ice cream, and while Nathaniel was tempted he wouldn’t be swayed and his Dad simply gave up after that. He could hear his parents arguing in whispers about it later, with his Mum saying that his Dad gave in too easily and his Dad saying that she was being too harsh on him and that if he didn’t want to do something he didn’t have to do it. Then his Mum stormed off for a walk up the beach and she didn’t come back for an hour.
Nathaniel focused his attention on the shadow of a huge cruise liner off in the distance, a huge grey shadow gliding silently through the expanse of blue. Then something slammed into his shoulder.
Startled, Nathaniel broke his reverie to see a sand-encrusted football bouncing away across the sand, and a shirtless boy who looked about his age was hurrying towards him and shouting what seemed to be an apology, but the words were lost. The boy picked up his ball and walked back to his friends, and it was then that Nathaniel realised that he couldn’t see his Dad either. He must have gone on a walk of his own.
Nathaniel shifted on the towel slightly. He was starting to get nervous; while he didn’t want to move, he also didn’t like the idea of being completely alone. He should go look for his Dad.
And with that, Nathaniel scrambled to his feet, trying to prevent as much sand from building up in his shoes as he started to wander across the beach. The idea of leaving his spot wasn’t exactly something he liked, but the idea of being alone on a huge beach without his parents?
Well. He liked that less.
Every step was careful, with him giving all the people and animals kicking up sand as wide of a berth as he could. It was so loud too, and as he passed by a particularly noisy family - screaming kids, barking dogs, a dad shouting commands at his wife to set up the beach tent, the mum yelling back to be heard over the clammers of the children, the seagulls squalling above - he wanted to scream. He wanted to turn around. But he didn’t.
Eventually, he reached the old pier that his Mum had been very insistent on avoiding while they were looking for a space. It’s old and if Nathaniel strained his ears enough, he could hear the gentle creaking of the rotting support beams as they swayed ever so slightly in the wind. It smelled of damp wood and seaweed, and beyond it he could see the smooth, dull brown of the rocks and the rockpools they housed.
It would be a bad idea to climb them on his own, he knew that. They were damp and slick with seaweed, and even the slightest skid could result in him bashing open his leg. And besides, it was highly unlikely that his Dad was there anyway.
So why did he feel such a pull towards them? Why did he want to climb there?
He didn’t know. And he never would, really.
But regardless, Nathaniel’s feet seemed to have a will of their own - they carried him down underneath the creaking pier where the damp salty smell was strongest, over the mostly empty section of sand and up and onto the rocks. They’re thankfully dry, at least where he currently is, and apart from a few people milling about some of the larger rockpools there’s nobody there. Nobody can cast concern about why a seven year old is there without assistance. Good.
Now that he’s there though, Nathaniel doesn’t know what to do. He hadn’t exactly thought it through.
So instead he just did what he did best - he picked a direction and started walking, weaving around the shallow pools that were yet to be taken over by life, more puddles than anything else. It’s a mindless activity but at least he feels less like he doesn’t know what he’s doing up there. And he just likes walking, weaving around (and sometimes over, if the rock around them is too slick with weeds or water to comfortably stand on) the pools of water.
He’s about to step through a particularly big pool when he hears a voice nearby.
“Don’t step there!”
Nathaniel flinched at the sudden sharp command, and very nearly did end up crashing into the rockpool. Instead, he managed to retain his footing, moving back a step.
“Sorry,” the same voice said, this time sounding more sheepish than sharp. “You were about to step into a rockpool. So I had to stop you.”
“Had to?” Nathaniel echoed, whirling around to locate the source of the voice. He sees nothing.
“Had to,” the voice replied solemnly, and a small figure - about his height, maybe taller - emerged from seemingly nowhere, making Nathaniel blink in surprise. He could have sworn there was nobody even remotely close to his side of the rockpools. Their skin was tan, though there were curious patches all over it, like all the colour had been bleached away. Their hair was dark and wild, and they were wearing a weirdly oversized dark blue t-shirt with a half-faded Spongebob graphic grinning stupidly out of it, as well as grey shorts that hung awkwardly past their knees. Nathaniel wondered how their parents managed to screw up buying clothes for them so badly.
“Hi,” the figure said politely, carefully weaving their way over the smooth, damp rocks towards him. “I’m Marc. I’m seven years old, and I live over there!” (they pointed vaguely towards the cliffs near the lighthouse.) “Who are you?”
Nathaniel blinked, slightly confused. He’d never met a kid his age - or anyone, really - that introduced themselves with their age as well as their name, let alone where they live. “Nathaniel,” he muttered in reply, letting his head droop down so that he was staring at his feet. “I’m seven too. I’m in a caravan.”
“A caravan?” Marc echoed, and Nathaniel glanced up just to flinch as he came face-to-face with the other boy, his attention instantly landing on his eyes. They were dark. Unusually dark. They looked like they could be green, but to Nathaniel they just looked black, the pupils almost invisible.
“Yeah - I don’t live here, so…” Nathaniel trailed off, going back to staring fixedly at the rock below them. “And you still haven’t explained yourself!” He adds sharply, remembering why he’s even talking to Marc at all. “Why can’t I step in the rockpool?”
Marc didn’t grace him with a response. Instead Nathaniel just felt a hand grab at his wrist and yank him down with surprising strength, and he shuffled around until he was crouched down right next to the other boy. “What?”
“Shh!” Marc whispered, reaching carefully into the rockpool to grab a rock half covered in water slime. “Because you’d crush this.”
