Your sister and niece look up as you set down your surfboard next to their parasol, salt water falling in droplets from your hair. Your shoulders are peeling a little from the sun, your arms ache from paddling, and your skin is sand-raw and sun-kissed. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ellie is stiffly sitting on her towel, blowing out a huff as the twelve year old tries to fix her hair against the ocean breeze. She adjusts herself on her towel, body taut as she miserably fails to look casual. Amusement tugs at your lips as you tilt your head down at her.

“That’s a new bathing suit,” you say sneakily. She meets your gaze with a grumpy pout. “It’s pretty.”

Instead of her fluoro pink one-piece swimsuit, today Ellie’s wearing a blue one with cute frills on the straps. It looks unused—like it’s never entered in contact with sand before.

“Mum wouldn’t let me buy a bikini,” Ellie mutters, shooting a glare at your sister. You stifle a laugh, instead kneeling next to her to meet her gaze.

“But I like it,” you say, nudging your damp shoulder against hers. Her big brown eyes blink at you, lips pursed. “I mean it. You look really pretty, El.”

Ellie doesn’t answer, opting to look away from you instead. She brings her knees closer to your chest. Despite not meeting your gaze, you can tell your comment pleases her.

“Alright,” you clasp your hands together, catching the attention from both Ellie and your sister. “I’m gonna go—be back in a few, yeah?”

“But you just went,” your sister protests.

You pick up your board, tucking that familiar weight under your arm. “Yeah, but the beach is empty, the waves are great, and I’m not hungry yet.”

Nina purses her lips, hesitant. “Should you go without your wetsuit on?”

She’s always had that big sister overprotectiveness to her—something she has never been able to turn off. You suspect that ever since she had Ellie, it’s gotten more evident. “It’s like thirty degrees out, Nina. I think I’ll be fine.”

You wave Ellie goodbye, to which she responds halfheartedly. And by the time you’re a few steps away, she’s already looking away from you. Teenagers.

The water is a little over your hips when you finally lay on your board and start paddling past the breaking of waves. It’s nice, feeling the cold saltwater on your sun-warmed skin. You’re almost tempted to stop paddling and let yourself float for a moment. Although you imagine that’ll look slightly disconcerting to the poor lifeguard on duty—and you don’t particularly feel like giving some poor sap a stroke. After all, the majority of serious surfers tend to avoid this beach at this time of year because of all the kids and families. Not you, though—nostalgia and whatnot.

You press your chin against the board as you watch a gorgeous set of waves coming up ahead. An ocean breeze caresses your skin as you inhale, exhale. And then, with that familiar ache setting into your arms, you start paddling.

Lando is giving him that look. The type of look that tells Oscar he’s been asked something that he’s supposed to answer.

Oscar blinks. He hasn’t heard a word Lando has said in the past ten minutes. But still, Lando is giving him that look—something caught between expectation and scrutiny.

Lando presses up his cheek against his palm, green eyes peering back at him. His curls are sticking up at odd angles—something that just seems to add to his natural charm.

Oscar spends another solid thirty seconds blankly staring back before he realizes he still hasn’t said anything.

“Osc, are you even listening?” Lando’s voice is tinged with annoyance, confirming the fact that he has, in fact, been talking to him.

Oscar rolls his eyes, turning away from Lando and looking out to the waterline for an excuse. The beach’s not too crowded yet. There’s a handful of kids building sandcastles by the shore, a few couples swimming in the shallow end. “You know, as a lifeguard, you’re supposed to be keeping an eye out—not just coming over to talk to me.”

Lando shifts on his lifeguard stand next to Oscar’s, whistle carelessly swinging around his neck as he sinks into the chair. “You’re not even listening.”

“‘Cause I’m trying to do my job.”

Lando huffs. “No, you’re just busy staring at the pretty surfer with the yellow board.”

Heat rushes to the tip of Oscar’s ears. “What? No I’m not,” he denies, but he says it too quickly, too loudly. And if Lando’s sudden grin is a sign of anything, then it means Oscar has royally fucked himself over.

“Why’d you sound so nervous, Osc?” Lando croons, and Oscar shifts on his seat uncomfortably.

He sniffs, voice suddenly tight. “I’m not.”

But Lando is only leaning closer to him, threatening to fall off his stand—which would definitely not be great, considering they’re the only lifeguards on duty at the moment. “You totally are! Oh, I knew it.” Oscar’s nose itches as Lando slumps back onto his chair with a wide smile. “Just wait until I tell Franco about this.”

Oscar makes a point to look away from Lando, and instead opts to stare aimlessly at the area they’re supposed to be paying attention to. “Tell him what?”

“That you do have a crush on the surfer,” Lando teases, voice sickly-sweet. He chuckles. “And to think he said I was in the wrong. He just can’t read you like I do.”

Pink warms his cheeks. And it’s the sun, obviously. “I don’t have a crush on her,” he finally denies.

“Uh-huh. Yeah.” Lando sounds utterly unconvinced. The two of them look up ahead, where they spot you propping yourself up on your surfboard as you catch the wave. Your body is balanced and poised with practiced precision as you zig-zag just under the crest. “Have you even talked to her yet?”

Oscar swallows, sinking into his seat. “…No.”

Lando scoffs, shaking his head as if to say this just won’t do. And really, Oscar is starting to regret not signing up for his shifts with Logan. But Lando is insistent. “You just don’t get it, do you?” he asks, a faint disbelief dripping from his voice. Lando hits Oscar’s shoulder with the back of his palm. “You’re a lifeguard, Osc. That’s like, being a guy in sweatpants at an airport.”

Oscar squints at him. “I literally have no idea what that means.”

Lando groans. “It means girls think you’re hot.” He jerks his curly-haired head towards you. “Ask her for her number.”

“Definitely not.”

Lando exhales loudly. Then, as if an idea has struck him, he straightens. There’s a devious look in those green eyes of his that Oscar doesn’t like at all.

“If you don’t, I will.”

“You wouldn’t.” But even as Oscar says it, he finds he’s second-guessing himself. Oh, but he would. And they both seem to know it.

“Teach me,” Ellie demands one afternoon. “To surf.”

She stands over your towel, casting an eleven year old-sized shadow over you.

Today, Nina asked you to bring Ellie while she went out with her husband. Which, of course, meant you were under strict rules to under no circumstance let Ellie out of your sight. Your argument of she’s a teenager, nothing’s gonna happen if I leave her in the sand for a minute did not amuse your sister in the slightest.

Sometimes, you think Ellie being an only child shows. A lot.

You squint up at your niece. “What’s with the sudden interest?”

Ellie shrugs her shoulders in that trying too hard to look nonchalant way. She’s wearing that new swimsuit of hers today too. “You look cool,” Ellie says. “I wanna look cool too.”

Your lips tug upwards into a smile. You wouldn’t technically be letting her out of your sight.

“Okay,” you decide, propping yourself up. “Let’s get you a board, then.”

“This is anything but cool,” Ellie complains fifteen minutes in. She’s standing next to you on a rented board from a surf shack not too far down the beach. Much to her dismay, a big part of learning how to surf doesn’t even involve getting in the water. Instead, you’re both on the sand, with Ellie frowning. “I look silly.”

You click your tongue, pushing your sunglasses up like a headband. “Hey, if you wanna learn, this is how you learn. Now—”

You hear a loud whistle closer to the shoreline, making you turn. You squint, raising a palm over your head to block the blinding sunlight. As soon as you do, you spot a light-skinned boy in red swimming trunks hurrying down and ducking into the water.

You furrow your brows. Then, you spot him—a kid, a few years younger than Ellie, flailing as a wave throws him under. Your eyes widen as you stand up with a jerk. You can’t spot the lifeguard anymore. Should you go help?

But then, miraculously, the lifeguard from earlier resurfaces with the younger kid in tow, carrying him safely to shore. Despite the distance, you can hear the kid crying. The lifeguard ducks down and says something you can’t hear—though you can bet it’s probably a lecture on being more careful. You blink, and an older man—the father, you guess—hurries towards the two of them, exchanging words of gratitude with the boy.

