Chapter Text
Rescuing a drowning boy when all he wanted was to surf in peace wasn’t anywhere on the list of things Nakahara Chuuya was planning for that afternoon. Not that he’d planned anything anyway — he was just enjoying the sun and the sea after school ‘cause, like everyone else, he was sick of seeing those damn cherry blossoms all over the city, okay? And yeah, sure, hanami season is beautiful. It’s cultural. An ancient poetic tradition and all that, but come on, seriously, who the hell wants to look at the same pink flowers that pop up every spring when you’ve got such a gorgeous beach with a vast ocean right there, just waiting to be surfed and swum through! Chuuya definitely prefers the sound of the waves — even if they still carried early spring’s lingering chill — to the rustling of petals falling on the grass and picnic blankets in the city parks.
The beach was bathed in the golden glow of the late April afternoon sun, still soft despite the hour. Its cold sparkling waters and the high tide made it perfect for surfing. Among the surfers was Chuuya, a fifteen-year-old boy with tanned skin covered in freckles and short wavy burnished copper hair that seemed to reflect the sunlight with every movement. His blue eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought of another day beneath the sun and out on the waves, leaving his skin more sun-kissed and dusted with new freckles. The grin pulling at his lips said everything about how much he loved being there.
He glided across the sea with the ease that only someone who spent hours upon hours every day surrounded by salt water and sunshine could know. Every wave that rose and broke seemed to play with the boy on his board, forcing him to constantly adjust his balance instinctively. Every movement was deliberate, yet incredibly natural for him. It was as though Chuuya belonged to the ocean. The sound of waves breaking and sea foam spraying around the board created a hypnotic, almost sacred rhythm. The sensation was one of pure and intoxicating freedom.
As he paddled back to catch another wave, Chuuya gazed out at the expanse of ocean before him. Seagulls flew in circles above the water, occasionally diving to catch small fish, and the glow of the setting sun reflected on the waves created a wash of golden light that he could watch for hours, just as he had so many times before. His thoughts wandered lightly, as they always did when he was here, on the board with the ocean beneath him and nothing beyond the horizon mattering.
Chuuya smiled to himself, excited by the next wave forming in front of him. He could feel his heart racing, not out of fear, but from pure adrenaline and the thrill of the challenge, of becoming part of something greater than himself. He leaned forward slightly, shifting his weight to gain more speed, and for a moment, he felt weightless. As he was in the middle of a maneuver, gliding skillfully across the water’s surface, he felt an unexpected impact. Something or someone had collided with his board, causing him to lose his balance and fall into the water. Confused, slightly disoriented, he swam quickly back to the surface, his blue eyes searching for the cause of the accident — because it wasn’t a wave, he knew that much. And he also knew he didn’t slip off the board.
It was then that he saw — not a sea creature, not another surfer’s stray board, or some random log floating aimlessly in the sea — but rather a slender body bobbing, wearing clothes completely unsuited for the beach — and shoes. Partially submerged, drifting with the waves. His heart lurched when he realized it was a boy. Taller, though he couldn’t have been much older than Chuuya. A chill ran up his spine, but he didn’t hesitate. He knew that in cases like this he couldn’t waste time, so he unclipped the leash that secured his leg to the board and swam over to the boy. He grabbed hold of the lifeless body and, with all the strength he had, swam back toward the shore.
With every passing second, he felt himself being dragged down by the boy’s weight, as if it were increasing by a ton with every stroke Chuuya took.
With great effort, he managed to swim while holding the dark-haired boy. Chuuya urgently laid the boy down on the sand and, seeing no lifeguard or adult nearby, began performing the first aid he’d learned. Alternating between mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and chest compressions, he fought to bring the boy back to life. Every second felt heavier than the last, an eternity with nothing happening.
The boy was ice-cold, his skin sickly pale; blue had already begun creeping across his skin, and his wavy brown hair was wet and plastered to his skin. There were also red marks on his nose and cheekbones, something Chuuya immediately associated with sunburn; after all, just because it’s spring doesn’t mean people don’t get sunburned — especially someone who clearly has sensitive skin.
With his heart racing, his pulse roaring in his ears, Chuuya continued performing CPR, following what he had learned in his first-aid classes with his older sister. He pressed down on the boy’s chest rhythmically.
One.
Two.
Three.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty-nine.
Thirty compressions — two breaths.
Do it again.
Do it as many times as necessary.
Keep the rhythm steady. Don’t press too hard. Don’t crack a rib. Don’t puncture a lung. Don't screw everything up.
“Oh, shit! Please. No, no, no, no. Please… Be okay, please, breathe! It’s such a beautiful day, let’s enjoy the sun. You have your whole life ahead of you!” Chuuya pleads, whispers, screams, his lips pressed against the dark-haired boy’s during the rescue breaths. “Please, come on, man, you can’t die in front of me! Ane-san is going to kill me!”
Thirty compressions and two breaths.
