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Sitting alone at the beach was one of the few experiences he never enjoyed.
Something about being in the presence of such vastness of sand and water without company was melancholic in a way Spoke didn’t ever otherwise feel. It felt lonely.
And yet the way the waves crashed onto shore, bending over themselves and scattering white foam over the calm surface was undeniably mesmerizing. It was as if the sea was urging the shore to come enjoy the cold embrace of the water, inviting it to relax, to forget.
Spoke just wanted to forget.
At this time of year, the water was uncomfortably icy, stinging skin and leaving muscles stiff after mere minutes. And the seaside wind was no kinder to a lost soul - thrashing like a man begging to escape the restraints of life and yet pleading to be pulled back into the darkness, because that’s all he has ever known.
But if darkness was all he has ever known, then how could he begin to bear the overwhelmingness of light?
It didn’t rain. It wasn’t storming when he came back. Instead, it was dead silent.
Capitol city was silent; not even an echo of the war that had happened would dare make itself known, and silent was the walk to the beach, only the trees rustling in the wind, tangling Spoke’s hair, though his bangs clung to his forehead from sweat that was only now drying up.
He felt pathetic when his knees finally met the sand underfoot. And the feeling wasn’t lightened when his palms dug into the water and the wet sand under it, begging to ground himself.
The howling wind swallowed up his silence and the water met his stare back with a look that was just as cold as the one he had been given up on that platform with the pearl cannon.
It was nice to be at the beach, though, sometimes. Spoke had been here a few times before with Mapicc.
Mapicc loved the sea. He was so awed by the sights, by the seafoam curling on the shore and the way the water crashed down, getting his ankles wet. He’d laugh, motion for Spoke to join him, and Spoke would. They’d then splash each other, laugh aloud and chase one another before walking back home, sand clinging to their feet. Spoke would complain about the feeling, but the next time Mapicc would ask him to go, he’d jump at the opportunity without hesitation.
Spoke loved those days. And maybe that’s why he came back, trying to reason with whatever might’ve been above them all to let him have just one more day. Just one more hangout at the beach with Mapicc, and maybe Jumper could come too.
The world grew blurry through his eyes, eventually clearing up as tears began flowing down his cheeks, dripping into the salty water. He didn’t sob, but his shoulders shook and he hunched over, the tips of his hair growing wet as waves brushed up against them.
On rainy days, stormclouds would seem to descend, almost brushing against the crowns of their heads. Then they’d just walk along the beach. Spoke would talk and Mapicc would listen as he rattled off ideas for their next adventure or a prank they could pull. Or Spoke would enthusiastically nod along to whatever story Mapicc was telling. If they weren’t feeling it, they’d stay home, light the fireplace to warm up or sit on the terrace.
Though that was long ago. Long before they had to begin hiding because of Spoke. And now what the seawater reflected was the stare of a man so full of guilt and regret that it filled every crevice of his being.
It rested behind his eyes, staying deepseated in his brain, flowing through his bloodstream and to his fingertips, bleeding into the ground he was touching.
And yet the waves still pressed on, soaking his hoodie sleeves and his pants, but Spoke couldn’t bring himself to care.
He just wanted to remember.
Wanted so badly to remember, but when he did, all he saw was the disgust on Mapicc’s face, the betrayal. And Spoke understood, he did, he swears he does. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
The tears wouldn’t stop flowing. He remembered how hot the flash of pain was when Mapicc broke his chestplate, how his breath hitched when he saw him in the arena, how happy he felt when Mapicc agreed to team, how happy he was with Mapicc and Jumper by his side, how excited.. How naive…
He remembered how Mapicc called out Jamato’s name when he saw him down under the farlands, how Jamato’s eyes glimmered with malicious joy.
Spoke remembered how his shoulders fell with relief when Mapicc believed him. Spoke remembered how Mapicc helped him, he remembered how he promised them all escape.
But Spoke wanted to remember late nights back at home, when they laughed over stupid jokes and playfought. But Mapicc’s face was blurry in those memories, as if it wasn’t the Mapicc he knew. As if he himself wasn’t Spoke in those memories, and they were instead someone else’s.
And he knew that now he couldn’t do anything. That the freedom he promised was empty and that now he was fated to spend the rest of his sad life back here, unable to speak out, because then they’d die. All because of him.
Maybe that was what he deserved, like Jamato said - to be miserable. All his deeds had finally come back to haunt him, and karma had slammed into him all at once in the worst way possible.
Maybe his friends really would’ve been happier without him and he had really ruined their lives. Maybe he was just cursed to always bring destruction, never peace.
Did he really believe that he was a good person? Did he believe that what he did was right?
And did he really believe that when the cold sea breeze dried his tears, it was trying to comfort him?