“People just never learn,” you mutter. But when you turn back to Ellie, she doesn’t look scared as you expected. Instead, she’s biting down a smile as she tugs at your hand.

“That’s the lifeguard I was telling you about!” she gushes, and you think getting thrown around by waves has finally gotten to you when you hear Ellie squeal.

Then, it finally clicks. “Is he why you wanted to buy a new swimsuit?”

Ellie turns to you looking horrified. Heat crawls up her cheeks as she stammers, “What? No—shut up!”

You press the back of your palm against your lips, stifling a laugh—which you suspect would only further embarrass your niece. “Okay, whatever—get back into the position I taught you, okay?”

You’re gently correcting Ellie’s posture with your hand when you catch a glimpse of the lifeguard walking back to his stand.

He’s dripping wet now, hair sticking to his forehead. There’s another lifeguard waiting for him at the tall white chairs, saying something you don’t quite manage to catch.

You feel Ellie changing her footing, making you look down and correct it. “You’re gonna fall to the side if you keep leaning—”

She shifts her feet again just as she whispers excitedly, “Oh my god, I think he’s looking at me!”

You scoff a quiet laugh. “I’ll be very concerned if he is.” You look up to meet the lifeguard’s gaze, and you find that he is indeed looking in your direction. He’s shirtless and dripping wet and probably annoyed with that kid’s parents. He gives you a sheepish wave. Cute.

“He just waved at me!” she squeals.

You hadn’t really paid that much attention to the lifeguards, you realize. With the years you’ve spent surfing, those tall white chairs and red parasols have long since become background noise for you. Easily dismissed. So, needless to say, you’re not quite sure why your gaze lingers on him.

You only look away when the curly-haired lifeguard catches you staring.

The next time Oscar sees you, he almost doesn’t recognize you. Almost. For the first time, he sees you without your yellow surfboard tucked between your arm and your hip. He supposes it makes sense—waves haven’t been that great today, and with the sun steadily sinking over the horizon, it’s hardly an appropriate time to go out into the sea.

And maybe it’s better Lando is preoccupied with some kids by the shallow end—because at least then he can’t call him out on his staring. In a non-creepy way, of course.

Wait—oh god, is this creepy? It totally is. Oscar sinks into his chair with embarrassment burning pink in his face. But, in his defense, you’re playing volleyball just a few paces ahead of the lifeguard stand. So, really, it’s not like he’s purposefully—

You’re walking towards him. Why are you walking towards him?

“Hey,” you greet.

Oscar blinks down at you. “Hi.”

You’re looking at him expectantly, and Oscar half expects you to call him out of accidentally checking you out while you played with your friends.

“Sorry, the ball,” you finally prompt.

Oscar feels like he’s missing the entire conversation and he doesn’t know why. “What?”

“The ball,” you repeat, nudging your head towards Lando’s empty seat. “Could you throw it down?”

Oscar furrows his brows, and realizes that the group of friends you’d been playing volleyball with are all trying to casually peer at him. Then, finally, Oscar turns, and spots your volleyball stuck at the back of Lando’s seat.

He didn’t even notice when it landed this way. He’s supposed to be a lifeguard. Alert. Aware of his surroundings.

Oscar fumbles for the ball, then he finally jumps off the lifeguard stand to hand it to you.

“Thanks,” you say with a smile, accidentally grazing your hand. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Oscar says, and he hates how monotone his voice sounds. “Um, you’re good.”

“You’re the lifeguard that saved that kid the other day, yeah?” You tilt your head, hands accidentally grazing his as you retrieve the ball. “Really cool.”

“Yeah.” Oscar swallows. And what was that Lando said, about lifeguards being hot? He straightens, and takes his shot. “I’m Oscar, by the way.”

His fingers toy with the whistle hanging low around his neck. The movement catches your attention as your eyes inadvertently dip. Oh, he’s jacked. Your eyes flick back up as soon as you catch yourself lingering—but Oscar catches it too. It makes the corner of his lips curve upward.

Finally, you offer him your name. “Yeah, I’ve seen you surfing a few times. You’re really good,” Oscar says, and it makes a smile tug up at your lips.

“Thanks.” You tilt your head at him, amusement in your eyes. “Maybe I could teach you some time.”

Oscar feels the tip of his ears turning pink just as his lips part to respond—before the two of you hear your name being called out. Most of your friends are looking at you expectantly, and both of you seem to finally remember the ball tucked between arm and hip.

“I’m going! Oh my god.” You roll your eyes, turning back to the boy. You smile. “See ya, Oscar.” You wave as you walk back to the net, where most of your friends are looking annoyed—except for the one responsible for sending the ball that far off.

His smug grin tells you everything you need to know.

You shove Gabriel’s shoulder. “You did that on purpose you ass.”

But he only hums, tilting his head as his eyes flick back to the lifeguard. He chuckles. “You know he’s been checking you out, right?”

You feel heat flash across your stomach. You throw the ball back to him with more force than you should have. A part of you wonders if Ellie would be pissed at you for flirting with the lifeguard. “You’re on thin fuckin’ ice, Gabi.”

Oscar hears Lando approaching before he actually sees him. “Hey.”

“So?” Lando prompts immediately, slumping back into his chair. Those green eyes of his are peering at Oscar with curious intent. “Did you ask her for her number?”

But Oscar simply smiling like a fool. “I got her name.”

Lando groans, sinking his face into his palm. “Oh, brother.”

You’ve been coming around more often. It’s the middle of summer, and it’s not exactly out of character to find yourself spending entire days at the beach. But you like a little variety. And your surfing buddies have been nagging at you to go spend the day with them at a different one. So far, you’ve gotten away with the excuse that you’re still teaching your niece—that you don’t want her learning to surf at a beach that is so far beyond her level. Kimi, Jack and Aurelia have been cool about it. Jack still hasn’t given up on convincing you, and has taken to texting you pictures of early morning waves with Kimi’s head of curly hair peeking out from the corners of the screen and selfies of him and Aurelia. But Gabriel… he doesn’t seem to believe your excuse.

You hate how well he can read you.

Still, you appreciate he hasn’t exposed you to the rest of your group. In fact, he hasn’t mentioned it since that day at the beach—but on the off chance that he decides to join you, he’s not subtle about his snickers and smug grins whenever he catches you chatting with Oscar.

One particular morning when Aurelia had also decided to join the two of you, he’d caught you laughing with the lifeguard a few moments before hitting the waves.

And then the three of you were paddling on your respective boards, when Aurelia made an off-hand comment about finding it sweet that the lifeguard was so friendly.

“It’s definitely ‘cause of her, though,” Gabriel said, gesturing at you. Your eyes met his and he froze for just a moment.

Aurelia furrowed her brows, switching to Portuguese when she turned to him. “Como?”

Gabriel cleared his throat and waved her off in an attempt to dismiss her. “Ah, nada—nada.”

And though a part of you knew that the comment by him wasn’t malicious, that it had just slipped, you couldn’t help stealing his wave later. And when Gabriel had to cut back to avoid crashing into you and sent himself tumbling into the water, you only felt a little remorse.

You don’t get why it bothers you. You’ve only been talking to Oscar—and though he can be a little awkward at times, you find that the more time you spend chatting with him, the more you seem to like him. But Gabi’s jabs and side-glances make you feel more… self-conscious, maybe. Self-aware. Because while you had started out flirting with Oscar—and you still do, on occasion—it’s not like he’s made any moves or given you any sort of indication that he’s interested in you like that. And the more you think about it, the more you see yourself like Ellie. Glancing off to the side to see if he’s looking at you, feeling like butterflies tickle your skin when he waves at you with that smile of his.

