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Akito stood beneath the village sign at the entrance, tail hanging limp, unable to take a single step forward.
Ten years. The sign still hung crooked in the same spot, half its paint peeled away to reveal the bleached wood beneath. The sea breeze pushed at him from behind, carrying that familiar briny scent. He should have kept walking, but his feet felt nailed to the sand, each step too heavy to lift.
He closed his eyes.
The sound of rising tide flooded in.
————————————————————
"Akito, you're off-key again."
Touya sat on the reef, legs dangling in midair, sea breeze blowing through his two-toned blue hair, his silver-gray eyes curving into crescent arcs.
"I am not." Akito lifted his chin, canine ears standing straight up. "You're singing too low."
"You're clearly starting too high."
"Then raise your pitch to match mine."
Touya laughed, shoulders trembling slightly. The small mole beneath his left eye moved with the motion. Akito stared at it for two seconds, then looked away.
"Again," Akito said.
They sat side by side, facing the sea. They were twelve then, their voices still on the edge of changing, like two untuned violins that somehow harmonized unexpectedly well together.
They sang a folk song, the kind the village adults would hum on summer nights. No one had taught them the lyrics; the two had pieced together their own words, humming "la la la" wherever they forgot.
At the final line, Touya suddenly stopped.
"Hey, Akito," he said, looking at the sea surface. "Do you think we can really do it? Leave the village and go to the city for university to study vocals?"
Akito snorted. "Of course we can. I looked it up. And with our abilities, and the way we work together, there's nothing we can't do."
Touya didn't speak, only smiled. His smiles were always quiet, nothing like Akito's exaggerated exuberance. Akito glanced at him from the corner of his eye and saw sunlight fall upon his lashes, eyes half-squinted, reflecting a small patch of the sea.
"Promise," Touya said softly. "When we get to university, we'll form a duo."
"What should we call it?"
"Haven't thought of it yet."
"Then tell me when you have." Akito stood up, brushing sand from his pants. "We've got plenty of time anyway."
Touya looked up at him, and in that moment Akito felt as though the sound of the sea had grown smaller, leaving only Touya's breathing and the distant cries of seagulls.
"Plenty of time," Touya repeated, as if confirming something.
————————————————————
The day it happened, the weather was no different from usual.
Akito had been sent by his mother to buy soy sauce from the general store. On his way back, he ran into a group of children at the alley entrance. They were soaked through, hair plastered to their faces. Some were crying, others stood frozen, still clutching faded plastic shovels.
Akito grabbed one of them by the arm. "What happened?"
The child sobbed, unable to form a complete sentence, only squeezing out fragments of words: "Touya... in the sea... saved us... but..."
Akito let go. The soy sauce bottle fell to the ground, brown liquid splashing across his pant leg.
When he ran, his ears flattened back, tail rigid, wind rushing into his lungs with a stinging ache. The beach wasn't far, normally a ten-minute walk, but that stretch of road felt endless no matter how hard he ran, his lungs burning, still too slow, too slow.
A crowd had already gathered along the shoreline. Akito pushed through them and saw several adults hauling in the water, waves soaking their pants completely. Someone grabbed his arm: "Akito, don't go over there—"
He shook them off.
They found Touya in the reef crevices downstream, face down, hair spread in the water, pale blue and deep blue mixed together, indistinguishable from each other.
Akito stood in the shallows, water rising past his ankles. He watched the adults turn Touya over, watched his pale face, the lifeless, dilated pupils. Someone was shouting loudly beside his ear, but he didn't hear a single word.
The roar of the tides drowned out everything.
————————————————————
Akito didn't attend Touya's funeral.
He sat in Touya's old room the entire night. The room held little sign of life—a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and the piano Touya cherished most. Touya's parents had left this place of sorrow after his death and never returned. Now the room was completely empty.
Akito opened the wardrobe, took out the gray jacket Touya wore most often, folded it neatly. Then he pulled out a notebook from the drawer, filled with melodies that had never become songs, some of the handwriting still childish, written when they were much younger together. The last page stopped two days before the incident, bearing a hurriedly scribbled line:
"Thought of a name for our duo—haven't decided whether to tell Akito yet."
Akito stared at that line for a long time. He hugged the notebook to his chest, the gray jacket draped over his arm, and took a shell-shaped music box from the bedside—the gift he'd given Touya for his tenth birthday, still turning when wound, chiming away with a delicate melody.
He opened the door. Moonlight painted the alley silver. No figures, no barking dogs.
Akito walked out of the village step by step, without looking back.
The sound of waves behind him gradually faded, finally dissipated by the night wind. He clutched Touya's belongings in his hands, knuckles white, ears drooping in soulless despair, a pain in his chest that would not subside—dull, heavy, like something pressing beneath his ribs, sinking lower with every step.
He boarded the earliest bus. Outside the window, the sky gradually brightened, the sun rising from the sea surface, burning the clouds orange-red. Akito pressed his face against the glass, remembering so many mornings when he had walked through this light to wake Touya, saying they should get to the beach early for vocal practice.
That would never happen again.
The bus started moving. The village shrank to a tiny dot, finally blocked by the hills. Akito lowered his head, holding Touya's belongings tighter against his chest.
————————————————————
Akito never thought he would come back.
The vacation after university graduation stretched on without end. He'd sent out a few resumes, heard nothing back from interviews, yet the city rent waited for no one. He terminated his apartment lease, crammed his boxes into storage, bought a long-distance bus ticket. By the time he realized it, he was already standing beneath that old village sign.
The village was still the same. Dirt roads had become cement, a few more small buildings, but the scent of the sea breeze hadn't changed, nor had the rhythm of the waves. Akito's tail swayed gently behind him, ears turning toward the direction of the sea. He listened for a good while before picking up his luggage and heading toward the old house.
The family home had been empty for many years. The moment he pushed open the door, dust churned in the slanted sunlight. Akito threw his luggage in the corner, didn't clean, just stood there.
He had come back because he didn't know where else to go. He didn't know if this world without Touya still had a place for him.
————————————————————
The next evening, Akito went to that beach.
He hadn't set out with a specific destination, simply walking along the familiar path, his feet faster than his memory. By the time he came to his senses, the brackish sea wind was already filling his face, the sun sinking below the sea surface, dyeing the entire stretch of water red. He stopped on the embankment above, watching the waves crawl up the sand again and again, then retreat.
It was on this shore that they had found Touya.
Akito walked down the slope. Sand worked its way into his shoes; he didn't care. The tide had receded far, exposing a large expanse of wet tidal flat. Several village children bent down picking shells, their laughter scattered by the wind. He circled around them, heading toward the reef area.
That reef was still there, shorter than he remembered, its surface eroded with more grooves by the seawater. Akito stood beside it, hand reaching into his pocket, touching a hard shell-shaped object. He took out the music box, wound it, and the chiming melody leaped out, sounding thin in the empty beach.
He shut off the music box, crouched down, pressed his forehead against the rough surface of the reef.
"I'm back."
No response. Only the sound of the tide.
Akito closed his eyes. He wanted to say something—these years, how no one at university would sing duets with him, how he'd always kept that notebook with him... But these fragmented thoughts stuck in his throat, too heavy, unable to push a single word out.
Just as he was about to stand up, his keen canine ears caught it.
Singing.
Coming from the sea surface, very faint, torn into fragments by the wind, yet landing precisely in his ears. The voice was clear and gentle, like a feather drifting down from high above. The tune was a folk song passed down through the village, the melody altered to be sparse and slow, each trailing note descending, stretched long, finally dissolving into the sound of waves.
Akito jerked his head up.
On the other end of the reef sat a figure.
