Sadly he wasn't there. Nothing was there. 
Keith frowned, missing the presence of the curious face, the tail and the heart worn on a sleeve, but his gut feeling told him the time will come for him to return, and with a stern resolve he eliminated all distractions and raced to the boat, placing himself in the proper mindset to start tinkering. Grabbing a small wooden chair, he rested down on it, beginning to work his way around repairing and cleaning it. Hours had passed, and he realized he was being successfully distracted into doing something else other than think of himself or Shiro, and he could get used to that feeling. Pure relaxation, sometimes frustration at the boat being uncooperative, but anything other than those other overwhelming negative thoughts. Coincidentally, he found a small dusty coin on the inside of the boat. Like the remnants of an offering from long ago. 

As he thoroughly cleaned the crimson red exterior of the boat (he was unsure if it was blood or just paint problems) he'd found a small dent on the underside. It felt rough against his fingers, uncomfortable. It was only when he looked at it that he realized what it was; a signature of sorts. The letter K. Keith? He raised a brow. Did his father leave that for him, like he was indirectly saying that he was to be the righteous owner of the boat after him? It was strange, and as his fingers traced the letter, dust began to form inside his nails, and he knew he should get to work before the sun fell. 

More work, more sweat later, and the boy was halfway done with getting this boat to work again. A feeling of pride swelled in his chest, having finally completed a mission without procrastinating or lazying about without having it even halfway done. He gave himself a pat on the back for what felt like the first time in ages, and he huffed, leaning back to commend himself on his work. The red exterior on the boat gleamed in the almost disappearing sunlight, and the mark of the 'K' held unreachable answers to questions he didn't know he had. With a stretch of his body, he sighed and placed the chair away for tomorrow. And that's when he heard it, the small wave in the water. A beckoning. There he was. His Shiro. 

Was he really his, though? 

"Shiro," he said in greeting, his voice low and shy but still heard as he walked closer, waving at him. He half-wondered if he could pronounce his name now but decided not to bring it up just yet as he sat in front of him, knees scraping the wood.