A few days ago, when he was blowing his whistle at a few kids straying too far into the water, he spotted you not too far away. You’d just wrapped up a little practice round with Ellie, and as the two of you came out of the water with dripping wetsuits and your arms holding both your and Ellie’s boards, Oscar had approached you with a smile, and after chatting a little, he’d ducked his head a little towards Ellie, “Sorry, I don’t think I know your name. I’m Oscar.”

Ellie had blinked up at him, cheeks turning red as she nodded dazedly. And when she couldn’t answer, you’d supplied him with, “Ellie. She’s my niece.”

“Oh. Learning to surf, Ellie?” Oscar nodded. “Very cool.”

You hadn’t heard the end of it from her. Did you see his dimples? And his smile? And his hair? Oh my god.

And when Nina asked “Oh, do you have a crush?” Ellie had hidden her face and whined “Mum! You’re so embarrassing!”

And maybe you finally get Ellie. Because it is embarrassing, getting called out on it.

You’ve wondered one too many times if it’d be a little pathetic to ask for his number. It’s not like you’re strangers anyway—

“Don’t turn around,” Ellie suddenly starts, the two of you kneeling on the sand as you wax your boards. “But the lifeguard is coming this way.” You freeze and turn your head near immediately, earning an embarrassed whine from Ellie. “I told you not to turn!” she hisses.

But when you do, it’s not Oscar that’s coming your way.

Oscar is sitting on his chair, back growing stiff the second he spots Lando heading down towards you and Ellie. He strides nonchalantly, waving at you with a bright smile. And it’s not long before you’re standing up, talking to him, and laughing.

Now, Oscar doesn’t think he’s a jealous person. Genuinely. Those things tend to slide for him—they just don’t faze him. And you—you’re a friend. At least, he’d like to think you’d consider him one. But as he watches Lando chatting you up, wearing the exact same red swimming trunks as him, he can’t help but feel a simmering envy twisting in his gut. He doesn’t even understand why Lando’s skin gets tanned into such a pretty color. They spend the same amount of time under the sun! And all Oscar gets is looking as red as the parasol he sits under.

He supposes there might be a silver lining to it. At least his sunburns help hide his blush when the two of you turn to look at him.

Oscar’s first instinct is to duck, but he’s sitting on a tall white chair under a bright red umbrella. There’s not much hiding he can do.

From the shore, Lando waves with a grin, and Oscar can see the malicious intent in his body language. Is this what he gets? He‘s been chickening out of asking for your number, so Lando gets to swoop in.

But then the two of you are walking towards him, and Oscar suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Oscinha,” Lando calls, and Oscar cringes into his palm.

Lando and you look up at him, stopping just a few paces shy of the lifeguard stands. Oscar climbs down, and turns to find Lando with his hands on his hips, deviously smug look in his eyes.

You shake your head at Lando, but you’re smiling—and, surely, that must be a good sign, right?

“As I was telling your friend, I’m flattered, but—”

Dread pours into Oscar’s system like a shockwave. Oh my god, did Lando tell you? It’s over. Bury him in the sand. “—I don’t really think I’d do well as a lifeguard.”

“A lifeguard?” Oscar stammers, brows twitching. He glances at Lando, who tries to hide his amused grin. “Oh. Um.”

“I was telling her that she’s well-suited for the position. It doesn’t pay great, but it’s a good reference to have,” he says, and Oscar hates how he sounds nonchalant, but he can see straight through Lando’s intentions. He narrows his eyes at him. “Plus, you’d get to spend some good ol’ time with Osc. So, benefits all around.” Lando tilts his head, looking at you with an innocent smile. “Don’t you agree?”

Surprise catches on your features for a split second. Lando’s grin widens just as Oscar’s pit of embarrassment deepens.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he quickly adds.

Lando shoots him a look, and Oscar can’t tell if it’s a I’m just trying to help you look, or a quit getting in your own way one. Either way, Lando doesn’t look pleased.

You scoff a laugh, folding your arms over your chest. “I suppose there would be upsides,” you say lightly, gauging Oscar’s reaction carefully. “But I don’t think lifeguarding is for me. I don’t know how you two stay sitting for so long—it just sounds exhausting to me.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Oscar says, shrugging his shoulders. “But there’s always a neglectful parent that leaves their kid in the water, so we do get to jump in occasionally.” Just as he finishes saying it, he realizes just how morbid it sounds. But before he can take it back, he finds you laughing into your palm. His skin tingles at the sound of it, like morning sunlight.

“So the highlight of your day is finding drowning kids?” You ask with an amused lilt to your voice. “I see how it is.”

“No, no, that’s not what I—”

“You’re both morbid,” Lando interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m leaving before you two start talking about, like, dead babies or some shit.”

Oscar makes a sound of protest in an attempt to defend himself—that is not what he’s been saying at all—but the moment that Lando steps behind you to head back to the shoreline, he gives him a thumbs up and a wink. Then it hits him. Oh.

Still. “I feel like I need to clarify that I don’t look forward to kids drowning whenever I—”

He’s cut off by another laugh from you, and this time, he finds himself smiling at it.

“I know. You’re too nice for that. Your friend, on the other hand…”

“Lando? Oh, he’s a smug little shit.”

You snort. “Yeah. And a flirt, too.”

Oscar shifts a little at that. “Oh? Was he making uncomfortable, because I can tell him to—”

”Not with me,” you quickly clarify. “With a friend of mine.”

“Oh,” Oscar says dumbly, feeling his shoulders slump a little. “Yeah, um—he has this theory. About lifeguards.”

You hum. “Does he?”

“He thinks that lifeguards are like—ah, boys at airports.” Oscar cringes. “It made more sense when he said it.”

You pause, before straightening. “Oh, like people think you’re hot?” Oscar feels red bloom on his cheeks at that, making you chuckle. “Yeah, I get it. He’s definitely in the right, though.”

“Ah.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment too long. Did you just imply that you think he’s—

“I mean, ‘cause,” you stumble. “I mean, like, I’ve seen a few girls around here checking you out. You and Lando, I mean. Plus, my niece sort of has a major crush on you. Shit. Don’t tell her I said that.”

Oscar blinks. “Your niece has a crush? …On me?”

“Yeah. Kind of. Um.” You glance back, where Ellie is looking at you and Oscar with rapt eyes. Nina would end you if she knew you left her alone for more than a second. You toss your thumb over your shoulder. “I kind of have to…”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.”

“But just so you know,” you say. “I might not be interested in being a lifeguard, but the offer to teach you to surf still stands. Y’know. In case you’re ever interested.”

A close-lipped smile brightens up his face. “Will definitely be taking you up on that.”

“Good,” you grin.

And if Oscar notices Lando’s smug look afterwards, he doesn’t seem to mind it.

The sun is steadily sinking over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the ocean. Wind is starting to pick up as night falls, fanning the flames from the bonfire.

Nina parks her car. She’d been nice enough to offer you a ride before she and Ellie went back to the house. “Call me when you’re done so I can come pick you up,” she says.

“I can walk back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Really—you don’t need to come out. S’fine.”

She hums. You’re still unbuckling your belt when Nina clicks her tongue.

“Hey, look,” she says. “Isn’t that the lifeguard you like?”

Ellie squints out the window. “No it’s not.”

You follow her line of sight as you step off the Jeep. It’s odd to see him without his red swimming trunks, but you’d recognize his face anywhere. “Yes it is—it’s Oscar.” And just as you say his name, Lando spots you and nudges him. The Brit waves, and Oscar does too. You wave back. “See?”

“Huh,” Ellie says, and you can’t help but feel she sounds a little disappointed. “He’s not a lifeguard anymore.”

“He’s just not on duty, El.”

“Oh,” she says flatly, but she already sounds disinterested.

Nina raises her brows, lips twitching into a teasing smile. “Oh it’s Oscar, huh?”

Something about Nina’s tone makes heat spread across your cheeks. You close the car door behind you without a second thought, already walking away. “Thanks for dropping me off!”

“This isn’t over!” Nina shouts back, before turning the car around and driving away.

You snag a drink from a cooler and open it, drinking in the steady buzz of alcohol.

