My Love, the Ocean
Chapter 1
“You owe me much, Yuuta.” Mizuki Hajime smirked at the younger, unable to resist a nice flaunt of superiority, even though he would rather not have this particular chance. It took all his countenance to not chuckle his trademark scheming. “Do you realize how many laws I’ve transgressed for you just now?”
And can you even begin to comprehend how much of my health you’ve compromised? He held his breath one again. Speaking tasked his lungs more than necessary—all the detergents and powder irritated his rather delicate senses. In the murk of the cleaning closet, where the only lighting came from his pocket computer’s screen, he thought he saw Yuuta give a hesitant nod. Thought. That meant he was unsure to some degree.
“Hn.” He rubbed his temples. God only knew what those chemical fumes’ toxins would do to him.
“Mizuki-san?”
“Did you say something? I can’t see that clearly in here, you’ll need to actually speak.”
The air, tainted further with deep, almost desperate breaths split between two grown men was inducing a headache. He would make Yuuta’s life miserable for cajoling him into this situation. All this for a girl, breaking laws and sacrificing health. An unknown girl, one he had never seen nor heard, one whom he did not know even the name of. But she was Yuuta’s girl, the exalted girl his underclassman had chased throughout college.
Mizuki and he had gone their separate ways after high school—himself to a computer engineering academy and the other to a public university, for a degree in some form of liberal arts. A waste of talent, both academic and athletic, in Mizuki’s opinion, and also apparently a threat to one’s sanity. Yuuta had found that girl through his classes, had he not?
“I never should have kept in touch.” He grumbled, shoulders hunched and fingers tense at the keyboard… if someone managed to track his computer to the two of them… “Tell me, why could you not just call her and appoint a meeting rather than spy on her hotel room? Choosing to hide in the cleaning closet of all places is even less refined.”
“She never picks up her phone though. And you were the one who decided we’d be most elusive in a cleaning closet.”
“Then leave a message on her answering machine or voicemail. And don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” Really, had four years away from elegant numbers leeched him of all sense?
“That’s the thing. The dial tone never comes. There’s just the sound of water, water, and more water.”
“Hn.”
It was obvious to Mizuki now, that Yuuta had not majored in literature, for he had graduated with honors and this description was a mockery of the term. Never mind this apparition they were attempting to track, that small, forgotten detail was bothering him. What exactly was Yuuta’s major? Lack of practice in the field of data-collection had rotted his memory, a fact that made him cringe. It was as if he were suddenly so much closer to the retirement home, and the tooth decay that would prevent him from indulging in angel-hair pasta and caviar.
“Mizuki-san? Mizuki-san?” Hearing loss was another symptom. Damn it, he had turned twenty-five but during this year. Twenty-five. Too young to become feeble and decrepit and old.
A perturbing thought, really. Nonetheless, he let out another noncommittal sound to signify he had paid attention. Much to his relief, Yuuta did not linger long on his previous lapses.
“Do you think we even got the right room? It’s been an hour now. I mean, I got this location through eavesdropping on her and her friend. I might’ve misheard.”
Those sentences fomented a glare as acerbic as Mizuki could manage with a spinning head and absent mind. He would ignore those devil sentences, having put so much time and effort into this already. Even reaching the hotel had taken five hours of driving and a ferry trip. And yet no amount of self-control could stop him from scrutinizing the live video tapes for signs of an art graduate.
The room in question was small, large enough only for a desk and bed to fit whilst giving the guest enough space to maneuver. All the better, for the camera only caught footage from three vantage points—one of a broad bird’s eye view, the second a close-up of the desk, and a third of the bed. Aside from a cyan suitcase set against the left side of the desk, everything looked as the maid would have liked. Untouched. Naturally, the suitcase earned his attention.
It perplexed him. The black faux leather handle was worn, some parts weathered to a pale charcoal and others blatantly peeling off. Age and strenuous use marked it well, but the rest of the vinyl cloth was still a pure hue, fresh from the store. Mizuki squinted to search for even the slightest discrepancy. Upon zooming in, remembering the new-age technology available, he noticed a violet charm dangling off the side. Someone had crafted it with care, albeit clumsy hands. Beads strung messily and askew formed a crude flower, with a lavender crystal dolphin below it, complete with handmade tassels the same sort of royal purple as the makeshift flower.