His back was to Akito, facing the sea. His two-toned hair was divided cleanly down the middle, the left side a pale water-blue, the right side submerged in twilight—a deep blue of the night sky. He wore something resembling a conductor's formal attire, the tailored garment outlining his tall, slender frame.
Akito opened his mouth. No sound came out. His fingers dug into the reef crevices, knuckles white.
The figure seemed to sense the movement. The singing stopped abruptly. He turned his face, revealing half a profile. Pale eyes shone startlingly bright in the sunset, a small mole adorning the corner of his eye below. His gaze fell upon Akito, paused for a second, pupils suddenly constricting.
Akito took a step forward: "Wait—"
The figure stood up, moving with impossible speed. He rushed to the edge of the reef and leaped, and at the moment he touched the water surface, his form changed. A tail fin sliced through the sea surface, pectoral fins flashing by, then submerged into the deep water, leaving only a few ripples.
Akito ran to the edge of the reef, looking down at the churning sea surface. The figure was already gone. Beneath the water, only a shadow-like massive silhouette swiftly departed, disappearing between the reef crevices.
He stood there, knees pressed against the rough rock edge, not moving for a long time.
The sea wind blew his hair into a mess, tail rigid. He stared at that stretch of water, heart beating wildly, something churning in his chest that he couldn't name. That profile when the figure turned, those silver-gray eyes, that mole beneath the left eye—
Too alike.
Not just alike. Identical.
Akito slowly slid down to sit on the reef, the music box still in his palm, its metal casing warmed by body heat. He looked down at it, dazed for a long time, until the sun sank completely below the sea surface and the first star appeared.
The next day, he came again.
He brought a folding chair, sat on the same reef. Waves crashed against the rock wall, the spray wetting his pant cuffs. He simply sat, facing the sea, quietly waiting.
Nothing appeared on the sea surface besides seagulls.
The third day, the fourth day, the same.
On the fifth evening, Akito arrived earlier than usual. He unfolded his chair, sat down, took out a water bottle from his bag, and drank slowly. The sun was sinking, clouds piled at the horizon, dyed into varying shades of purple. He finished the water, tightened the cap, when he suddenly heard a faint rustling behind him.
He turned around.
In the shadow of the reef stood a figure, his heterochromatic blue hair lifted gently by the sea breeze, gaze resting upon Akito with obvious wariness and curiosity. He was barefoot, toes pressing into the indentations of the rock, seemingly ready to dive back into the sea at any moment.
Akito didn't stand up. He simply turned back, continuing to look at the sea, giving the other space.
The silence lasted a very long time.
"You..." a voice came from behind. "Why do you come every day?"
Akito tightened his grip on the water bottle. That voice wasn't quite like the one in his memory—lower, carrying a moist quality of having been steeped in water vapor. Yet something hidden in its intonation made the stone that had lain silent in his chest for years suddenly shift.
"To listen to the singing," Akito said.
"Singing?"
"Someone was singing here a few days ago. I wanted to hear it again."
No more sound came from behind. Akito waited patiently, counting his heartbeats. On the one hundred and eighty-ninth beat, he heard footsteps approaching. The figure circled to the other side of the reef, maintaining a two-meter distance, and sat down.
"Then you might be disappointed," the figure said. "I don't sing for strangers."
Akito finally turned his head, facing those pale eyes directly. At such close distance, he could make out the color of the other's lashes, and the exact position of that teardrop mole.
"I'm not a stranger," Akito said.
The figure frowned. "We've never met."
"We have now." Akito paused. "I'm Akito."
Those eyes flickered. The figure didn't answer immediately, only let his legs dangle in midair. This posture made memories of Touya explode in Akito's mind—when they were young, sitting together on the reef, Touya would always unconsciously swing his legs, eyes gazing toward some distant place unknown to him.
"...Touya." The figure finally spoke, his voice so light it was nearly covered by the waves.
Akito chewed on this long-unheard name. Touya. His fingertips unconsciously scratched at the plastic surface of the water bottle, making a faint creak.
"Will you come again tomorrow?" Touya asked.
"Yes," Akito said. "As long as you're here, I'll come."
Touya tilted his head. His gaze fell upon the water bottle in Akito's hand, then moved to his ears and tail, lingered for two seconds, then returned to the sea surface.
"Tomorrow," he said, "I might not be here."
"Then I'll wait."
Akito looked at his profile. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many feelings that nearly burst forth. But he said nothing, only put the water bottle back into his bag, settled back into his seat, tail sweeping lightly across the sand grains on the reef.
The two sat side by side on the reef, two meters apart, each silently watching the sea. The tide rose, flooding over the rocks beside Touya's bare feet, then retreated.
Before it grew completely dark, Touya stood up, brushing sand from his formal attire.
"Tomorrow," he said, "one hour before sunset."
Akito nodded.
Touya walked toward the edge of the reef, paused before leaping into the water, turned half his face. Starlight fell into those clear eyes, shattering into specks of light.
"Don't be late," he said.
Then he disappeared into the waves. The water surface returned to calm, as if no one had ever stayed there.
Akito sat alone on the reef, listening to the tide flood in and retreat. The sea wind penetrated through his coat, yet he didn't feel cold. Something was moving in his chest, a sensation that hadn't appeared in a long time, nearly unfamiliar.
He didn't know what it was, nor was he in a hurry to figure it out.
He simply watched the direction where Touya had disappeared, slowly, forcefully, taking a breath.
He would come. Tomorrow, the day after, every day after that. Until that person was willing to finish a complete song for him.
Akito picked up his folding chair, turned toward the direction of the village. The moon rose from the sea surface, stretching his shadow long, all the way to the end of the reef.
————————————————————
Akito arrived an hour early.
The reef had been baked hot by the afternoon sun. He unfolded his chair and sat down, placing his backpack at his feet. Inside the bag was a box of cookies, bought from the village's only convenience store, the plastic packaging softened by body heat.
He stared at the sea surface, counting the waves. On the one hundred and twenty-seventh count, a light sound of rock being stepped on came from behind.
"You're early." Touya's voice.
Akito didn't turn around. "Couldn't wait."
Footsteps circled to the side of the reef. Touya sat down, maintaining the same two-meter distance as yesterday. He still wore that formal attire, pant cuffs rolled up. Beside his feet sat a small cloth bag, its drawstring tied shut.
"What's that?" Akito asked.
Touya hid the bag behind him. "I'll tell you later."
Akito didn't press further. He took out the cookie box from his bag, tore open the packaging, held one out.
Touya stared at the cookie for a long time, so long that Akito thought he wouldn't take it. Then Touya reached out, fingertips brushing Akito's palm, and took the cookie.
"Sweet." Touya took a small bite, furrowing his brow. "So sweet."
"You don't like it?"
Touya shook his head, continuing to nibble in small bites. He ate very slowly, as if savoring the texture of this food. After finishing one, he licked his lips, then looked at the cookie box again.
Akito pushed the entire box over.
They sat side by side like this, one eating, one watching the sea. The tide pushed several inches toward the reef, then retreated.
"Do you come this early every day?" Touya asked, still holding half a cookie in his mouth.
"Earlier today."
"Why?"
Akito was silent for a while. He couldn't speak the real reason: because he was afraid yesterday had all been an illusion, afraid Touya would disappear into the sea and never come back. He had woken with his heart beating too fast, unable to fall asleep again.
"Wanted to hear the singing," he said.
Touya swallowed the last piece of cookie, brushed the crumbs from his hands. He gazed at the sea surface, hands resting on his knees, fingers lightly tapping a rhythm.
"Then what do you want to hear?"
"What can you sing?"
Touya tilted his head in thought, then suddenly began to hum softly. It was a song Akito had never heard, the melody rippling outward like water waves, each note connected to the next without gaps.
