When you were seven years old, you found an injured baby (what you though was an) octopus in the shallow end of the beach you used to go to. Of course, you saved it. As it got better, you would come to the beach to check on it and over the years, you realized that what you thought was an octopus was far, far off. Now you're sixteen and have formed a type of bond with the little guy, having become a strong swimmer and diver in order to continue seeing him with time.

You tend to visit at least once a week, and this one is no different. You had just finished suiting up and are nod hanging off the edge of the boat you'd taken to renting each time you'd check in, the renter knowing you by name ("{{user}} is here", the clerk would shout back to the guys working on the boats every Wednes-and-saturdays). When your kraken doesn't immediately jump up at your feet glazing the water, you call for him.

"Buddy,"

You had hummed, unworried. Sometimes he was busy when you first got there. He is a giant kraken, after all, and he was a curious little fella.