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“Is that everything for ya?” the deck master asks, looking from the dinghy to Kento.
“Yes, thank you.” Kento offers him a polite smile. The Deck master nods his head once and then walks back towards shore, boots thumping loudly against the wood. Kento looks down at the dinghy. It’s a pathetic little excuse for a boat since it doesn’t travel very far. It’s got enough room for two people, two decent sized bags and oars. It’s the boat they’ve used to go to and from the lighthouse for decades.
The last time he saw this boat was when he was returning to shore years ago. His shoulders were so heavy with grief he was a little surprised the boat didn’t sink on the trip. So much had gone wrong, there were so many holes in his life from people who now just… gone. Frustration and rage had wrapped itself tightly around his heart. Yaga was surprisingly gentle as he left Kento behind, on the shore with a bag full of his things.
The first few weeks all he did was sleep. He couldn’t get enough sleep. It took a while for him to start to feel remotely human again. He got a job, became a regular at the little bakery on the corner, and miraculously found peace in the mundane. It was good.
It was enough, until it wasn’t.
Which is why he was now going back. He feels surprisingly light as he steps carefully down into the boat, dropping his bag into the little nook in the front. Since it’s just him this time around, he’s got a couple cases of supplies tucked into the other person’s spot. Beneath his feet, he can feel the steady rock of the water and his shoulders relax. He pulls the rope, freeing the boat from where it’s moored. It immediately starts to drift a little from the dock. He sits in the cradle of the dinghy and inhales deeply before reaching for the oars.
The oars are old enough to have hand prints practically carved into the wood. Despite how long it’s been, his hands fall into the ridges comfortably, a private, little smile rising on his lips. He dips the oars into the water and starts to row. The muscles in his back pull a little but he slides into the motions of rowing as easily as he would slide into sleep. There’s no pull to look back towards shore as he sets off into the sea.
Time doesn’t really seem to affect the sea. The blue-ish gray waters look the same as they always have, cut by little slices of light and foam, swaying with the same steady pulse it always has. Little fish swim tauntingly by the surface, urging one to lean over and attempt to see deeper into the murky depths. An errant piece of seaweed floats by, dancing along the current.
The farther he gets from shore, the more color he loses. He can feel the muscles around his eyes relax, thankful for the reprieve. The waters are blue-ish gray, the sky is blue, the clouds are white, the foam is white, the rocks are black. Why would you ever want more?
It’s a slow time of year so he mostly hears his own noises - the oars sliding into the water, the water lapping at the boat, his breathing. The only thing he can smell is salt. He pauses his rowing for a moment to let his eyes slip just and just - inhale. Re-imprinting the smell on his senses.
Time shows more clearly on the lighthouse when it comes into view. It’s sun-bleached whiteness standing out boldly against the sky. It sits on a rocky little island surrounded by a graveyard of larger rocks. There are a few missing, reclaimed by the sea, whereas others now boast large scars or are missing chunks. There’s a swatch of paint missing from the eastern side of the building, metal exposed and glinting in the sunlight. Half of the storage cabins at the base of the tower have collapsed.
More interestingly, the mer-scarer on the north of the island has been replaced with a more ambiguous and tall scarer in all black with wild white “hair” that looks like he’s standing watch.
There’s no one on the little chunk of land to greet him. It’s not the weirdest thing but something about it this time around that makes his heart pick up speed anxiously. There’s only one person on the island as far as he knows and well… this could be painful depending on how they’re feeling about all of this.
A seagull squawks, flying over him and towards the island to perch himself on the scarer. It feels like homecoming.
He docks the dinghy on the southeastern part of the island where the rocks are easy to climb. He balances carefully as he slings his bag back over his shoulders and finds the mooring ropes. It's a bit of a dance getting off the boat in one piece and also not losing the dinghy in the process but he manages. He drags the dinghy all the way out of the water and onto the shore to keep it from being taken.
“Did you bring the chips?” Gojo says in lieu of hello as he suddenly appears, diving for the cases.
“Yes, I brought the - will you stop that?” Kento says.
Gojo is elbow deep in the cases, tossing out things in his way that are not the chips. Kento watches with a deep frown as a roll of duct tape goes sailing through the air and into the sea with a plunk. Exasperated, he whips one of the loops of mooring rope into Gojo’s side. Gojo turns to him, mouth hanging open in offense.
“Ow!”
“Open them inside, not out here,” Kento says.
“It's okay, I found them,” Gojo says, holding up the chips in triumph. He abandons the half opened cases and swaggers back towards the lighthouse, humming happily. Kento shakes his head, a fond smile creeping on his lips. There had been some worry - although he would never openly admit it - about how Gojo would respond to his return. Although it has only been a few minutes, maybe Gojo has learned enough courtesy to wait till dinner before engaging in the outright “I told you so” rant.
