Chapter Text
The beaches of Miami, Florida are loud. Motor boats speeding by, the low bellows of ship horns in the distance, people shouting at each other. It's crowded, too. You can't go two feet without almost running into someone or tripping on some two-year-old's plastic bucket or shovel.
How can anyone think that coming here for a vacation is a good idea?
Apparently Keith Gyeong's adoptive parents do, because they suddenly just up and dragged him to Miami for a week-long vacation.
Alright, Keith can see where they're coming from with this: he hasn't been with them that long yet, barely more than a month. They want to get to know him better, bond with him a little bit away from school and work; that's all fine and dandy, his past foster parents wanted to do the same kind of thing. What Keith can't understand is why they had to pick Miami of all places. As mentioned before, the place is loud and crowded. Keith hates loud and crowded--he might even go so far as to say that the notions terrify him.
No, you know what? "Loud and crowded" definitely terrify him. It's why he avoids large groups of people like the Plague. It's why he doesn't start conversations. It's why he runs away to secluded places. It's why he sits on the ground in a tightly wound ball and covers his ears.
It's why he's sitting underneath a rickety old dock somewhere far away from the main part of the beach, his legs drawn up to his chest and his face buried in his knees as he tries not to let the tears fall.
He's scared. He doesn't want to be here. He wants to go home to his little quiet place, a small clearing in the woods behind his house. He wants to listen to his wave maker there. He wants to get lost in the serenity and solitude.
He hates that his tears decide to leak out of his eyes anyway, despite his best efforts to hold them in.
He doesn't know how long he sits there crying. He sobs into his knees and tries to catch his breath at the same time, resulting in shaky whining broken by random hiccups. He knows he should calm down, go find someone that can help him find his parents. He knows this, and yet...
He can't stop. He can hardly breathe anymore.
Suddenly, he feels something cool and wet touch his feet. He looks up from his knees, tears staining his face. The tide seems to have come in while he was going through his breakdown, and is now gently swelling over and receding from his feet, as if it's trying to calm him down.
Keith sniffles and wipes his eyes, listening to the water pull and push at the land; it's just like his wave maker back home. Better, even.
(Of course it's better, it's the actual ocean.)
Keith times his breathing with the sound of the waves, inhaling when they recede, exhaling when they return. It's the most calm he's felt since he arrived in Miami.
He spends a few more minutes there, drinking in the sound of the waves, before he notices how low the sun is getting in the sky. With a quiet, slightly disappointed sigh, he pushes himself up. He doesn't want to leave, but if he doesn't go back and look for his parents soon, they might send an all-out search party after him. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if they already had.
He walks out from under the old dock and finds that he can see a few beach-goers in the distance. He must not be as far away from the commercial part of the beach as he thought. He'll have to either brave the crowd or skirt around it to find a payphone or something in the actual city (does Miami even have payphones anymore?), but he feels like he can handle it now that he's calmed down enough.
He takes one last look at the old dock and the waves lapping at the sand beneath it. A small smile finds its way onto his face. He'll have to come back here sometime.
He isn't exactly sure who he's talking to when he says, "Thank you for calming me down. I needed that." He feels a little silly about it, like he's channeling his inner five-year-old, and he'll deny it vehemently to anyone who asks (not that anyone would know to ask if he was talking to the ocean or something), but he feels as if he needs to show his gratitude.
As if in response, an extra large wave compared to the ones before it rushes the beach at his feet.
He smiles, feeling a new spur of determination. As he walks back toward the crowd, steeling himself for the inevitable human interaction, he feels like the rest of this vacation won't be so bad after all.