Again.
Again
And again.
He continues the resuscitation maneuver with determination, hoping to bring whoever this boy is back to life. The sound of the waves crashing, the seagulls and albatrosses squawking, distant laughter from the other people on the beach, and also the sound of the usual traffic just a few meters away — all of it clashed violently with the urgency of the moment, creating the illusion that the world hadn’t just tilted off its axis. While the world carried on around him, Chuuya struggled to save the life of a stranger who, somehow, already felt like a part of him.
“You can’t die, please…” Chuuya murmurs, his eyes filling with tears, his muscles protesting, his throat dry and his chest burning; breathing hurts. His hands tremble slightly, his whole body burning from the effort, but he persists, continuing the chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, determined to save the boy. “I don’t know what happened to you, man, and I don’t know who you are either, but I need you to come back to me, okay? Can you hear me? Come back.”
Thirty compressions and two more breaths.
The stranger’s body was a cold, lifeless weight, showing no sign of response and fear gnawed at Chuuya from within. He felt the excruciating pressure in his palms, the pain of keeping the rhythm steady, the taste of salt and water in his dry throat. Each compression was a silent plea. He couldn’t fail. He couldn’t let someone die right in front of him. Not after all that effort, not there in the midst of that beautiful, cold sunset.
Finally, after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, the boy coughed and slowly opened his eyes. Chuuya let out a sigh of relief — as if he were the one dying. The boy coughed again, the hoarse sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves, and a trickle of salt water ran down the corner of his mouth. His thin body still trembled in involuntary spasms, as if the sea itself refused to let him go completely. His chest rose and fell in an irregular rhythm, and every breath seemed to tear at the inside of his throat.
His golden eyes opened with difficulty, the late afternoon light blinding him for a moment. He blinked slowly, trying to understand where he was and why the gentle warmth of the sand now replaced the biting cold of the water. His eyelashes were stuck together, heavy with salt, and his pale skin still bore the faint bluish tint left behind by hypoxia. A drop of water trickled from his chin down to his neck, mixing with the fine sand that clung to his damp skin.
When he finally managed to focus, the first sight he had was of a face close to his own, very close — a face that seemed to glow with the golden light of the sunset. Red hair, tousled by the wind and wet, fell over a forehead covered in small freckles that seemed to multiply in the warm light. The blue eyes, intense and alert, watched him with a mixture of relief and genuine concern. The sound of the other boy’s rapid breathing mingled with his own, and the heat radiating from that nearby body contrasted with the chill that still ran across his skin.
The smell of the sea was too strong, mixed with the salt in his own mouth and the almost imperceptible scent of sunscreen coming from the red-haired boy. Every detail felt painfully magnified — the distant murmur of people talking, the squawking of albatrosses and seagulls flying overhead, the sea foam lapping at the shoreline as if trying to touch his feet and pull him back into the sea to finish what he himself had started.
The dark-haired boy tried to speak, but his voice came out weak, trembling, and low, almost like the whisper of a scratched record. “I… have I finally died?” The question was tinged with a strange serenity, as if the idea of death were more familiar to him than it should be.
The redhead let out a nervous laugh — a brief, almost incredulous sound — before answering. “Hell no. You’re fine. You’re safe now. I saved you.”
The word “safe” echoed in the pale boy’s mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it — how could a stranger look at him and say “you’re safe” when he himself knew he wasn’t, and still seem like a heavenly being? What kind of audacity was that? Still lying down, he slowly raised his hand, feeling the roughness of the sand beneath his fingers, and looked again at that boy who seemed more like a vision than something real. “Are you sure you’re not an angel?” he murmured, his vision wavering slightly as his eyelids grew heavy. Shit. He was so tired.
Chuuya’s face flushed a bright red that had nothing to do with the sun. He looked away for a moment, took a deep breath, and looked back at him, offering his hand to help him sit up. His grip was firm but warm, almost too comforting for someone who seconds ago had been on the verge of losing himself in the icy depths of the Pacific Ocean.
The taller boy let himself be pulled upright — he wouldn’t have had the strength to fight it even if he wanted to, feeling the weight of his own body and the distant echo of the waves’ force still in his muscles. They remained like that, close together, with the sound of the sea enveloping them both like an invisible blanket. For a moment, he thought that if this were death, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad; after all, a death like this would be beautiful.
Almost celestial.
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was filled only by the sound of the sea, enough for both of them to recover from what had just happened, until eventually silence was no longer enough. The dark-haired boy, gradually regaining his breath, his voice, and his sense of humor, decided to tease a little even though he was still dizzy and felt like he was going to pass out at any second. “Well, so that means I’m not in such bad shape after all, since now I have my own guardian angel, right? How lucky am I?” he murmured with a smile, a faint dimple appearing on his left cheek. “And what’s my angel’s name?”
“I’m Chuuya, and you?”
“Dazai. Osamu Dazai.”