He repackages the cases enough that they can withstand being carried into the lighthouse and pulls them up into his arms to carry them into the lighthouse. The big metal door is propped open with a partially destroyed toilet. Kento furrows his brows at it. How the hell? He sighs. It's obnoxiously out of place enough that he knows there’s some ridiculous story behind it that Gojo will probably tell him 5 times over the next year that they are together on this island. Maybe 6. Gojo’s always had a weird thing for sixes.
His footsteps echo in the entrance room, the faint smell of gasoline clinging to the sterile walls. The smell gets worse as he ascends the stairs past the oil room.
Stepping into the primary living area, he immediately feels a little out of balance. He glances back behind him to look for evidence of a wormhole or some other thing that would have sent him into a different dimension.
The lighthouse that Nanami remembers reeked of age. The (spartan) furniture was definitely older than him in many cases: butts firmly worn into the surface of every chair, the fabric a completely different color than it used to be, and there were more than one mysterious stain present. They had to be careful turning on the stove because sometimes that would turn on the bathroom lights and waste precious generator fuel. Not to mention the random nails sticking out from the floor… or the ceiling… or the doors… or the stairs.
Now, he would say it’s almost… luxurious?
He stiffly sets the crates on the table, expecting it to wobble and is a little off-put when it doesn’t. The questionable stove has been replaced with something stainless and so new looking that Kento would definitely bet it hasn’t been used at all. It looks out of place against the old counters and cabinets. He puts a hand on the counter for emotional support before reaching towards the windows. They’re cold but he can’t feel any air seeping in. Further over, there’s now a proper freezer instead of a box filled with ice brought in from outside in the winter.
The cast iron heater is now framed by a TV on top of a media center with more DVDs than he’s seen in 10 years and loveseat with Gojo childishly sprawled over it, watching him through his black glasses.
“What?” Gojo says around a mouthful of chips.
“You decorated,” Kento says. He pats the counter. It doesn’t really need it but he does.
“Duh? This place was depressing as fuck, it needed some life,” Gojo says, waving an arm around the room to point at all the things that supposedly bring “life”.
Kento narrows his eyes at Gojo. “What about my room?”
Gojo smiles, bright and mischievous. “In my defense, you did say and I quote ‘I will never ever be coming back’ so I turned it into a library.”
Kento remembers it differently but that was the jist. “You can’t even read.”
“Ha. Ha.” Gojo says sarcastically. He dramatically pops another chip in his mouth. “It’s not like anyone else was gonna use it.”
Kento’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you have some surly protégé or something?”
Gojo shrugs. “Yeah but he’s like seven. Or ten. I don’t know. He’s too little to come here though.”
Kento’s throat tightens a little. It makes sense. There’s not many wickies like them and of those even fewer who would willingly put up with Gojo longer than absolutely necessary. Still…. He had a lot of (valid) reasons for leaving but he feels the pang of guilt anyway. He swallows, awkwardly tapping his fingers against the counter twice.
“Well, do you want to show off this library?” Kento offers.
Gojo raises a brow. “Oh, do you want a tour?”
Kento rolls his eyes, sighing sufferingly. “I doubt you could have gotten up to that much here in five years.”
Gojo smiles sharply, abandoning the bag of chips on the floor as he lurches from the chair. His big hands grab onto Kento’s arms and drag him up the stairs. There are framed photos lining the walls of the stairwell. Some are of old keepers, some of the early days of the lighthouse, a few just pretty pictures of the sea.
“Is this an Edward Hopper?” Kento asks, squinting at it to try and see if it’s made of paint or ink.
“Yup,” Gojo says. “It’s not my favorite one but the MET refused to let me buy the one I wanted. I even sent Mei Mei and they still refused.”
“Wow.” Kento will one day understand the Gojo family… hopefully sometime before he’s on his deathbed. Knowing Gojo though, he’d show up then with a well made powerpoint to explain everything just to hear Kento go, “Ah, it all makes sense” and then die.
Originally, there had been two rooms, each on its own floor leading up to the light room. They weren’t big rooms, but the first one was technically a few square feet bigger than the second so that naturally meant it went to the oldest a.k.a Gojo. It had been an explosion of things because Gojo never did anything half assed, a stark contrast to his more minimalist room on the next floor. Now there were two beds on either side of the small window. His side was naturally more barren save for an old Aqua poster his dad sent him years ago and a weird looking stuffed animal that he’d won at some fair as a kid. Gojo’s was piled high with thick blankets and pillows, the soft materials practically climbing up the wall.
There were little nightstands smushed under the window, reading lamps on each one. Tucked awkwardly at the feet of the bed were small desks. A big rug was laid out over the wood floors.
“Honestly, I was expecting neon pink walls or something,” Kento says. He toes at the edge of the rug with his boot. “This rug’s nice.”
Gojo preens a little. “I’m not really done yet. I need to know how little space I can give you before you start getting all twitchy before I can really finish it.”
Kento rolls his eyes. He tosses his bag on his bed and follows Gojo up the stairs towards the second bedroom. Sure enough, it had been turned into a library. Bookcases encircled the two - are those fucking pastil chairs? Kento wants to smash Gojo’s head into the wall - nice chairs and a small table. He wanders along the edge of the shelf, looking at the books. Some are old, clearly Gojo family heirlooms, whereas others are newer.