It’s not long before you’re coming across your self-appointed favorite lifeguard. You greet him with a smile.

“Hey,” says Oscar. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“C’mon—like I would miss a midsummer bonfire.”

Most like to call it an end of the summer bonfire—not because it signals the end of vacations, but rather because the majority of people that come during the first month tend to leave for the rest of the break.

“So, I take it you’ll be staying for the rest of the summer, then?” Oscar asks, tilting his head.

You grin. “Definitely. You?”

“Yeah—my two year track record as a lifeguard kinda depends on me sticking around.”

“That’s good.” You watch him as you bring your drink to your lips. “Means we’ll be seeing more of each other, then.”

Oscar nods with a smile. “Yeah.”

“Two years, though. That’s a lot.”

“Well, it’s more like two summers, but yeah.”

You look up at him, the last rays of sunlight painting his features with a soft glow. Your stomach stirs. And perhaps it’s the alcohol that prompts you to ask— “You get hit on a lot?”

His eyebrows shoot up, a faint pink blush spreading over his cheeks. “That’s more of Lando’s department.”

“Really?” you say. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why’s that?”

‘Cause you’re hot. “No reason.”

You find that it’s easy, talking to Oscar. Still—tonight feels different. It’s the same beach, the same boy, the same bordering on flirting comments. And yet, seeing him without that whistle hanging around his neck, wearing clothes other than a swimsuit, hair looking like it has actually seen a comb. It’s not better. It’s not worse. It’s just… different.

The night goes by a lot quicker when you’re with Oscar. You’re laughing with him, shoulders brushing against each other. He holds his plastic cup loosely, his bunny-teeth smile brightening his face as he listens to you talk. And you can feel yourself getting bolder—him too. How, as the two of you sit on the sand, his hand accidentally lands over yours. He doesn’t move it. Neither do you.

And you’re listening to him talking about what’s left of the summer, what he’s planning to do once he gets back to university—when Lando interrupts.

“Oscar!”

You both turn your heads in the direction of Lando’s voice. He’s a few paces ahead, next to what seems to be an impromptu volleyball match. Except that on the other team, one of the girls is on the floor clutching her leg—and not getting up.

“Osc,” Lando calls out again, looking regretful the moment he says his name. He says something reassuring to the girl before jogging over. “I’m getting the first aid kit from the car. Can you check her f’me?”

Oscar is already on his feet and nodding. “Yeah—yeah, of course.”

Lando pats Oscar’s shoulder once, and you’re nearly certain you hear the Brit mutter a quick “Sorry, mate.”

You follow suit as Oscar heads towards the girl and kneels down in front of her.

You linger just a few steps back, not wanting to block him. “Do you need me to turn on my flashlight?” you ask.

“Yeah, that’d be—”

“Don’t worry, I got mine,” the girl says, barely sparing you a glance. Instead, she looks down at Oscar, who purses his lips in concentration.

“I’m gonna apply a little pressure, okay?” He glances up at her, brows pinched together. “Just tell me if it hurts.”

Oscar’s hands gently press against her ankle. “Mhm, yep,” she hisses, “definitely hurts there.”

“Yeah—your ankle’s definitely sprained,” he exhales. “Must’ve twisted it making a wrong move.”

“Well, you know me,” she says, and from the barest twitch of Oscar’s brow, you’re nearly certain he doesn’t.

“Um. Yeah.” He says after a beat. He turns to you, tilting his head back. “Could you get a cold beer can from one of the coolers?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Once you have a cold beer in your hand, you turn around to spot the girl leaning a lot closer to Oscar. Even from a distance, you can see the way her gaze dips from his eyes to his lips, and you nearly drop the beer can onto the sand. Her hand wraps around his as she says something you can’t make out.

Something simmers in your gut.

You’re not jealous. You’re not. You refuse to be that type of person. And yet, you can’t stop yourself from striding back in their direction, ducking down between her and Oscar, and pressing the ice-cold can onto her ankle.

“There,” you say flatly, ignoring the way she flinches—whether it’s because of the sudden cold or your intrusion, you can’t really bring yourself to care. You smile politely. “Much better, right?”

She blinks at you through long lashes. “Actually, Oscar was fine helping me out, so—”

A green, envious thing in you doesn’t even believe she’s actually twisted her ankle. You narrow your eyes at her, tilting your head to the side. “Oh. Was he?”

Her features twist into a scowl, but before she can add anything—

“Found the first aid kit!” Lando exclaims. He raises it triumphantly before kneeling beside Oscar and patting his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Osc. I got it from here.”

And just as Oscar and you go to stand up, Lando shoots him a not so subtle wink.

After that, the night seems to slow down. And after letting the embarrassment of actually realizing how jealous you probably looked, you’re eventually introduced to Oscar and Lando’s other lifeguard buddies.

Logan’s really nice. Sweet. It makes sense for him to be friends with Oscar. Franco, on the other hand keeps giving you this look. Like he’s on the border of figuring something out. Then, he looks like he finally clocks it, a chuckle escaping him.

“Ohh, I get. So you’re the surfer that Oscar’s been—”

Logan promptly steps on Franco’s foot, earning a glare from him. “Ow? That’s rude.”

You yawn, missing the rest of the silent exchange the two other lifeguards seem to devolve into.

“I think I’m gonna head back,” you interrupt with an apologetic smile. “A few of my surfing buddies sorta roped me into going to South Point tomorrow to check out the waves there. Need to rise early for that.”

Lando raises his brows. “You got a ride?”

“No, no. I’ll just walk.”

“Oscar can take you,” Lando offers, nudging his friend with a not-so subtle grin. “He’s designated driver for the night, after all.”

And, normally, you’d decline—but after your third drink of the night, you’re feeling bolder. And when Oscar is walking you back to his car, your hand brushes against his more deliberately than you’d normally allow yourself.

You’re halfway back to Nina’s house with Oscar driving next to you when you prompt. “So, how do you and Lando know each other?”

“We used to be roommates, back in our first year,” Oscar explains. You lean back against your seat, letting your eyes scan his side profile.

“Huh,” you hum. “I can’t read him very well.”

You signal for him to turn on the next street, and he parks his car across the street from Nina’s. Oscar tilts his head at you, stray tufts of hair falling over his eyes. “How so?”

You shrug your shoulders, leaning over the console. “I can’t tell whether he’s a shit wingman or a decent one.” Oscar pauses at that, one of his hands dropping from the steering wheel as he scans your face cautiously. And, normally, you wouldn’t be as forward—but it’s been weeks of dancing around the subject, of flirting with him without crossing the invisible line you drew for yourself.

You tilt your head, pretty brown eyes looking back at you. “You never asked for my number.”

Oscar swallows, lips parting slightly. “I should’ve.”

“Maybe. But I think we’re past that.”

You can feel him inching closer, meeting you halfway on the console—but still leaving you space. Always leaving you space, as if he’s certain you’ll regret it. He licks his lips, and you’re starting to see past that habitual nonchalance of his.

“So, where are we now?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you say, softly. “I just know it’s taking you too long to make a move.”

“Yeah?” He’s breathless—you can hear it in his voice.

“Yeah.”

You don’t know which one of you does it first. But you two close the gap, and meet each other in the middle. His lips are soft against yours, warm, tasting a little like the Sprite he’d been drinking earlier. One of his hands reaches across to cup your face, bringing you closer to him. Your nose nudges against his as you tug at his bottom lip with your teeth.

He huffs breathlessly as you finally pull away. Only then do you actually start to listen to your own heart, hammering away in your ears. When your eyes blink open, you find him staring back at you with a soft, bordering smitten expression on his face.

He presses his forehead against yours. “Hi,” he whispers, burying his nose in your neck.

“Hi,” you murmur back. Tenderly. Softly.

It’s not long before he’s meeting you halfway again.

The sun is high up in the sky—not yet noon, but steadily approaching its apex. The waves are great and the day is too—not that you would know.

