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Whenever Daisuke visits the beach, he always brings with him another rock.
They've started to pile up in his little corner beneath the pier, far from the shoreline, where high tide can't reach. Some are smooth as glass, some jagged and rough like the paths he's walked in his short life. Enough regrets to fill every pocket on a pair of cargo pants, the ones he'd thrifted the other week, relics of a time that was never his.
Seventeen years, eight months, and three days had passed before a wandering freighter cracked open the Tulpar's skull and pulled him from the rotting innards of the beast. The first thing Daisuke remembered was a bright light, voices like sirens in his ears, the chemical stench of cryogenic vapors that wafted off his warming skin.
The last thing he remembered was Swansea pulling him into a kiss, shoving his body backwards, then speaking a sorrowful farewell while Daisuke pounded his fists against the pod's tempered glass, until his world faded to icy black.
The Earth he returned to was never going to be the same as the one he'd left. His mother had grown ten lifetimes, his father was a shell of his former self. Friends moved away, got married, had kids to inspire with chronicles of their youth. Daisuke told his story in front of television cameras and microphones, was embraced by Swansea's children as he wept over how their father had saved him, and lied about how he wished Swansea's wife was alive to see her husband's ashes brought home.
They welcomed him to pay his respects whenever he wanted, but Daisuke had no desire to lay flowers on the grave of what could have been his life, if Swansea were there to honor the promise he'd made when he still had the breath to speak it.
The shadow of Swansea's smile hangs above the horizon as Daisuke sits beside his rock tower and blinks tearfully at the quiet sea ahead.
He remembers moments of happiness, Swansea's voice, his laughter, his grumbles. How it felt the first time Swansea had made love to him, a gentle night that seemed as if it would last forever.
I'm sorry, Mom. The tears roll down his cheeks. I'm sorry, Dad. He sniffles, shakes, sobs.
Swansea, I'm so sorry.
He doesn't want to live like this. He doesn't want to die thinking Swansea's final gift will have been for nothing.
A heaviness stills his shoulders as he watches the waves slow, then stop. His tears taste like the ocean, seafoam on his skin and saltwater in his lungs. He sinks; he swims. He touches the bottom and floats to the surface, still breathing, still seeking that ray of light beyond the cloudy skies, the beauty Swansea saw inside him.
"You'll always be my Sunshine."
Daisuke wipes the tears from his eyes.
He'll kiss today's battles goodbye, and wake tomorrow to fight the war all over again.