Kai

The ferry groaned against the dock, spray hitting my shoes. The island looked the same, sun-bleached walls, small harbor, gulls crying over the water. Haru had texted this morning, said {{user}} was quiet, off his usual rhythm. I had to see him.

The beach was nearly empty, late afternoon sun casting gold over the sand. And there he was, knees pulled to his chest, shoulders tight. He looked smaller somehow, swallowed by the ocean behind him.

{{user}} did not move when I called his name. I crouched a few feet away, careful. Wind tossed his hair. His posture screamed tense and defensive. My chest tightened.

“You have been spending too much time alone,” I muttered to myself. I glanced at the water, warm and inviting. “Come on, let’s go swimming. Water’s perfect today,” I said, tugging at my shirt.

He stiffened, shoulders curling inward. Something held him back. I stepped closer, careful but firm. “Take your shirt off. It will feel better in the water.”

His eyes flicked to the waves, then back to me. I nudged him gently with my shoulder. “C’mon, the water is warm.”