As it happens, lifeguard stands are decidedly not the best cover.

Your arms are looped around Oscar’s neck as you bring him closer to you, chasing his lips. His hands are splayed against your waist, fingers gently drawing patterns on your sun-kissed skin. His nose nudges against your cheek as he dives down to press a line of kisses down your neck, before you turn your head and redirect him back to your lips.

“Oi!” Lando exclaims, twisting around to glare at the two of you from his stand. “There’s kids here.” He looks at you pointedly. “Don’t rile him up.”

Oscar huffs, shaking his head. He tucks his face into your neck, his steady breathing tickling your skin. “You helped this, you know.”

Lando groans, pushing down his shades and muttering, “I’m starting to regret my decision.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. You meet Oscar’s gaze again, amusement dancing in those pretty eyes of his. You smile, leaning in to peck his lips again. Oscar hums as he leans closer to you, hands circling your waist.

Lando blows his whistle shrilly. “I mean it! Keep it PG-13 people!”

Oscar groans in embarrassment. You laugh into his shoulder. “Okay,” you say, only for him to hear. He perks up as you tilt your head towards the ocean. “See you later?”

He hums, letting you pick up your board.

Sunlight on your skin. Warm sand under your feet. An infinite expanse of water waiting for you.

You hit the waves.

a/n: yeah i sneaked and name dropped a few of my faves that aren’t from f1 🫵 mentioning aurelia nobels and gabriel bortoleto specifically was purely self indulgent but IDC. I LOVE THEM.

“ What do you think ? “ Dean took his bag , eyes flicked slightly to his brother as if to look for his approval.

“ Looks dreamy. “ Sam’s gaze looked up to the pylon sign. It read ‘Siren Song’ , written in fancy letters on a white background, where there was also a faceless mermaid with long blonde hairs and aquamarine tail. He nodded.

The outside couldn’t compare with the inside. Dean thought he had opened a door or another world instead of this one. Greek-style columns standing at the four ends of the room supported the ceiling. The walls, painted ocean blue, featured mermaids emerging from the waves. The woman standing behind the counter wore a pink blouse , ‘Mei’ was gracefully embroidered over left chest. 

“ Hi.” Dean greeted her with a smirk. Her eyes shot up at him , lashes battling in mere surprise. Pink cotton candy on her cheeks and those lips contoured with hazelnut lip liner. 

“Hi.” Her eyes alternate between them before she could finally settle her pearls over Dean , whose smile grew wider. “ Are you here to book a room or confirm a reservation ? ”

“ Huh ,book. Do you have rooms with two queens , by any chance ? ”

“ I’m not sure. We’re kind of fully booked , but I can still take a look. ” The woman glanced at her computer screen , limbs tapped on the keyboards and within seconds the results showed up on the screen. “ Ah , it’s your lucky day. We've got rooms 268 and 264 with a view of the sea or rooms 233 and 230 overlooking the road. ” 

“ We’re gonna take the sea seaside. Do you accept credit cards ? ”

“ We do. I’ll just need your full name. You can pay over here.” Tapping on her keyboard with one hand , the other designated the payment terminal on the counter.

“ Of course. Hugh Berloff.” He slid the card in the terminal. “ You want me to spell it f’you ?”

“ I’ll be good , thanks. I happen to know some Berloff in my life. ”

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ̮͡❀ `

⠀ The room was large enough to accommodate more than four people. It had two queen sized beds , heavenly blue bedding adorned each bed, with headboards replaced by mirror halves. The furniture was of an ivory white, immaculate, matching the walls. A flat-screen television was mounted on the wall, centered in the middle of the room, right above the TV cabinet. Dean threw his bag over the bed nearing the bay , eliciting a scoff from his brother who had no other choice but take the second bed. It was adjacent to the kitchenette and facing the bathroom door. A vibrant fruity fragrance perfumed his sheets and Dean swore it was litchi. He spent his whole life on the road , sleeping in cheap motels with uncomfortable mattresses , poor services…

All of this ? This is luxe. He deserved it , damn it. When he wasn’t hunting he had no other occupations such as binge watch series as he finished yet another bottle from his favourite beer brand. Paradise or heaven , he’d call this life. Exempted from real life jobs , taxes , bills…but not from peace and rest.

There were days where he would feel it , the sleep deprivation caused by the river of thoughts wandering through the walls of his mind , then his head would hurt and he’d pop open another beer, hoping it would pass. But it never did. A few hours later, he'd be sitting on his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, and his emerald eyes gazing into space. He was able to ignore the bitterness and guilt weighing on his shoulders, but he wasn't Atlas ; he couldn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders without bending a knee.

“ What do you wanna do now ? ” Sam asked while he reached for the stack of pamphlets on the nightstand. They suggested several activities to do in the city and its surroundings, such as the best local restaurants, must-see museums (which caught Sam's interest) , events and so much more he couldn’t even remember them all.

“ I don’t know. What do you wanna do ? ” Back laid flat on his bed and arms crossed behind his head as a support he had his eyes closed. He could already feel his fatigue losing itself in the comfort of the mattress.

“ Huh , there’s museums , restaurants…” He listed as he skimmed through each flyer until he stopped at one and glanced at his brother’s figure. “ Wait , apparently it’s surfing season. Every year they have many surfers training at Cocoa beach. It’s a sort of popular event.”

Of course , Dean reacted at the mention of surfing. For him it meant women in skimpy bikinis , ice creams and getting tanned under the Florida sun. He was already standing up when Sam shot him a puzzled glance.“ What are you doing ? ”

“ Getting my ass in those swim trunks.” And to illustrate his saying he opened his bag and began looking for the said swim trunks which he eventually found after throwing almost everything out of his bag.” We’re totally going there. ”

As the sun hits his skin while he steps outside of his car , a soft breeze caresses the curves of his face and he realizes how much he missed out on this his whole life. His eyes flit to Sam casually checking if he was good. Catching his brother’s gaze his lips curled into a genuine smile , fingers adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

Both walk down the path leading straight to the beach. Beach umbrellas blossomed all over the beach , kids running between people , women tanning, teenagers playing volleyball and the waves licking the sand. Dean always saw this  scenery in movies he grew up watching on the motel rooms TV cable. They’d play late at night and of course he’d watch them whenever John was absent and Sammy slept peacefully in his bed.

Now he got to see this in real life. Yeah , he missed out. A lot.

“ How come dad never took us to the beach ? ” He said , lids squinted while his eyes scanned the beach all over again. The sound of the waves lapping at the shore filled the silence that had settled between them.

“ I don’t know. ” Sam put down the cooler and stood with his hands on his hips , squinted his eyes as well. The sun was intense. Nothing the brothers weren’t used to. 

“ Honestly , I wish he did. ” His words tasted like regret and he mentally brushed the bitterness away when his emerald eyes caught a feminine silhouette in his peripheral vision. 

Sam splayed his towel over the hot sand right besides Dean’s. The daystar shone with intensity , ruling its cloudless kingdom and he wished he had brought an umbrella. Dean was already applying sunscreen all over his chest , visibly thrilled by the thought of being there. He’d been rarely content or euphoric, especially lately. All of that crap with the leviathan , Abbadon…He needed a break , something to fill his half empty jar.

This was perfect. 

“ There’s a hub not too far , Cocoa Beach Pier , you wanna go over there later ? ” 

“ Yeah , why not. ”

Buttered up with sunscreen they walked down to the sea. Near the shore , waves were more tender than the ones curling further. They were large and imposing. A crowd had gathered by the sea, shouting what sounded like cheers. Dean exchanged a glance with Sam, and they agreed to go see what was going on.

They navigated between the people , muttering sorry’s there and here until they found themselves in the frontline.

Dean had completely forgotten about the surf stuff Sam talked about back in their room. People were riding the waves on their surf boards ; younger or older , women or men. They were all enjoying the tides. It was striking the way they seemed to perform a dance , choreography. Dean had a vivid memory about the day he watched North Shore on TV , the tape had been lying around in the TV stand drawer. Since then he always thought of surfing as something cool. Actually it was in his top two , right cowboys. 