Akito closed his eyes. Wind swept past his ears, carrying the scent of salt. Singing and tide sounds mixed together, indistinguishable from each other.
When the song ended, Touya stopped.
"What about you?" he asked. "What can you sing?"
Akito opened his eyes. He thought of the vocal classes at university, those afternoons practicing alone in the practice rooms. Back then he hadn't wanted to find a partner other than Touya; all his songs were single-part, dry and hollow.
"I don't sing well," he said.
"Liar," Touya said. "Your voice..." He paused, searching for the right words in his mind. "It's steady. Like you could stand firm even at the bottom of deep water."
Akito turned to look at him. Touya's profile was cut in half by the sunset light. His lashes drooped, gaze resting on the sea surface not far away.
"Could you..." Akito said, "tell me more about yourself?"
Touya was taken aback. "Why?"
"I want to know you better."
Silence. Touya didn't press further. He simply placed his hands back on his knees, sitting a little straighter.
"I've lived... probably a very long time," Touya said, his tone stating an uncertain fact. "So long I can't remember clearly. There's no day or night in the sea, only bubbles rising and sinking. Sometimes I count bubbles, and lose track somewhere along the way."
Akito's heart tightened.
"Aren't you bored alone in the sea?" Akito asked.
Touya tilted his head, seriously considering this question. "There are fish, dolphins, an octopus that chats with me." He extended a finger, making a strange shape. "Octopuses are smart. They can change colors."
Akito wanted to laugh, held it in.
"But they can't sing," Touya continued, his voice dropping. "They listen, but they don't sing. So... having someone willing to listen makes me very happy."
Akito looked at his profile, a feeling gently stirring in his chest, very light, yet very real.
"Keep singing," he said.
Touya turned to look at him, something brightening in his eyes. Then he smiled, very faintly, the corners of his mouth rising only slightly.
"Okay."
————————————————————
On the sixth day, Touya brought three shells, each one polished to a shine, their inner walls reflecting iridescent luster.
"For you." Touya stuffed the shells into Akito's hand, moving quickly. "Picked them up from the seabed. I polished them; they won't cut your hand."
Akito held one up to the light. The patterns were fine, the shape symmetrical, a slight chill of seawater still lingering on the inner side of the shell. Different from ordinary shells.
"You specifically collected these?"
"Just happened upon them." Touya looked away, his voice somewhat sullen.
Akito placed the three shells into his jacket's inner pocket, against the position of his heart. He thought of that shell music box, still at the very bottom of his backpack. He hadn't dared take it out.
The seventh day, eighth day, ninth day, every day one hour after sunset, they sat punctually on the reef. The topics grew longer and more fragmented. Touya asked many questions about the human world.
"Is there a sea in the city?"
"There are rivers, lakes. The sea is different."
"What is university?"
"Many people sitting together, listening to one person talk about things."
"Isn't that noisy?"
"Sometimes."
Akito answered patiently, every question answered seriously, without any perfunctory or teasing. When Touya listened, he would bring his knees to his chest, chin resting on his arms, eyes bright.
The tenth day, it rained.
Akito still came. He sat on the reef holding an umbrella, raindrops pounding against the fabric so loudly they drowned out the tide sounds. Wind blew from the side, sweeping rain diagonally into his neck. His shirt was soaked through, clinging to his back.
Touya didn't appear.
Akito waited the entire day. The rain showed no sign of stopping, growing heavier and heavier. The sea surface turned into a chaotic gray. The reef surface became slick; he had to grip a rock protrusion with one hand just to sit steady.
When it grew completely dark, he finally stood up. The folding chair nearly blew away when half-folded. His fingers were numb from cold, knees too stiff to bend.
When he got home, he ran a high fever.
The eleventh day, Akito's head spun from the fever, but he still stuffed a box of cookies into his backpack. Halfway there, a gust of wind nearly knocked him off balance. He leaned against a roadside tree trunk, breathing heavily for a long time.
He didn't go to the beach. This was his first absence in ten days.
The twelfth day, his fever broke. He arrived at the reef in the evening; clouds were parting at the horizon, leaking a few threads of dark golden light.
Touya wasn't there.
Akito sat down, hands gripping his knees. He stared at the sea surface, heart beating slowly, each pulse sinking into deep water.
Thirty minutes passed. An hour.
"You came."
Akito jerked his head around. Touya stood in the shadow of the reef, hair still wet, water droplets falling from the tips, creating dark circles on the rocks. His complexion was paler than usual, lips pressed tight. He wasn't wearing the jacket of that formal attire today, his shirt collar slightly open.
"The day before yesterday." Akito's voice was hoarse. "You weren't here."
"It was raining." Touya walked over, but didn't sit down. Instead he crouched before Akito, looking up at him. "When the rain is too heavy, I can't come. The currents in the sea become chaotic, very dangerous."
Akito looked at him. Those pale eyes held worry, and something else he couldn't read.
"You didn't come yesterday either," Touya said, his voice dropping. "I thought you wouldn't come anymore."
Akito opened his mouth. He had come, been stopped by rain on the reef for an entire day. He had lain in bed for a day, fever making the ceiling spin. But these words were too heavy; not a single one could come out.
"I came." He only said these three words.
Touya looked at him for a long time. Then he reached out, fingertips lightly touching the back of Akito's hand resting on his knee. The touch was cool, carrying the moisture of seawater.
"Your hand is so hot," Touya said.
"Just recovered from fever."
Touya withdrew his hand, lowering his head. His shoulders tensed, wrestling with something.
"From now on," he said, "if it rains, don't come. I'll wait for you. I'll come when the rain stops."
Akito didn't answer.
Touya raised his head, gaze looking straight into his eyes. "Did you hear me?"
"I heard," Akito said.
Touya finally relaxed. He stood up, walked to the edge of the reef and sat down, both feet dangling over the sea surface, swaying back and forth. This movement was too familiar; every time it made Akito fall back into that memory.
"By the way," Touya turned his face. "You always bring cookies."
"Mm."
"Next time," Touya paused, "I'll bring something for you instead. What do you want?"
Akito looked at his wind-tousled hair, the arc of his bare feet swaying in the air, the collarbone exposed at his shirt collar and those slender fingers resting on the reef.
"Shells are fine," Akito said.
Touya smiled. This time the smile was broader, the corners of his eyes curving up. Akito looked away, tail swaying beneath the chair.
"Okay. Cookies for shells."
Akito steadied his folding chair, took out the cookie box from his bag. The two sat side by side, one passing, one receiving.
Touya began to sing, his voice gentler than usual. Akito didn't sing along, only listened. His heart beat steadily in his chest, filled with a warm, swelling sensation.
He didn't know if that was hope.
But he thought, perhaps he could wait and see.
The tide flooded in, overflowing Touya's ankles suspended above the sea surface, then retreated. They sat until the stars came out.
————————————————————
The tides rose forty-three times.
Akito counted the shells arranged on his windowsill—three became seven, seven became twelve. Each one Touya brought was different: some with spiral patterns, some with edges thin enough to let light through. The last one was pale blue, its inner wall bearing a natural silver line, like a crescent moon.
"What should we sing today?" Akito placed the cookie box in the center of the reef and sat down himself.
Touya sat with legs together, an old music score spread across his knees. It was one Akito had brought back from university, its pages curled at the edges, covered in pencil notes. Touya traced the staff lines with his fingertips, movements so light, as if touching something fragile.
"This one." He pointed to a line. "You've sung it before."
Akito glanced at it. He had indeed sung this song, but never before this Touya.
"How did you know?"
Touya closed the score, hugging it to his chest. "When you flip to this page, your fingers always pause."
Akito didn't speak. He took the score, cleared his throat, and began to sing. His voice spread out across the empty sea surface, scattered somewhat by the wind. Touya listened, eyes half-closed, fingers tapping rhythm on his thigh.
