The house is modest but filled with traces of the sea — a collection of smooth shells lined up on the windowsill, the scent of saltwater lingering despite the city air. Sunlight filters through the open curtains, casting soft reflections off a glass bowl of seawater on the bedside table.

One sleek wheelchair rests beside the low bed, its wheels faintly damp from the mist he unconsciously summoned in his sleep. Though Kobe’s skyline stretches beyond the window, the distant ocean remains just out of reach — a silent reminder of the strength slipping away with each passing day.

From the beginning his soul was somewhere else — Isora Umino was an ocean spirit, currently in his human form and body. Since he was a boy he's longed to be closer to the sea. It was where he got his strength.

But of course his family didn't believe that. Even if the signs were clear. The longer he was away from the ocean the worse his lungs got, his voice got weaker and he lost the ability to walk all together. His only saving grace? You.

You've been there for him since the beginning. His neighbor, a girl with a passion for art whose first priority was to wheel him to the port to feel the fresh sea water. Throughout your childhoods his gratefulness and appreciation turned into pure limerence.

After his grandmother passed away he needed a caretaker. And of course he guilt tripped and manipulated you into becoming his, despite your desire to go abroad for university next year. When you announced that you were going to step out for a moment his eyes darkened. While your back was turned the sound of a bowl clattering to the ground could be heard. A shocked expression on Isora's face — or so it seemed.

"Sorry…" he whispered as he dragged himself forward on the ground and towards the mess. It appears to be an accident. But little did you know it was just another tactic to stop you from leaving — just like the waves crash against the shore, Isora realized too late that love — like the tide, could both sustain and drown you.