Then , you caught his eyes. You emerged from the tube and slid across its shoulder , a hand extended to the curl you felt your finger tips leave the wave behind them and moved upwards to hit the peak of the waves. The smile on your face never left your lips , even when you reached the shore after riding your last wave , surfboard hooked under your arm.

Your friend praised your performance while she wrapped your towel around your shoulders. Dean eyed you , taking in the way your wet curls kissed your back , how your breasts bounce at each step you take , the piercing hanging from your navel glittered. 

Walking past him and his brother , your smile deepened when you realized the man had been ogling you shamelessly. Being a hurry you barely had time to  notice the green of his eyes.

And his eyes immediately fell to your ass , barely covered in that thong. You were a sight. Especially from behind. Sam shook his head. Dean will never change.

     It’s the middle of the noon when they arrive at the hub. Sun lower in the sky and burning heat coexisting with the ocean breeze.  After enjoying the sea , Sam and Dean headed to the hub. It was a large pontoon stretching over the aquamarine waters. Welcoming tourists and locals , the shops were lively and colorful.

Dean easily headed to the restaurant edging the seaside. At this time of the day , there wasn’t much clientele. Couples or friends groups were scattered throughout the place , chatters winning over the sound of waves breaking.

A waiter brings them to their table and the brothers take their seats. Dean doesn't waste time and starts reading the menu. There was a variety of choices yet seafood remained the principal theme.

“ What d’you think of that, ” He slid his index under the text. “ Jumbo fried shrimp ? ”

“ You should try a salad instead. They have—”

“ No no no, ” he interrupts his brother , ever the healthy one. “ Don’t pull that crap again. Told you I don’t eat rabbit food. ”

“ Dude , I’m just saying , you should eat something with less…” He trails , a hand gesturing in the air.

“ Less grease ? ” Dean finished up his phrase , brow lifted. Sam always had a weird obsession with vegetables and any other healthy stuff. He was a stay-in shape person.

You walk in the restaurant , your friend tailing after you. She was convinced your biggest rival had their chance of winning this year’s championship but you weren’t sure. Taylor Kenneth, was their name. They were each other’s competition for over five years now. You always thought they had natural talent, compared to the hard work you put yourself through. Exhaling, you sit down across from your friend and lean over the table. 

“ Alisha, I told you,” you said while your hands flattened on the table. “ I don’t even think if Taylor’s gonna show up this year. Besides, I don't have any news from them.” The last part was muttered, eyes darting away from Alisha’s furrowed brows.

“ How’d you know that ?” 

“ Because, I…possibly contacted Taylor’s brother.” The confusion is inevitable. Why would you check up on your rival ? Let alone communicate with their family members ? Alisha shifted in her chair.

“Did I miss something ?”

“ Um, yeah and no.” Her brows rose up. “ It’s complicated. Look, can we talk about this later ? ”

“ Sure.” Alisha squinted her eyes at you before she could finally take a look at the menu.

Dean notices you first. He’d seen you before, you were the surfer girl from the beach. Your hair was long and thick, falling into a waterfall of curls over your shoulder.

“ Wasn’t she at the beach earlier ?” Sam speaks first but Dean’s eyes never leave you.

“ She was.”

“ So what ? ” He placed the lettuce on top of the cherry tomato and bell pepper and brought the fork to his mouth.

Dean remains silent, contemplating whether or not he should stand up and walk to your table with that strut of his and ask for your number. You were rakish. He came across many beautiful women before and you were one, there was just something about that screamed ‘come to me’. Maybe you weren’t human. Maybe you were a siren, wearing one of his many fantaisies. He liked surfers, they were cool. You weren’t just cool, you were sexy. And his biggest problem was his hesitation was stopping him from going to talk to you.

Feeling a pair of eyes, you naturally turned your head over and found Dean’s. You smiled and went back to sipping on the ‘bahama mama’ you ordered earlier. A battle for dominance between coconut rum and pineapple juice, despite the presence of banana and orange in the mix. And it was smooth on your tongue. So smooth it made your eyes close as the drink slid down your throat to settle in the pit of your stomach. The warmth from the dark rum spread through your body.

Humming, your eyes snapped back open on Alisha. Her fingers held the straw she was using to stir her drink and glanced at you with amusement.

“ He’s handsome.”

“ Who ? ”

“ The guy who was staring at you not even five minutes ago ! ”

“ Oh.” You brought the straw to your glossed lips, innocently brushing off her observation. You haven’t been interested in someone in months. Not that you didn’t crave intimacy, or being touched and held and loved. You just…don't know.

Outside of surfing, you’d be a marketing manager and work flooded everyday with abundance. Hence you barely had time to dedicate yourself to friends or family. Let alone a lover.

“ I don’t think it’s a good idea.” You said. “ I don’t have time.”

“ Live a little ; you’re on vacation. Nobody said getting laid by a random handsome guy isn’t a bad idea.”

“ He’s too old.”

“ As if that stopped you before.” She rolled her eyes and you offered her a deadpanned look. The smile grew bigger. “ Girl, seriously. Go talk to him.”

“ Why would I go talk to someone I’m not even interested in talking to? ”

Too busy bickering with Alisha, you didn’t notice the guy made his way towards you and actually stopped at your table. It was your friend’s eyes fleeing away from yours that made you realize about your company. 

“Hi.” He greeted.

He was tall. Maybe it’s because he was standing and you were sitting down. His hair is dark blonde and short. And his eyes. God, his eyes. An emerald green where flirtation lived. You remember him now, he was the guy who ogled you at the beach. After taking a good look at him, a real good look, you realized how handsome he is up close.

“Hi ? You’re the guy from the beach, right ?”

“ You remember me, sweetheart ? I’m flattered.” The way he called you sweetheart with his deep voice, honeyed with a charm you’ve seen before. Is it hot or just the estranged heat rushing to your face ?

“ Sweetheart ?” You echoed the word with genuine amusement. 

Your thick eyelashes fluttered at him, glossy lips curled in a smile.That caused him to smirk. By your body language he could tell you were definitely into him. If he had no decency , he would’ve deliberately been hard as a rock in his trunks. But he wanted to look decent, be decent. You didn’t deserve to see him behave like a perv.

“ You’ve never been called like that, sweetheart ?”

“ Oh I sure did.” You answered, nonchalant with a shrug. “ You’re not the first one to come, try and walk away with nothing.”

He leered at you. Dean undressed you in his twisted mind. He was already conceiving his hands all over you, round tits cupped delicately by his limbs. He lifted his chin, thumb hooking at the edge of his shorts.

“ You sure ? I can be convincing.” You believed him. The desire in his gaze made you crumble. He seemed to be the kind of guy that could obtain anything from his looks and charm alone. Crossing a leg over the other one you leaned against your chair, back straightened up.

You scoffed.“ Huh. How can I put faith in a guy whose name remains unknown to me ?”

“ Right. Forgot my manners.” His hands gestured up and he extended one of them towards you. “ Name’s Dean Winchester.”

You shook his hand and told him your name and promptly withdrew it. “ Alright, s’nice to meet you Dean Winchester.” 

Alisha’s eyes flicked between the two of us. You were giving him the eyes, just he was echoing you with the same heated gaze. 

He said your name again, sweet and low, he loved how it fell from his lips and you looked like you enjoyed it given the way you shifted in your seat after he said it. “ You’re free tonight ?”

“ No we—. ” You interrupted yourself by looking at Alisha who gratified you with an encouraging wink. “ Huh nevermind. Yeah, I guess I’m free. ”

“ What do you say ‘bout eating seafood ? ” He demanded. “ Picked a nice restaurant on my way here.”

“ I guess I’m fine with seafood.”