Nathaniel blinked. Scuttling across the rockpool and clearly alarmed after having its hiding place torn away from it was a tiny crab. It dashed across the pool and buried itself in a tangle of water weed. “A crab?”
“A crab,” Marc repeated solemnly. “That’s why you can’t step in rockpools. You’d hurt the things living there.”
Nathaniel glanced up at the boy. He didn’t look like he was joking at all. “You’re weird,” he told him bluntly. “It’s a crab.”
“It is a crab,” Marc agreed, gently placing the rock back down into the pool. “And it’s alive.”
“It’s a crab,” Nathaniel repeated, louder this time. “Why do you care so much?”
Marc stiffened at that, slowly looking over to lock eyes with Nathaniel. Something in the boy’s dark eyes made him feel uneasy, like looking into a completely obscured tunnel. “Crabs are alive,” Marc says slowly, and Nathaniel is reminded of the tone that his Mum uses whenever she’s trying to explain something to him when he’s overwhelmed and doesn’t want to listen to her. “And you don’t hurt things that are alive. It’s just not right.”
“But crabs are just…” Nathaniel struggled, trying to figure out what exactly crabs were for a second before giving up. “You’re weird,” is all he replied with instead.
“You’ve said that twice now.”
“It’s true.”
Marc laughed, carefully dipping his hand in the rockpool again. “I get told that a lot. I’ve met other people here. They don’t respect the things living here. It makes me sad.”
Nathaniel glanced over at him, noting the tone of melancholy in the other boy’s voice. “Do they litter?”
Marc nodded, his hand stilling in the water as his fingers brushed against the top of a rock completely blanketed in sea slime. “I’ve seen them pull the legs off of crabs as well. I don’t get why they’re so mean. Crabs are alive like us, so…”
He tailed off, sighing. Nathaniel glanced back at the rockpool, noting the original rock that had had the tiny crab underneath it. He can’t help but feel guilty now. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“It’s fine.”
There’s silence for a few minutes. Nathaniel shifts his position so that he’s sitting directly on the rock now with his legs crossed, staring out at the rolling ocean beyond.
“Do you like swimming?” Marc asked, and Nathaniel blinked. He did like swimming - sometimes. His parents had paid for him to have private swimming lessons as he refused to take ones in a class with other students, not liking the noise or the fact that they’d frequently bang into him while swimming.
So he simply shrugged, which made Marc beam in response. He got to his feet and held out his hand to Nathaniel. “Do you want to go swimming with me?”
“What, in the sea?” Nathaniel frowned, glancing first at Marc’s eager face and outstretched hand, then at the rolling sea. He thought about the taste of salt and icy cold water and shuddered. “No.”
“Why not?” Marc blinked, looking genuinely hurt by Nathaniel’s outright refusal. “Come on, it’s not that bad. Just cold. Please?”
Nathaniel glared at him. “I’m wearing clothes.”
“So am I!”
“Yeah, and I don’t know how you can swim in them. I’m not swimming,” Nathaniel responded firmly, getting to his feet. “So leave me alone.”
Marc looked away, staring down at the rockpool again. His arm fell limply down to his side. “Okay. Sorry.”
Nathaniel knew he was meant to accept the apology. That’s what he was taught at least; if someone wrongs you and apologises, you have to accept it. But he didn’t want to. Marc was weird and pushy and liked crabs too much, which set him apart from the people Nathaniel knew from school but also made him not want to like him. He was just too strange.
“Should I just leave?” Marc muttered, and he sounded so dejected that Nathaniel almost did apologise. But again, he doesn’t want to.
“Yes,” he responded bluntly. Marc didn’t say anything after that, and faintly over the sound of the sea Nathaniel could hear the sound of bare feet padding against rock.
Well, then he did feel bad. He was about to call out to Marc when he heard a very different sound - footsteps pounding against rock and two voices shouting his name before someone practically slammed into him, caging him in a hug that made him shriek.
“Don’t you - ever - do that - again,” his Mum’s voice was saying, and her voice was so thick it was like she had a cold. “You were gone for an hour. An hour. Do you know how much you scared us?”
Nathaniel barely heard her, too focused on trying to escape her grip as she held onto him. There was just so much happening. She was talking about how he ran off and how she was close to reporting him missing, his Dad was trying to calm her down and talking about leaving, and he eventually hit his limit and bit her which finally made her let go. They went back to the caravan shortly after that, and it was only later that evening that Nathaniel remembered Marc and started feeling bad again. He resolved to go back to the rockpools the next day, the last day of their holiday, and apologise if he was there.
But instead, as his feet carefully picked a path across the rocks (his parents very much present this time, following a little way behind him,) he didn’t see him. That was until he reached the same pool he saw him at the day before, the one that overlooked the ocean.
Down by the very edge of the rocks and being buffeted by the occasional wave was a familiar shirt. It was black from how sodden it was, but the faded Spongebob graphic was instantly recognisable.
Nathaniel could only stare. Marc couldn’t have left it behind, right? He must have noticed it was gone, or his parents must have noticed at the very least. And why was it right in the sea itself? Had he thrown it? Had it been so stupidly oversized that it had simply slipped off of him when he went swimming? But in that case, why didn’t Marc pick it up again when he got out?
Nathaniel would never get answers. He would soon go home, returning to his normal life where he had his normal friends and was back in his normal bedroom, but his mind would dwell on Marc on occasion for years afterward. It was just a mystery he couldn’t solve.