When one section finished, Touya picked up the second section, harmonies floating in the near-sea breeze, each trailing note sinking downward, perfectly filling the gaps in Akito's voice.
Akito froze.
This vocal technique, the breathing rhythm, the little habits while singing—he knew them too well. Back when he and Touya practiced together, Touya would always harmonize with him like this.
"What's wrong?" Touya stopped, turning his head.
"Nothing." Akito looked away. "You sing beautifully."
Touya smiled, returning the score to him. That smile flashed by, falling into the reef crevices, gone in an instant.
————————————————————
They began singing duets.
Not every time, but three or four days a week, Akito would bring a music score. Touya's song selections were remarkably consistent, and those preferences completely overlapped with the Touya in Akito's memory.
Akito started noticing more details.
Before singing, Touya would press his lips together—a habit he'd had since childhood. When hitting high notes, his left hand would unconsciously open, fingers slightly curling, making a grasping motion. When breathing, shoulders moved first, then the chest. These muscle memories couldn't be faked.
Akito calculated the timing. Touya said he didn't remember how long he'd lived, only "a very long time." But when Akito asked about seasonal changes in the sea, Touya's descriptions perfectly matched the time of Touya's death in his memory. Touya mentioned a tsunami once, saying it happened "not long after I woke up." Akito checked on his phone—the date of that tsunami was exactly three days after Touya had drowned.
Akito lay in bed at night, piecing these fragments together one by one. This Touya was the Touya he knew. The same soul as the one in his memories.
He pressed this understanding to the bottom of his heart, covered it with a pillow, not preparing to say a word. What if Touya remembered? Remembered the suffocation of water flooding into his lungs, the fear of being abandoned by the entire world—Akito would rather he never knew.
————————————————————
On the fifty-sixth day, Touya asked about the city.
"Is university very big?" He bit into a cookie, crumbs falling on his white shirt. "Bigger than the village?"
"Bigger than ten villages," Akito said. "Many buildings, taller than mountains. At night when all the lights come on, it's like—"
He stopped.
"Like what?" Touya pressed.
"Like coral clusters on the seabed," Akito said. "Many colors, very bright, but they don't move."
Touya digested this metaphor, eyes somewhat bewildered. "Are the people at university all like Akito?"
"In what way?"
"Can they sing?"
Akito shook his head. "Most can't. I went to a music conservatory, so there are many people who sing around me. But at ordinary universities, everyone studies different things."
Touya brought his knees to his chest, chin resting on his arms. "Then do you feel lonely?"
Akito looked at his profile. Lonely? During those years in the city, he hadn't thought about it. Classes, practice, sending resumes, getting rejected—days filled to the brim. But occasionally, late at night passing through a subway station, hearing a street performer sing, he would stop, listen to an entire song, then walk home, feeling like something was missing from his room.
"Yes," he said.
Touya was silent for a while. Then he reached out, covering Akito's hand on the back of his own. That hand was cool, carrying the scent of the sea breeze.
"Me too," Touya said.
Akito didn't move, afraid that if he moved, Touya would pull his hand back. They sat like this, hand over hand, watching the sun sink into the sea, the tide rising to flood the roots of the reef, wetting their calves.
"Touya."
"Mm?"
"If you could go to the city and have a look, what would you want to do?"
Touya tilted his head, thinking for a long time. "Want to hear a real concert," he said. "Want to sit among so many people, listening to the sound on stage. And also—" he paused, "want to eat the things Akito likes to eat."
Akito smiled slightly. "You can't handle things that are too sweet."
"How do you know?" Touya asked.
Akito's smile froze. How did he know? Because the Touya he once knew would get dizzy every time he ate overly sweet pastries with him, would press a hand to his forehead and say "sugar overload." Those memories had never left him.
"Guessed," Akito said. "Sea creatures probably aren't used to sugar."
Touya accepted this explanation, nodding. He didn't withdraw his hand.
————————————————————
When two months had passed, Akito had collected nineteen shells.
He held the largest one in his palm, looking at it against the moonlight. Touya sat beside him, bare feet immersed in seawater, swaying gently.
"Tomorrow," Touya suddenly said. "I'll still come here."
"I know," Akito said.
"The day after too."
"Mm."
Touya turned his head, eyes bright and transparent in the moonlight. His lips moved, making no sound.
"What is it?" Akito asked.
Touya turned back, looking at the sea surface. "Nothing," he said. "Just wanted to confirm."
Confirm what, he didn't say, and Akito didn't ask. But in that moment, he felt something flowing in the air between them. Something softer than singing, more dangerous than the sea breeze. If either of them moved forward an inch, that membrane would break.
Akito tightened his grip on the shell, its edge pressing into his palm, leaving faint marks. His tail swept anxiously back and forth across the reef behind him.
Not yet, he thought. At least not tonight.
"Going back." He stood up, brushing sand from his pants.
Touya looked up at him, gaze lingering on his face for a few seconds, then nodded. He stood up, walked toward the edge of the reef, paused before leaping into the water.
"Akito."
"Mm."
"Thank you for coming every day."
Akito looked at his back, opened his mouth. The words "it is I who should thank you" circled on his tongue, finally becoming a simple "Mm."
Touya smiled, leaped into the sea. The water parted and closed, leaving only a few ripples, quickly smoothed over by the tide.
Akito stood alone on the reef, still clutching that shell in his hand. Moonlight paved a silver-white road for Touya across the sea surface, extending to places unseen. He thought of the words Touya hadn't finished just now, that moment nearly touched upon, and the figure pressed to the bottom of his heart.
He pocketed the shell, turned toward the direction of the village. The tide rose and fell behind him.
He would come tomorrow, and the day after, as long as that person was still waiting for him by the sea.
————————————————————
On the evening of the sixty-first day, Touya was late.
Akito sat on the reef. The sea breeze was warmer than usual today, carrying a restless quality. The tide was receding, exposing brown water marks on the reef. He checked his phone three times; the fourth time he cast his gaze toward the sea surface.
When Touya surfaced, his movements were much slower than usual. He climbed onto the reef, clothes clinging to his back, hair dripping water. He didn't immediately walk over to Akito, nor did he evaporate the water from his body with magic as usual. Instead he stood two steps away, fingers twisting the hem of his clothing.
"Today," he began, then stopped.
"What is it?"
Touya shook his head, walked over and sat down, knees touching knees, but his shoulder didn't lean over as it usually did. He gazed at the sinking sun, the sea surface cutting the light in half—the upper half blinding gold, the lower half thick orange-red.
"Let's sing," Touya said.
"You choose."
Touya was silent for a very long time, so long that Akito thought he wouldn't answer. Then he began to sing.
That song had no lyrics, only melody. Touya's voice was very light, scattered intermittent by the wind, but every note landed in exactly the right place.
Akito had heard this song.
He and Touya, the year they were ten, had haphazardly written this song at home. No score, no lyrics, just two voices chasing each other in an empty room, finally merging into a single line. They had promised that once they got into the vocal department at university, they would rearrange this song and make it their duo's signature piece.
Akito's hands began to tremble.
Touya finished the second section and stopped. He didn't look at Akito, instead staring at the sunset shattered into ten thousand pieces on the sea surface.
"I've always remembered this song," he said. "From the moment I had consciousness, I've remembered it. I don't know who wrote it, or what it's called. But whenever I'm sad, it surfaces in my mind."
Akito's throat tightened. He opened his mouth and found he couldn't make a sound.
"Akito." Touya finally turned his head. His silver-gray eyes were reflected amber by the sunset, something inside them wavering, ready to spill over at any moment. "I know you'll leave. You belong to the city, to those very tall buildings, to concerts and stages. I don't belong there."