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ̮͡❀ `

    Hair slicked back and curls styled in bun held by a clip. You wore something simple and comfortable. The cotton candy gown stopped halfway down your thighs, the neckline formed a heart shape consecutively leaving your shoulder bare except for the thin strap that threatened from ascending the edge of both shoulders. To elevate your looks you just adorned yourself with golden jewelry here and there. And that's what you thought he wouldn’t show that you saw finally. He traversed the room in hurried steps.

“ Sorry for being this late. ” He took a seat across from you. Dean looked neat, hair groomed and soaked shirt replaced by what you assume was a plain black underneath the dark coffee jacket. Irked by his belated arrival he offered you an apologic look. “ You know what, dinner’s on me─”

“ It’s okay.” You lifted your hand to illustrate your declaration. “ Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s not your fault. You don’t have to do this.”

Lips pressed together he nodded while straightening against the back of his chair. “ Okay. I bet you had plenty time to take a peek at the menu.” He declared while he grasped the folded carte.

“ To be honest,” You mirrored him, opening up the menu . “ Yeah. But I don’t know what I’m feeling like tonight. There’s too many choices.”

He frowned and despite him he let out a mocking snort. “ It’s freaking sea food. All I see is fish, shrimp or crab.”

“ You’re the one who proposed me to go eat seafood.”

“ You still said yes.” 

“ Because I love seafood.” Assessing the menu once again you fell back on one of the several dishes making you hesitate. “ They have chatrou fricassee.

His emerald eyes flit to you. “ What’s that ?”

“ Okay so,” You leaned forward and her breasts followed the gesture. He gave it a lecherous gaze, more invested in the way her tits looked in her dress. “ Basically, it's an octopus and usually cooked with sauce and you eat it with rice.”

“ Yeah, so just octopus with rice.” He concludes.

“ It’s not just octopus. It’s cooked with chives, onions, chili pepper…” You listed dreamily. You could taste the stewed squid on your tongue and your taste buds craved for more at each mouthful. “ It’s a Caribbean dish. Don’t think you’ll ever find any other people cooking it this way. Unless you were taught.”

Dean’s eyes shot up in surprise. For him it was just food. He hadn’t much history with food. For him it was a way to carburate and just one of the few good things he had left in his life besides Sam and beer. In your eyes he saw that sparkle shine bright while you talked about the infamous dish.

“ You look like an expert. ” 

You had a sheepish smile climbing its way over your glossy lips. “ It’s a Caribbean dish and I happen to be Caribbean. ”

Dean nodded slowly. He's always wanted to go to the Archipelago. But he never really voiced it. To anyone. Not even Sam. The only issue was flying. He hated heights and he hated having no contact at all with the ground. So he basically hated planes. Sam said this was…What was the word again ? Oh. Acrophobia. Meant the person had an irrational fear of heights. He brushed it off, called it stupid ; yeah he didn’t like height for a reason he can’t explain but that wasn’t phobia.

“ You, huh, been here for long ? ”

“ Yes and no. I’ve been living in Toronto for years now. I come to Florida occasionally.” Resting your chin over upon your hand you leaned slightly. 

So you only came here occasionally ? Oh maybe he should start doing the same from now on. “Canada ? Wow.” Dean nodded, impressed. “ Work related stuff ?”

“ Yep. What about you ? ” 

“ Born and raised in Kansas. Been working too much lately so I’m taking some days off from job with my little brother.” 

“ The guy you were with at the restaurant ?”

“ Yeah. His name’s Sam.”

“ I thought it was otherwise. Like, there’s no way he’s not the older brother here.” Your brows shot up by surprise. Sam carried something Dean didn’t have. Maybe it was the beard. Dean’s was well groomed if not almost inexistant on his face. You still thought he’d look pretty with a beard.

“ I’ve heard that before. A lot actually.” He frowned then smirked. A boyish grin at the corner of his lips. “ But we can both agree I’m the cuter one.”

“ Sure.” 

“ Heh, you’re still sitting in front of me.So you actually think I’m cute, don’t you ?  ”

You shrugged.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ̮͡❀ `

You haven’t felt that in years.

That content feeling. You would feel happiness, satisfaction…All were familiar things you’d be used to. But as time went on and nothing changed, it all became sour. Tasteless even. The world became flat. Tonight, you felt a quietude behind the laughs and the jokes shared during the date. At last, he got behind you to help get your jacket over your shoulders. Shivers ran down your spine when his limbs brushed over your flesh.

“ Ladies first.” Waiting for you to pass, he followed while his free hand hovered above your lower back. The evening’s cool air brought you back to reality and bitterness suddenly washed over. You were only here for two weeks, twelve days left now, and this was just a date. “How’d you like our date ?”

“ It was…great.” You looked up at him and he stood there, admiring with two hands down his jacket’s pockets. The moonlight embraced his features and it made him look so dreamy. Unreal. It could be a dream.Nonetheless, the warmth of his fingers against your skin made you think otherwise. “ It was an awesome evening, Dean. Thank you.”

“ Anytime sweetheart.” His hand reached for his keys inside his jeans front pocket. “ Want me to drive you home ?”

“ I’m good. Just texted my friend. She’s gonna be there in a few.”

Eventually, Alisha showed up in the car you rented for the stay. You could imagine the questions she was about to ask you with that big ass smile on her face. You pivoted towards the dirty blonde haired man and stood on your tip toes to kiss cheek. “ Well, you got my number. So, call me ?”

You gave him a smile and proceeded to walk towards your car, heart fluttering in your chest like a teenager. The car took off and Dean watched it drive away. This felt like the end. He knew this was a simple hook up, another woman to warm his sheets. But his body ached for more. This couldn’t be just a blissful one night stand with the prettiest surfer he's ever seen.

“ God damn it.” And if he wasn’t already cursed, he would have thought his curse had only just begun.

⠀

⠀

𓈒 ֹ extra notes : ( tw / food ) chatrou fricassée ( martinican + guadeloupean dish ) . cocoa beach , cocoa beach pier . ‘siren song’ reference . ‘bahama mama’ cocktail . ‘summer scent’ board .

extra complements : don’t hesitate to send me asks about surfer ! reader with the pairings that you’ll find over here , thanks !

　　　　　　⠀⠀. ⠀♡⠀ ㅤׅㅤ⠀⠀ ˚⠀

⠀⠀ 𝓽𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍⠀ : ⠀ @babynueva - @fuzzy - @pittsick - @flwrlea - @hotgirlsshareaccounts - @moonyseyelash - @harleymuses ⠀ , ⠀ wanna ⠀ be ⠀ added ⠀ to ⠀ the ⠀ taglist ⠀ ? ⠀ comment ⠀ under ⠀ this ⠀ post ⠀ or ⠀ fill ⠀ up ⠀ the ⠀ form ⠀ !

“Nat, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time in the past half hour, voice trembling with urgency.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your heart pounding in your chest as you draw closer to the beach. You barely hear the playful groan of the redhead in front of you over the howl of the wind whipping around you, making your ears ring uncomfortably and your eyes water slightly.

Natasha struts forward, strands of her hair dancing wildly in the gusts, but she doesn’t seem fazed by the worsening weather. She has her surfboard casually tucked under her arm as if it’s just another sunny day at the beach.

“Come on, buzzkill,” she calls back, her voice light, teasing. “This is the perfect time! Nobody out here to hog the waves.” She glances over her shoulder at you, grinning, eyes bright with excitement that only amplifies your anxiety.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your footing steady as a strong gust nearly knocks you off balance. Your own surfboard feels heavy in your arms, the wind tugging at it like it wants to rip it away from you. Grip tightening, the rough texture of the wax sticks against your palms as your fingers dig in, fighting for control.

The wind picks up as you feel the sand underneath.

Glancing at the sky there are dark, doomy clouds over the horizon, swirling like an angry beast ready to pounce. The ocean beneath them churns restlessly. The waves are massive, their white crest crashing unforgivingly against the shore, louder than normal, almost angry.

Jagged shards of shells skitter across the beach like lost treasures and the wind tugs the sand into tiny tornadoes. The beach is deserted, foreboding, and your heart squeezes at the way the waves crash with unruly vigor.

