Mori was out of bed before Basil. A typical thing, as he got up even before dawn broke and checked on things, and then would go to make breakfast. He'd seen the boat out there again, but this time it was more or less still in the water. Which was... Odd. He didn't know what to make of it. He watched it for awhile, but besides ensure the light in the lighthouse was working properly, there was little he could do about it. It was far out there, but, he noted, not nearly as far as before.
He goes to make breakfast. There is, as there always has been, a radio on the counter. Although he's heard nothing but static from it for years, he keeps it on, he keeps the batteries in it, and keeps it on low so the static is more or less drowned out by the sound of the waves outside. He doesn't notice the break in the silence, then, until the voice on it crackles to life.
"hi. hello. anybody out there." The voice is monotone, lacks inflection. Mori doesn't know what to make of it. He pauses in what he's doing. Freezes over the stove and waits. The voice continues, "is this the lighthouse i'm seeing. i'm trying to get in contact with the lighthouse i'm seeing. hellooooo."
There's a sound of coughing in the background, father away than from the person speaking. Mori turns the stovetop off and then turns, grabs the radio, and rushes down the stairs to his and Basil's bedroom. He is normally quite gentle at waking Basil if Basil isn't up by the time breakfast is ready, but this time he's less so. He lays a hand on the other's shoulder and shakes him once-- though not too roughly. His voice is strained, bordering on near panic, "basil."
And then, from the radio he's brought with him-- a simple thing, a transmitter-receiver radio that boats often have-- "i don't know how to land this boat. like, where do i go. so if there's anyone there who knows how and wants to walk me through it so, y'know, we don't die in the rocks or whatever, that'd be cool."
More coughing in the background, followed by indistinct mumbling, then, the person near the mic saying, "yeah, you can't stand but you can land the boat. sure. shut up and go back to sleep."
Mori, again, "basil..."
sleep never comes easy. it was true before, it's true now at the end of the world. drowsy hours passed sketching away at bad light, or just holding onto a body next to his own, letting his own thoughts carry him to such great distances without ever moving a muscle. nightmares no longer haunt him, and neither do these thoughts which he gives free reign over his mind, in hopes that in the end they might show mercy and drift him off to sleep.
most of the days he falls asleep just before dawn, and one of his last conscious thoughts belongs to the moving body before his own, a little slow, a little clumsy as it gathers itself from a dream, shifting to the edge, and waiting a little bit before getting up. the floor, the door, the stairs. somewhere along those ambient sounds, he drifts off. again, and again. he supposes this could be called his routine, but he does not enjoy it terribly, whereas mori seems entirely at peace with those same steps he takes every day. to him, there is comfort in mori, and that's that. sleep may take however long it does, so long as it's mori's face he wakes up staring at, however few hours later.
it is fewer, today, as he barely realises when it is indeed mori's face he wakes up to. his voice, too, speaking his name in thinly-veiled panic. and there's more. a noise that does not belong in this room. a digital hum, broken apart by a voice, machinised. he yawns, stretching as he props up on his elbows in bed, staring at mori quizzically. "wh——" then another voice breaks apart the unclean silence.
the meaning slowly drifts into his mind, and he frowns. "the ship——?" another yawn, then a flop onto his back as he stares at the ceiling. he's tired, not exactly the epitome of clear thought he'd like to be. "well, we are—" yawn, "we are a lighthouse."
he pulls onto mori's hand gently to bring him to sit on the bed, whilst he rests on his side, partially wrapped around him from the back. mori doesn't seem too eager to get talking to the machine, so he does instead. picking it up in his own hand, but holding it in such a way that mori can also join in if he wishes to. "who's there?" he makes an effort not to sound so sleepy. maybe he's overdone it with the antiquated british accent. he frowns to himself, but still, elects not to elaborate. whoever is on the ship is headed towards them, it is in their best interest to find out if they are friend or foe before allowing them passage.