"Touya—"
"Let me finish." Touya's voice was still very light, but every word was clear. "I'm not asking you to stay. I know there's no road between the sea and land. I just..."
His fingers gripped the edge of the reef, knuckles white.
"I just hope you'll remember me. When you return to the city, when you hear the sound of the sea, or eat the cookies I like, you'll think of someone who once existed. That would be enough."
Akito looked at him. Touya's lashes were trembling, teeth clenched tight, struggling to keep anything from falling from his eyes.
"Not enough," Akito said.
Touya froze.
"Not enough." Akito said again. He reached out, grasping the hand Touya had gripping the reef, prying his fingers open one by one, inserting his own fingers between them. "Just remembering isn't enough."
Touya's hand was ice-cold, trembling. Akito placed his other hand over it, enveloping it.
"I want to see you every day," Akito said. "Here, on this reef, by this sea. I want to hear you sing, want to talk with you, want you to fall asleep on my shoulder. This has nothing to do with enough or not enough."
He drew a breath. The sea breeze blew over, carrying the salt of seawater.
"I love you."
Touya's eyes widened. A tear slid down; he didn't wipe it.
"It started a very long time ago," Akito said. "Longer than you can imagine."
Touya opened his mouth, no sound came out. Then he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Akito's shoulder. Akito felt his shirt on that shoulder being soaked by something warm and wet.
"I don't know since when. Maybe from the first time I heard you sing, maybe from seeing you bring shells, or perhaps even earlier."
Akito raised his hand, placing it on the back of Touya's head. His hair still carried the moisture of seawater, softly tangling between his fingers.
"I'm not leaving," Akito said.
Touya raised his head. Their faces were very close, close enough to count each other's lashes, to smell the salt in each other's breath. The sun was sinking rapidly, the last ray of light leaping up from the sea surface, dyeing both their outlines golden-red.
Touya leaned forward slightly. His lips brushed across the corner of Akito's mouth, very light, like a shell pushed ashore by the tide.
Akito stiffened for an instant, canine ears involuntarily perking forward.
Then his hands slid from the back of Touya's head to both sides of his face, cupping it, thumbs brushing across the tear tracks not yet dry beneath Touya's eyes. He lowered his head, and kissed him again.
The corner of Touya's mouth carried the coolness and saltiness of seawater. Akito deepened the kiss, fingers threading into Touya's hair, securing the back of his head. Touya's hand gripped Akito's clothing at the chest, tighter and tighter, knuckles pressing against Akito's collarbone.
When they parted, both were breathing hard. Touya's eyes were wet, breathing unsteady. Akito didn't let go, forehead pressed against Touya's forehead.
"Say it again," Touya said.
"I love you."
Touya smiled. That smile fully bloomed in the afterglow of the sunset. He leaned in again, this time more active, both arms encircling Akito's neck. Akito wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.
The second deep kiss was longer than the first. Touya's breathing grew ragged, fingers tightening on the back of Akito's neck. Akito held Touya's waist with one hand, the other supporting the back of his head, controlling the rhythm, not letting him escape.
When the sun had completely sunk below the sea surface, they finally parted. A little dark purple afterglow remained in the sky. The sea surface faded from golden-red to deep gray. Only the two of them remained on the reef, along with a box of unfinished cookies.
Touya leaned in Akito's embrace, head pillowed on his shoulder. Akito's arm encircled him, chin resting on top of his head, tail wrapping around Touya's waist, drawing the two together.
"Tomorrow?" Touya said.
"I'll come," Akito said.
"The day after?"
"Every day."
Touya didn't speak again. He only shrank a little further into Akito's embrace, as if trying to embed himself into that space.
Akito looked at the sea. The tide was rising again, wave after wave pushing up, flooding over the roots of the reef. His calves were immersed in water, feeling a slight stinging sensation, like countless tiny needles pricking his skin. He frowned slightly, pulling his legs back a bit.
Probably sat too long, he thought.
He didn't pay it any mind.
————————————————————
On the way home, Akito felt his footsteps were heavier than usual. He attributed it to sitting on the reef the entire evening, the kiss having caused blood circulation to still be redistributing. When he reached his doorstep, his right knee suddenly buckled, hand catching the doorframe to steady himself.
He looked down at his hand. A small patch of skin on the back of his hand was burning hot, but he couldn't see what it was—the light was too dim.
Akito shook his hand, pushed open the door and walked inside. No lights were on in the house, and he didn't want to turn any on. He collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, the temperature of Touya's lips still lingering on his own. He raised his hand, covering his eyes.
Today was the best day, he thought, sinking into sleep.
He didn't notice the small patch of pale blue pattern that had appeared on the back of his right hand, shaped like a melody on a staff, glowing faintly in the darkness.
————————————————————
When Akito woke, sunlight had already climbed onto the windowsill.
He tried to sit up, arm supporting him halfway before falling back onto the mattress. His body felt filled with lead, every inch of muscle protesting. He closed his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass, then tried again. This time he succeeded, but his movements were twice as slow as usual.
He looked down at his right hand. The pale blue mark was still there, larger than last night. He leaned in close to look, and his heart suddenly contracted.
It was a stretch of melody.Humming it felt so familiar.
Akito threw off the covers, examined his entire body. Beneath his left shoulder blade was a large patch of markings, covering half his back. He strained to look through the mirror with difficulty, and his breathing stopped.
A complete humpback whale. Pale blue lines spread from the center of his back, the whale's body spanning across the shoulder blade, both fins stretching toward the sides, the tail fin extending all the way to his waist. The color of the pattern was very light, but clearly distinguishable in the morning light, every stroke exquisite as if pricked in dot by dot with a needle.
Akito touched that patch of skin with his fingertips. No raised texture, no pain, the touch the same as usual. But his fingers were trembling.
These patterns were completely different from ordinary tattoos, but intuition told him they were given by Touya.
He put on clothes, covering all the marks, and walked out of the house.
————————————————————
The village's old bookstore stood at the end of the alley, the text on its sign mostly peeled away. Akito pushed open the door; a wind chime sounded once. An old man looked up from behind the counter.
"Looking for something?"
"Books about sirens," Akito said. "The older the better."
The old man's eyes narrowed. He sized Akito up for a few seconds, then put down the newspaper in his hands, coming around from behind the counter.
"Over there." He pointed to the innermost row of bookshelves. "Bottom shelf, red spines, lots of dust accumulated. Dig yourself."
Akito walked over, crouched down. That row of books was indeed covered in dust, the gold lettering on the spines worn beyond recognition. He pulled out the thickest one. On the cover was written Records of Strange Tales from the Distant Seas, publication date forty-seven years ago.
He sat on the floor, back against the bookshelf, opened to the first page.
The first several dozen pages were irrelevant content: sea monster rumors, glowing schools of fish, ghosts walking out of sunken ships. Akito flipped through quickly, fingers covered in dust. When he reached page sixty-seven, his hand stopped.
"Sirens," the page began, "descendants of the drowned with unyielding spirits."
Akito read word by word.
"Sirens are exceedingly rare, born from the souls of those who drowned yet refused to yield. Such persons must have harbored great power unexpressed, ambitions unfulfilled. The sea embraces their soul, reshapes their body, bestows upon them the form of a whale, allowing them to swim in the abyss and sing upon the waves. Sirens are born with great magic, capable of turning tides, commanding schools of fish; their songs can bewitch the human heart."
He turned the page.
"Yet sirens bear one curse: when they truly love someone, sealing their vow with a kiss, wishing never to part from their beloved, the kiss becomes a curse. The cursed person, within seven days, gradually loses strength, bones and flesh gradually growing lighter. By the seventh day, they uncontrollably rush toward the sea, cast themselves into the waves, and turn to foam. Since ancient times, there has been no cure."