“Did you just buy out the whole romance section at Target?” Kento asks.
Gojo shrugs. “I can only read literary phallic masterpieces for so long before I need to just read explicit phallic masterpieces.”
Kento snorts, shaking his head a little. “That’s fair.”
He runs his fingers over some of the books, walking a circle around the room while Gojo watches in a rare moment of stillness. Their eyes meet. Impulsively, he wants to tell Gojo that he likes the library. It makes sense in this small, desolate place. Makes it feel more homey. For some reason that makes his heart quicken anxiously.
Instead, he asks, “Can I clear out a shelf for my books?”
“Absolutely not,” Gojo replies, lips quirking in a small smile.
Gojo sets off towards the last flight of stairs. At the top is a big steel door with several latches that he comfortable undoes. It whines a little as he pushes it open to reveal the lightroom. This room has changed the least out of all of them and Kento finds his shoulders relaxing at the sight. The light still stands proudly in the middle of the room, currently covered with the metal shield.
The windows here can actually open unlike the rest of the light house, and this high up there seems to always be a perpetual chilly draft. There’s two little desks with notebooks and navigational instruments on them. Kento stops by one, running his hand over the wrapped knife resting over one of the books. It hasn’t moved long enough that the wood underneath is slightly lighter than the rest. He tucks the knife into his belt.
Gojo opens a window and the notebook flutters open. It’s mostly empty pages, some of the corners wrinkled like they got wet. He lets his eyes slip shut, enjoying the moment. The wind feels refreshing, crisp with the chill and the salt. The glass walls are steady as the wind rolls around the room.
He feels it before he can really hear it. Vibrations skitter over his face like spiders caught in the breeze trying to find purchase. The quiet trill of voices mixes in with the wind, tempting and dangerous. Stronger then he remembers them being. It might also be that he's just out of practice when it comes to ignoring them. They have to be ignored.
When he opens his eyes, Gojo is staring at him. The black glasses are now perched on his head so Kento gets the full force of those brilliant blue eyes of his. He looks away after a moment, out towards the sea and moves closer to the window Gojo has opened. They stand next to each other, just staring out at the sea.
“They are stronger,” Gojo says after a moment. “Not like crazy strong but… stronger.”
Kento frowns. “So that’s why you’ve started teaching.”
“Not exclusively,” Gojo says.
Kento waits for him to expand on his thoughts but he doesn’t. It’s alright because Kento feels confident he knows what Gojo’s reasons are. His throat feels tight. He wants to ask. Wants to know how Gojo found a shard of hope in the tragedies of their youth, wants to know if maybe he can find one too. He opens his mouth but Gojo interrupts him.
“It’s gonna storm tonight,” Gojo says. Kentos eyes glaze over the mostly clear sky and even seas and then looks over at Gojo. His eyes seem like they’re glittering. It grows more intense when they shift their focus from the sea to Kento’s eyes. They’re a little guarded, evaluating. Kento can feel the hairs on his arms rise.
“What?” Kento tries not to look away.
“I wasn’t expecting you to grow so tall,” Gojo comments. His gaze shifts down, Kento’s spine stiffens. “The hell were they feeding you on the mainland?”
Kento flinches back a little, disarmed. “I’m pretty sure only eating chips stunts your growth,” he says, wincing a little at the awkward sound in his voice.
“All you need to survive is butter and potatoes and chips happen to have both,” Gojo retorts, eyes snapping back to Kento’s face. “Salted fish is also disgusting after the 100th meal.”
Kento bobs his head along in agreement there. “The black crate is mostly salted fish.” Gojo groans loudly, head tilting back to really let the noise echo in the circular room. Kento feels something shift by his hand and looks down to see that their hands are relatively close together on the little ledge that encircles the room. He pulls his hand back, stepping back entirely from the ledge.
“The blue one has a bottle of Talisker though.” Kento smiles a little at the dramatic way Gojo’s head whips towards him.
“You smuggled alcohol ?” Gojo grips Kento’s shoulders tightly.
Kento gives him a little nod. Gojo practically combusts on the spot, face contorting into an ugly, dramatic cry as he practically yells, “I’m so proud!”
Kento rolls his eyes. Gojo squishes their faces together until Kento forcefully shoves him away.
“If you’re now a rule breaker, this is gonna be so much more fun,” Gojo says.
“Not all rules, just… the stupid ones,” Kento replies.
“They’re all stupid.” Gojo darts past him to head back down the stairs to the living area, screaming happily about how all the things he’ll get to do now that he has a “corrupted” Kento as his partner. Kento shakes his head.
He moves towards the ledge to lean out for the latch on the window. Just over his hand, way out into the sea, something breaches the surface. The spikes sparkle with water as they cut through it before sinking back beneath the surface. He can’t immediately remember anything that has spikes but that just sends a little thrill of adrenaline through him.
He pulls the window shut, latching it properly.
It’s good to be home.