He released the breath he had just sucked in, posture stiffening. He recognized it. From so long ago, middle school, if memory served him well. After his tennis team had lost to Seigaku, Yanagisawa, being the awkward duck he was, had brought them all to the beach as a sort of “pick-me-up.” Not cheered by this “pick-me-up,” in fact, scorning the colloquial term, Mizuki hand wandered to a secluded area, where there was no sun-filled laughter and guffaws barbaric enough to demote them from ‘human’ to ‘Neanderthal.’
He loved his teammates as he would siblings, but in the face of failure, particularly a failure he deemed his own fault, Mizuki-logic dictated he was to blame it on others. In this case, aforementioned teammates. Yet he felt guilty for that, and to avoid an overdrive of guilt, he had removed himself from their presence. As Lady Luck, most assuredly his patron goddess by how often she graced him with her presence, would have it, the only scene away from society was not ideal. Tempestuous waves, harbored beneath a gargantuan ledge, foaming as their swells raged up against jagged rocks before absconding, dragged any life with them back into the sea. In an act defying the basics of common sense, he had walked to the shoreline during low tide, tracing circles in the sand. He had no time to react when the ocean advanced and swallowed him whole.
The next thing he knew was a lithe, drenched form hovering above his, hands pressing on his chest as he coughed up brackish liquid, calling gently to him.
“Are you okay? Hajime?”
He hand been mystified, but snapped at her, though he did tone down his intended “How the hell do you know my name?” upon realizing she had probably saved him. The kelp and floating vine-like plants clinging to her in clumps did not look comfortable either.
“It’s Mizuki. Don’t address me so intimately.” Her enduring smile irked him. “And who are you?”
“ . Sorry.” A sheepish smile. The muscles in her mouth must have hurt on a daily basis, he mused. “You don’t recognize me? Hmm… well, I’m that girl who’s always by the pond during church. Now do you remember me?”
He flushed, he did remember now. Had had spent long hours goading her before, coming up with anything to degrade her. Everyone else at his church knew her as the pagan girl who still worshipped the water gods of old, when in truth, she simply liked to sit by the pond and think whilst watching the breeze rippled the surface, causing the cattails to sway. He had enjoyed such a pastime in his elementary years as well, and had even befriended her before, but the conditionings of attending St. Rudolph in his later years had deemed doing such as frivolities. He never knew she could swim though.
“Where did you find me?”
“Engulfed by tidal waves.”
“You must be an exceptionally strong swimmer then.”
“I’ll take that as your form of thanks.” This time, when she smiled at him, he offered a grin and blush back.
He’d taken his leave then, embarrassed and still rather lightheaded from his near drowning. But he was not one to be ungrateful, especially to a childhood friend he’d spent a few years scorning, and so made that charm for her. When he had searched for her the next Sunday, a rain-filled misery, she was nowhere to be found. He would have kept persisting every week, if only to see her face again, but he had lost the charm on the walk home, presumably when Atsushi had playfully shoved him into a puddle. Now, staring at that suitcase, he felt a pang of yearning. He missed . Besides, as he often sued as justification when thinking about her, he had never had the chance to formally thank her, or apologize for his caustic words.
“Mizuki-san, are you okay? You froze there for a second. Is the oxygen running out?”
“Yuuta, what did you say her name was?” Yuuta read that to mean that he was fine, and that they had a few more hours before asphyxiation.
“Umm… Melusine. Just Melusine. She never specified whether or not that was her surname and gave no other for us to call her by.”
“Oh.” If Mizuki’s voice did not betray his disappointment, then the way he withdrew and let his head loll to thump against the door did. The air felt more viscous than before. “I believe this will be a fruitless jab at the law. Do you know how high the fines could be? More than we could afford, most like.”
“Shh. Mizuki-san!” Yuuta grabbed him and gave a slight shake. “She finally returned. I guess she was out sight-seeing earlier. She does love islands.”
Both men turned to fixate their gazes at the screen, each lost in nostalgia. The woman entering the room was young, and of a unique beauty. Slender features of cultured elegance, gait sure and proud but still with a sense of humility. Every step seemed like liquid, flowing and graceful. An aqua ribbon pulled back lustrous hair, and multiple pearl droplets streamed the locks. She stared straight at the black semi-orb relaying her actions to them, expression one of apathy.
“ is dead, her grave the ocean. Let her memory rest.”
Her voice had much allure, but the edge of ice to it brought disenchantment. She looked away as the final words faded, fingering the charm for a while before sitting by the window, staring at the world outside.
“Yuuta… is there supposed to be voice recording as well?”
“No.” His friend did not bother facing him as he spoke, pre-occupied with caressing Melusine through infatuated eyes. “Why? There isn’t any sound… I wish she would look at the camera, just once.”
©Deprecour