Akito stared at that line for a very long time.
"Turn to foam."
His lips moved, making no audible sound.
He continued flipping, but only half a blank page remained, with a small annotation in fine print: "After seven days, unknown."
Akito closed the book. His fingers gripped white marks into the spine, then loosened. He stood up, stuffed the book back to the bottom of the shelf, patted the dust from his pants, and walked toward the counter.
"Find what you wanted?" the old man asked.
"No," Akito said. "Not the answer I need."
He walked out of the bookstore. The wind chime sounded again. Sunlight made him squint. He stood at the alley entrance, pulled out his phone to check the calendar.
Yesterday was the first day.
Today was the second day.
He had five days left.
Akito put his phone back in his pocket, walked along the alley toward the direction of the sea. Halfway there, he stopped beside a wall, bent over, both hands propped on his knees, ears drooping listlessly.
He thought he would lose control, pound holes into the wall, throw everything within reach. But he only stood there, feeling blood flow through his veins, heart beating in his chest one thump at a time. He was still alive. Still alive for now.
In five days he would turn to foam.
Akito straightened up, continued walking forward.
He couldn't tell Touya. If Touya knew that kiss would kill him, what would he do? Akito imagined the expression on that face—Touya would break down, would blame himself, then live forever in the shadow of "I killed Akito."
Akito would rather bear this himself.
He walked to the seaside, sat down on the sand. The tide was rising, wave after wave pushing up, flooding past his ankles. The water temperature was lower than usual today, but he didn't pull his feet back. He looked at that reef in the distance. Touya hadn't arrived yet.
He thought of last night's kiss—the temperature of Touya's lips, the rhythm of breathing, the force of fingers tightening on the back of his neck. All of it was real. If given another chance, he would still kiss him.
Akito pulled out his phone from his pocket, opened the calendar, marked the day five days from now. Then he opened his notes app and began to type.
He made a list. Within five days, he wanted to do everything he wished to do with Touya. Finish singing that song, watch the last sunset together, say everything that needed to be said.
His hand stopped when he reached the third item.
There was one more thing. He had to find someone to take care of Touya after he left. No, what Touya needed was companionship. He was too lonely to be left alone in the sea once again.
Akito put his phone away, gazed at the sea surface. The sky was very blue, no clouds. It was good weather.
He stood up, brushed sand from his pants, and walked toward the reef.
————————————————————
Touya only appeared in the afternoon.
When he surfaced from the water, he spotted Akito sitting on the reef at first glance. He smiled, climbed onto the reef, and sat down beside him.
"How long have you been waiting?"
"Not long," Akito said. He turned to look at Touya, etching the other's features into his mind one by one. The two-toned hair, the pale eyes, the teardrop mole beneath the left eye.
"What should we sing today?" Touya asked.
"Not singing today," Akito said. "Just want to sit."
Touya tilted his head, but didn't press further. He leaned against Akito's shoulder, like yesterday. Akito's arm encircled him, chin resting on top of his head.
"Touya."
"Mm?"
"If," Akito paused. "If one day I can't come anymore, what would you do?"
Touya's body stiffened slightly. He raised his head, unease wavering in his eyes.
"You're leaving?"
"Not now," Akito said. "I'm saying if."
Touya was silent for a very long time. Then he leaned back against Akito's shoulder, some dejection in his voice.
"I'll wait for you," he said. "Wait for you to come back."
Akito's arm tightened slightly. He closed his eyes, smelling the scent of seawater in Touya's hair.
"Don't wait too long," he said.
"How long is too long?"
Akito didn't answer. He thought of the words in that ancient book—"turn to foam"—and the calendar with only five days remaining.
When the sun moved overhead, Akito felt a weariness seeping from deep in his bones. His arms grew heavy, breathing grew shallower. Touya didn't notice; he leaned in Akito's embrace, nearly asleep.
Akito looked down at his face, lashes casting a small shadow on his cheeks, lips parted, breathing evenly and quietly. His ears twitched slightly with each breath.
He watched like this until the sun began to shift westward.
He had five days. He would make every one of them count.
————————————————————
When Akito stood up from the reef, his vision went black for three seconds.
He steadied himself against the rock wall, waiting for the dizziness to pass. The tide crashed at his feet, sounding farther than usual, transmitted through a thick layer of glass. He looked down at his hands—pale, bluish veins showing at the knuckles. Three days. Only three days.
"Akito."
Touya's voice came from beside him, very close, carrying an uneasy tone. Akito quickly tucked his hands behind him, turned around.
"What?"
"You just swayed." Touya stared at his face, eyes unblinking. "Are you not feeling well somewhere?"
"No, stood up too fast."
Akito circled around him, walking toward the beach. His footsteps were steady, every step controlled in force, not letting his body reveal any abnormality. But he knew Touya was watching, that gaze landing on his back like fine needles.
"You were the same yesterday," Touya followed. "You steadied yourself on the reef when you stood up."
"The reef was slippery."
"Yesterday you walked very slowly."
Akito stopped walking. He turned around, looking at Touya. The sea wind had ruffled that blue hair, but the color boundary was still especially distinct in the sunlight. Touya's brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. He was worried, and growing more worried with each passing day.
"I'm fine," Akito said.
"You're lying."
Akito was taken aback. This was the first time Touya had spoken to him in such a direct tone.
Touya took half a step forward, his voice dropping: "Your complexion is terrible, you sweat constantly. Yesterday when you were singing, you couldn't catch your breath. Akito, I'm not a child. You can tell me what's going on."
Akito looked at his eyes—those eyes held fear and anxiety. He knew he couldn't hide it anymore. Or rather, he realized that continuing to hide it would leave Touya living in "if only I had known sooner" regret after his death.
He had wanted to protect Touya from pain. But now he realized that concealment itself was a more prolonged pain.
"Come with me," Akito said.
————————————————————
They went to Akito's home. The empty house had no one else inside. Windows were open, sea breeze moving the curtains. Akito had Touya sit on the sofa, then walked into the bedroom, dragging out that iron box from beneath the bed.
The box had rust marks, the lock clasp long broken. He lifted the lid. Inside, neatly arranged, were three items: a yellowed notebook, a washed-faded gray jacket, and a small shell music box.
Akito carried the box out, sat down before Touya.
Touya's gaze fell upon those three items, pupils constricting for an instant.
"What are these?" he asked.
"Your things," Akito said. "From your previous life."
The room was quiet for a very long time. The sound of waves outside the window grew very loud.
"...What do you mean?" There was shock and doubt in Touya's voice.
Akito drew a deep breath. He told the story from beginning to end—the summer when they were twelve, two children singing by the sea, that drowning, ten years, then the reunion on the reef. He spoke slowly, every detail like being picked out from between bone crevices.
"You are Aoyagi Touya," Akito said. "You saved three children in that accident, then were swept away by the waves. After your death you became a siren, lost your past memories, but your voice, your preferences, your little habits—all exactly the same as before."
Touya's hands tightened on his knees.
"Proof?" he asked.
Akito pushed the notebook over.
"Open it."
The moment Touya's fingers touched the pages, his entire body trembled. He slowly opened to the first page—two twelve-year-old children had haphazardly written scores there. Crooked lines, correction fluid covering mistakes, little whales drawn in the margins.
His breathing grew rapid.
Second page, third page... those handwriting styles he seemed to recognize, seemed to have written himself. The arc of the strokes, the habit of the last stroke of certain characters flicking upward. He flipped faster and faster, eyesockets beginning to burn.
Then his hand stopped on a certain page.
In the lower right corner of that page was drawn a piano. Beside the piano were two stick figures, one with an orange canine-ear head, one with a two-toned blue-haired head. Below it was written: "We'll sing until the whole world hears us."
