[ it's not that the beach really holds much appeal for charles, given that he can hardly swim or enjoy the sun or anything of the sort, despite how very normal and corporeal he looks — maybe a little out of place there in his normal outfit, black jacket and all. he's... well, truthfully, he's moping and he's man enough to admit that that's exactly what he's doing here; he stops to pick up a few rocks, throws them to the water, watches them skip across the surface with a sigh —

and then there's a scream and charles stops in his tracks, prepares to run wherever it's coming from in case someone needs help — except it's not in that way, is it? he sees the man, falling to his knees in what looks painfully like despair, and charles clocks the anguish in the scream that still echoes inside his mind, not least because he feels the same kind of anguish inside his head, all hours of the day, worse the longer he stays here.

so he walks closer, his feet leaving no imprints in the sand. ]

Hey, [ he says, pausing a respectable distance away, and there's an aching sympathy in his tone. ] Uh, maybe you don't exactly want company right now, especially some bloke you don't even know, but... just, wanted to say sorry for your loss.

[ because that's what this is, isn't it — mourning. he can recognise it all too well. ]