Touya's tears splashed onto the page.
He didn't realize he was crying. This was the first time he had cried since having consciousness—scalding liquid sliding down his cheeks, dripping onto the back of his hands, burning so hot he trembled. He wanted to raise his hand to wipe them away, but his arms were too heavy to lift.
"And this." Akito picked up the music box, wound the spring.
Crisp notes flowed out—a very simple nursery rhyme. Touya had heard this melody before, in some very, very deep dream. He opened his mouth, unconsciously joining in with that tune.
His voice trembled, but the melody was right, every note perfectly accurate.
Akito looked at him, eyes reddening, but he didn't cry. He only placed the music box on the table, then picked up that gray jacket.
"This was yours. You said you would wear it on stage to sing our own songs."
Touya reached out, fingertips touching the fabric of that jacket—worn cotton, a small ink stain at the collar that couldn't be washed away. His fingertips traced that mark, and something exploded in his mind.
Memories flooded in like the tide.
He saw it—the twelve-year-old version of himself, standing by the sea, singing to an orange-haired boy with canine ears and tail. That boy's eyes would curve into crescents when he smiled. They had pinky-promised to go to bigger places together. The moment the waves swept him away, his lungs filled with brackish seawater, but only one thought remained in his mind: "I haven't fulfilled our dreams with him yet."
He remembered sinking into darkness, then reopening his eyes in some warmth. His body had changed, his form had changed, but he was still in the sea, still waiting for someone.
"Akito." Touya's voice was shattered beyond recognition. "Akito."
"I'm here."
"I remember." Touya raised his head, face full of tear tracks. "I remember everything. I'm Aoyagi Touya. Akito, I—"
He couldn't continue. He remembered how he had died, and simultaneously thought of how Akito had faced his death, how Akito had spent these ten years alone. He also thought of these past days, what kind of mood Akito had carried in his heart every day coming to the seaside to find him.
"That kiss." Touya's voice trembled. "I kissed you, and then you—"
"The curse," Akito said. "You truly loved me, kissed me, so I will turn to foam."
Touya's face lost all color in an instant.
"No." He shook his head. "No, no, there must be a way—"
"There isn't," Akito said. "I checked. The ancient book says there is no cure."
"I'll search in the sea, there are so many sirens who've lived so long, they must know something—"
"Touya." Akito called his name. "Touya, look at me."
Touya stopped. His lips trembled, tears still flowing nonstop.
"There are four days left," Akito said. "I want to spend these four days well with you. No need to search for a cure. Right now I only want to stay with you, sing, watch sunsets, chat about anything and everything, like before."
"I don't want to." Touya's voice suddenly rose—this was the first time he had spoken loudly to Akito. "I don't want to live alone! I want you to live! Without you I—"
He choked halfway through.
Akito looked at him. That expression of despair on that face was too familiar, identical to what he had seen in the mirror ten years ago.
"I know," Akito said. "I know what that feels like."
Touya broke down. He covered his face, shoulders shaking violently, sobs leaking through the gaps of his fingers. He wasn't just crying; he was pouring out two lifetimes' worth of accumulated fear and despair. He put all his strength into it, crying until he could barely breathe.
Akito moved over, pulling him into his embrace. Touya's body stiffened for an instant, then went completely limp, face buried in his shoulder, tears quickly soaking a patch of fabric.
"I killed you," Touya said. "It was me."
"No," Akito said. "I chose to kiss you. Give me ten more chances, I would still kiss you."
"You don't understand." Touya raised his head, face full of tears. "You die, what about me? Akito, you made me remember, made me know who you are, made me remember how much I love you, and then you tell me you're turning to foam?"
His fingers gripped Akito's clothing, knuckles white.
"What's the point of this world without you?"
Akito looked at him. He wanted to argue, wanted to say "you're still young, you still have a long life," "there's so much in the sea you haven't seen," "time will dull everything." But looking into Touya's eyes, he knew these words were all lies.
He too had once lived in that kind of world—a world without Touya, where every day was gray, every breath was excessive. He knew too well.
"What do you want to do?" Akito asked.
Touya wiped his face, the motion very forceful, smearing tear tracks all over his face. But his voice suddenly became very quiet, terrifyingly quiet.
"After you leave, I'll find a way to end my existence," he said. "Sirens have ways to end their own existence. I'll find it."
Akito's body went rigid.
"What did you say?"
"Without you, I don't want to see this world. Don't want to hear songs, don't want to eat anything, don't want to see any more scenery. Call me selfish if you want, call me weak, I just—"
He lowered his head, looking at his own hands.
"I've just waited too long. Finally got you back, I can't lose you again."
Akito wanted to say "no, you can't die for me." But something blocked his throat, preventing any sound from coming out. His entire body trembled, from ears to tail tip.
He remembered the last words in that ancient book. "After seven days, unknown."
Unknown. So that was what it meant.
Akito pulled Touya into his embrace, holding him very tight. He smelled the scent of seawater in Touya's hair, as salty and bitter as always. His tears finally fell, silently dropping into Touya's hair.
"You idiot," he said.
"Learned from you," Touya mumbled into the hollow of his shoulder.
They held each other like this for a very long time. Sunlight moved from east to west outside the window, tides rose and retreated. Finally Akito loosened his grip, cupping Touya's face, thumbs wiping across the tear tracks on his face.
"Then these four days," Akito said. "Let's spend them well."
Touya looked at him, and nodded.
————————————————————
That night they didn't sleep. Akito found a dust-covered projector from the cabinet. Touya chose a very old musical film. They lay side by side in bed, watching the light and shadow from the screen dance on the ceiling.
Halfway through the film, Touya turned over, face toward Akito. His hand rested on Akito's waist, fingers curled, not daring to press too hard.
"Akito."
"Mm."
"I don't just want to watch a movie."
Akito turned his head to look at him. Touya's eyes were very bright in the darkness, still red from crying, but their meaning was clear. He leaned over, kissing Touya's lips—very gentle, not like the previous kisses carrying impulse.
Touya responded to him, fingers sliding from his waist to his back. When the fingertips touched that whale pattern, Akito trembled.
"Does it hurt?" Touya withdrew his hand.
"No," Akito said. "I can't feel it anymore."
Touya's eyes dimmed slightly, but soon, he placed his hand back again, this time more gently. His palm pressed against that pattern, warmth transmitting through the skin.
Akito rolled over, supporting himself above Touya. He looked down at the person beneath him, lashes still holding unwet tears, breathing light and shallow.
"Afraid?" Akito asked.
"Not afraid," Touya said. "If it's you, I'm not afraid."
Akito lowered his head, kissing his forehead, the space between his brows, the bridge of his nose, finally pressing against the corner of his mouth. This kiss was very slow, carrying an almost reverent tenderness. Touya's hands climbed onto his back, caressing that whale pattern, movements as light as touching a precious piece of porcelain.
Clothes fell to the floor one by one. Moonlight leaked through the curtain gaps, falling onto the bed. Akito's fingers traced the contours of Touya's body, every inch of skin awakening beneath his fingertips. Touya's breathing grew rapid, fingers gripping Akito's shoulders, nails digging into flesh.
"Akito." He called out once, voice very light, like a sigh.
Akito kissed his cheek, kissed that teardrop mole. Touya trembled beneath him, the chill insufficient to make him shiver—that desire suppressed for too long had finally found its answer.
When they joined together, Touya let out a very low breath. Akito stopped, forehead pressed against his forehead, waiting for him to adjust.
"Alright?" Akito's breathing was unsteady.
"Mm." Touya nodded, fingers threading through Akito's orange hair. "Don't stop."
Akito began to move, slowly, each time engraving the other into his own body. No words, only breathing sounds and occasional soft moans. Touya's face pressed against his face, tears flowing out again, but this time they were warm.
"I love you," Touya said beside Akito's ear. "I've always loved you, from my previous life to now."
Akito held him tight, burying himself in the hollow of his shoulder. Warm breath sprayed on skin. He heard his own heartbeat, and Touya's heartbeat, the two rhythms gradually overlapping in the darkness.
"Me too," he said.
Moonlight moved past the edge of the bed, falling upon their fingers. Two hands interlocked, fingers woven together, not letting go.
————————————————————
Akito woke before dawn, a dull, heavy pulling sensation coming from his back, like something moving beneath the skin.
He sat up, threw off the covers and walked to the mirror. The whale pattern on his back had completely changed color, from the previous pale blue to a deep-sea dark blue, nearly approaching ink-black. The edges of the pattern had spread outward somewhat, the whale tail portion already crawling to his waist. He reached out to touch it, fingertips transmitting an icy chill.
Today was the seventh day. He lowered his clothing, turned to look at the bed. Touya was still asleep, blue hair spread across the pillow, breathing evenly. Akito watched for a while, then walked over, sitting by the bedside.
"Touya."
Touya opened his eyes. He woke very quickly, without a trace of drowsiness, as if he had been waiting for this moment.
"Is it dawn?" he asked.
"Not yet."
Touya sat up, the covers sliding to his waist. He looked at Akito, gaze falling upon his back, pupils contracting slightly.
"The color changed."
"Mm."
Touya reached out, fingertips hovering above that pattern, not touching. His hand trembled.
Akito turned around and grasped that hand, pressing it against his own heart. Heartbeat transmitted through his ribs—steady, but lighter than usual. His body was growing lighter, bones, blood and flesh, all slowly transitioning toward foam.
"Afraid?" Touya asked.
Akito shook his head. He wasn't pretending—he truly wasn't afraid anymore. Four days ago he had been afraid, secretly gripping the bedsheets while Touya slept, quietly falling apart in the night. But now, that fear had scattered completely clean.
"Get dressed," Akito said. "We still have a while to wait."
They washed up as usual, made breakfast, shared the last few cookies. Akito brewed two cups of coffee; Touya's cup had no milk. They sat on the balcony, watching the sky gradually brighten.
"The weather is very good today," Touya said.
"Mm."
"No clouds."
"Mm."
Akito reached out, grasping Touya's hand resting on the table. Two hands overlapped, equally cold. They sat like this, watching the sun rise from the sea surface, golden light inch by inch covering the sea.
Akito thought of many things. He had once imagined—if Touya hadn't died that year, at fourteen they would have sung on the school rooftop until their voices went hoarse. The summer before university, they would have embraced at the station, promising to come back during break.
Those imaginings that could never become reality no longer caused pain. They had grown soft, as if warm when held in the palm.
"Akito." Touya broke the silence. "I want to sing that song one more time."
"Okay."
They went to the seaside. No one else was on the beach yet; the tide had receded far, exposing large stretches of wet sand. Akito and Touya walked to the water's edge and stopped.
Touya began to sing. His voice as a siren carried the ethereal quality unique to sea creatures, yet he sang the wordless song they had written at ten. Akito joined in with his own part, voice somewhat hoarse, but the pitch was still there.
Their voices spread across the sea surface, scattered by the wind, then sent back by the waves. No audience, no stage—only two voices saying goodbye.
At the final note, Akito felt a stinging pain from the pattern on his back. He frowned slightly, making no sound.
"It's time," he said.
Touya looked at him, nodding. His face held a calm resolve.
They took off all their clothes. Akito pulled his T-shirt over his head, rolled up his pants and placed them on the sand. Touya undid his buttons, moving slowly, stretching this final farewell long. They folded their clothes together, setting them where the tide wouldn't reach.
Bare feet stepped on the sand, coolness rising from the soles. Akito walked toward the water, Touya following at his side, shoulder pressed against shoulder, tail sweeping across the dry sand surface one last time.
When seawater flooded past his ankles, Akito felt the pattern on his back throb violently. The sensation was different from pain, closer to a calling—the sea summoning him home.
"Cold?" Touya asked.
"Not cold," Akito said.
They continued walking. Seawater passed calves, knees, thighs. Sunlight shone upon the water surface, shattering into millions of golden flecks of light. Akito's skin began to glow, light emanating from within his body, unrelated to the sun in the sky. He lowered his head, watching his arms become translucent, bones faintly visible beneath.
He didn't stop walking.
When seawater reached his waist, Akito turned around, looking at Touya. Touya's eyes were very bright in the morning light, exactly the same as when they had first looked at each other on the reef at their reunion.
"Regrets?" Akito asked.
Touya shook his head. He reached out, cupping Akito's face, thumb brushing across his cheekbone.
"This life, the previous life, every life," Touya said. "I will always find you."
Akito held his hand, brought it to his lips for a kiss. His body grew lighter and lighter, the seawater pulling at him, like a mother calling her child home.
They walked until the water was chest-deep and stopped. Akito felt his feet leave the sand, his body beginning to float. He no longer resisted, letting the seawater support him.
"Touya." Akito called his name, voice growing very light.
"I'm here."
"Look at me."
Touya looked at him. They gazed into each other's eyes, in the gradually brightening seawater.
Akito felt his body beginning to dissipate from the extremities, fingertips growing blurry, like ink smudged by water. He felt a strange lightness, all weight leaving him—the grief, loneliness, waiting of these ten years, all dissolving along with flesh and blood.
He looked one last time at Touya. Those eyes reflected his own shadow, that shadow gradually fading.
"I love you," Akito said.
Then his body transformed into a cluster of foam, floating on the sea surface, sparkling with fractured light in the morning glow.
Touya looked at that cluster of foam, reached out to touch it. The foam touched his fingertips, didn't burst, only gently pressed against them.
"I love you too," Touya said.
He closed his eyes. His body also began to glow, spreading outward from his heart. The way for a siren to end their own existence—he had found it during these four days. No spell needed, no ritual needed, only a sufficiently intense emotion.
That emotion was love.
Touya felt his body growing lighter, bones dissolving, consciousness spreading. He didn't struggle. There was nothing in this world worth his attachment anymore, besides that cluster of foam floating not far away.
His limbs began to dissipate, turning into countless tiny bubbles. He felt his consciousness splitting, becoming countless fragments, each carrying a memory.
The summer of twelve and the sandcastle by the sea, the surprise of reunion and the trembling greeting, the kiss beneath the sunset and the bitter tears, the embraces and late-night whispers of the final four days.
All memories turned to foam, floating on the sea surface.
The moment Touya completely dissipated, the foam he had became automatically drifted toward the foam Akito had become. The two clusters of foam met on the sea surface, merged, indistinguishable from each other. They drifted slowly with the tides, refracting rainbow colors in the rising sunlight.
They were no longer individuals, but their consciousness remained. On some level deeper than physical bodies, they could still perceive each other. Language could not describe it, touch could not transmit it, only a more profound connection bound them together.
They perceived each other's existence, like perceiving their own heartbeat. That love did not weaken because of the dissipation of form; instead it became purer, more vast. No longer confined within two physical bodies, it diffused into the entire sea.
The sun rose to mid-sky. The foam on the sea surface gradually grew smaller, thinner, finally almost invisible. But they didn't disappear. They became part of the seawater, traveling the world with the ocean currents.
At sunset, orange-red light rippled across the sea surface—that was the color of the sky when they had first kissed. In this light, the last few specks of foam gently collided, separated, then gathered again, like two souls dancing their final dance.
Then they completely merged into the sea.
But the singing didn't stop. Wherever there were tides, in every moment of dawn and dusk, that song still echoed—two voices, never to be