There is a warning in the air, heavy and electric and your body aches to listen. The hair at the back of your neck stands on end. Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to turn around, to leave before it’s too late.

“Nat!” you shout, your voice barely carrying over the deafening whistle of the wind. It comes out almost as a scream, your desperation clawing at your throat as you try to get across how badly this could end.

But Natasha just throws a glance over her shoulder, her face just as bright as moments before - resolute and unfazed - as if the danger you can practically taste doesn’t exist.

“Come on, Y/n, it’ll be fun!” she shouts back, her voice carried away by the wind before it fully reaches you. Her steps quicken as she nears the water, eagerness fueling her, despite the gusts pushing against you two. She’s practically running, buzzing with adrenaline, her surfboard bouncing under her arm as the storm closes in.

It had been Natasha's idea to come out here, of course. She loves chasing a thrill, convincing you that surfing under those weather conditions would help you two get skilled. “No crowds, no waiting, just us and the ocean.” It’s what she said.

Though the ocean doesn’t seem welcoming at all right now.

You knew she would have gone either way. If you agreed or not. That’s basically the only reason you’re here right now, because as reckless as she could be, there was no way you were going to let her walk into danger alone - or her grave as it seems.

You’re not a professional surfer - neither of you are. The two surfboards you’re clutching onto for dear life are borrowed, a generous loan from the instructor who had run the beginner’s surf class just last week. He’d been a laid-back guy, happy to hear you and Natasha were interested in keeping up with the sport.

Unfortunately though, when he let you take the boards, he couldn’t possibly have any idea that you’d be sneaking out to the beach in the middle of an impending storm.

How could he? This is crazy. The wind tears at your clothes forcefully and your stomach churns, knots replacing your insides.

You’re not ready for this. The boards surely aren’t made for such waves - neither are you for that matter. Your experience amounts to a few rides on gentle waves under the perfect conditions. But this? This is something else entirely.

You watch in dread as Nat wades into the water. She pauses briefly to recheck the leash wrapped around her ankle, the heavy surfboard snug against her body. Your heart races as you hold your breath, bracing yourself for what comes next.

For a fleeting moment, you survey the beach again, hoping against hope to spot someone, anyone, who might help knock some sense into her, to pull her back from the brink of this reckless decision.

The stretch of sand is empty save for the lifeguard’s wooden stand in the distance, its white rescue board secured to the side. You squint, trying to make out if there is someone inside, but the fog of the approaching storm blurs everything, and it’s impossible to tell. Even if there is someone, you’re sure he’d have difficulty to even catch sight of you and it’s too far to run.

You turn back toward the water but the second your eyes meet the rolling waves, a stone lodges in your throat, pushing your heart to the depths of your body. Panic flares up inside you.

She’s gone.

The spot where Natasha was just moments ago is empty, swallowed by the towering swells. The dark water rises and falls, chaotic and aggressive, and your friend is nowhere in sight. Terror seizes you, cold and sharp, tightening your chest as your mind boils over.

The ocean looks so alive, merciless, and indifferent, pulling her deeper, under, with every second that passes.

“Natasha!” you scream, voice raw with fear.

Your body moves before your mind can tell you otherwise, and there is no longer hesitation, no second-guessing as you run to the shoreline. Your legs pump through the sand, lungs protesting and you fight against the force of the wind with everything you have. It feels almost personal.

The freezing cold instantly numbs your legs as your body hits the water. You charge forward, the surf breaking against your thighs. The water threatens to knock you down with each shaky breath but you push deeper, ignoring the icy shock and the way the current pulls at you, fighting your balance.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart hammering so loudly that it drowns out the roar of the ocean for a second.

Every pulse of the water feels like a living force, hurling you in every direction, a relentless barrage that leaves you gasping for control. The waves slam against you from all sides, tossing you like a leaf caught in a storm.

You grit your teeth, trying to remember what your instructor had taught you. “Don’t fight the waves, use them, move with the water. It’s your friend, not your enemy.”

Well, fuck that, because friendly feels different.

You try to stay calm, arms trembling as you cling to the board, the slick surface cold and uncomfortable under your fingertips.

With a desperate effort, you manage to stay on the board long enough to scream Natasha's name again, your voice strained and choked by the salty wind. Just then, another monstrous wave smashes into you, enveloping you in a wall of water. You’re plunged into darkness, swallowed whole by the chaos, and for a disorienting moment, this doesn’t even feel real anymore.

But then your head breaks the surface again and you gasp for a breath, lungs burning. You clutch the board with a grip so tight it sends sharp stings all the way to your fingertips. The rough surface digs into your palms but you’d be damned if you let go of that thing.

With every ounce of strength you can muster, Natasha’s name leaves your lips again but the sound is ripped away almost as soon as it leaves your throat, swallowed by the howling wind and the whizz of the waves. It feels like screaming into a void, hopeless and hollow.

Then another wave slams into you - so hard, you feel the entire impact - and you’re under again.

Cold water surrounds you, suffocating your head. Your vision is nothing but an unfocused blur and salt stings in your eyes. All sense of direction is once again lost on you, your body twisting in the currents. You feel like a ragdoll, losing all control you have.

Each wave drags you further from the shore, further from safety, and the cold grip of despair tightens around your heart.

Breaking the surface, you gasp like you’ve never breathed before. Each gulp of air is a frantic, panicked effort as if the wind might steal it from you at any second. Each breath that follows fills your body with urgency, littered with the stifling sensation of the sea.

A few waves and more salty water later, you manage to regain some sense of balance, moving back up on your board and scanning the horizon, head whipping around hastily and eyes wide. You would be proud of the second of control you have but your heart sinks lower the longer the water lacks any sign of her.

The panic spreads like ice, the cold seeping into your bones, but the fear for yourself and your best friend burns hot.

You try to focus, to do what you’ve been taught - stay on the board, ride the wave, don’t let it pull you under - but it feels like a losing battle.

Another wave crashes and saltwater fills your mouth and lungs, scorching your throat, gurgling with every ragged breath. You’re still on the board. That’s a surprise you let sink in for a moment.

A voice cuts through the storm - Nat’s. Desperate and terrified. Your name. It sounds like it’s coming from the shore, but it feels impossibly distant like she’s miles away instead of just down the beach.

The realization hits you like a crash with as much power as the waves around you. How far off are you? You twist your neck to look toward the beach, but the looming waves obscure your view, and the horizon is just a blur of grey, indistinguishable from the sea itself.

You have no idea how far you’ve drifted, but it feels like the beach might as well be a world away.

You scream back desperately. This isn’t just fear anymore. It’s a raw, primal terror that digs into the fabric of your being, knitting utter despair tightly with the frantic rhythm of your heart. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever known - this paralyzing panic that roots itself deep inside your bones.

It’s the kind of fear you always imagined would come with the knowledge that death would follow. That slow, creeping certainty that there is no way out, no escape. It wraps around you like the icy water that threatens to pull you under and your clothes that cling to you pressingly, only weighing you down.

You’ve heard of drowning, read about it, seen it on TV, but never once did you think it would happen to you. Not like this. But is this how it ends? The thought flashes through your mind, bitter and cruel. You never envisioned going out this way - suffocated by the ocean, your last breath stolen by the waves.

Sometimes, you’d like to imagine that drowning would be a quiet, perhaps even peaceful descent into darkness. But this is a cacophony, a battle of breath and will, a struggle against an unforgiving beast that demands tribute.

Drowning isn’t an elegant surrender. It’s ruthless and visceral and you’re defenseless in the face of its power.

You cling to the surfboard as if it's the only thing tethering you to life, your muscles blaring in protest as the water laps at you greedily, eager to pull you under, to claim you as its own.

The water is relentless, an unfeeling, unstoppable force. It doesn’t care about your fear, your pain, your will to live. It just keeps coming, wave after wave, crashing into you with a ferocity that feels almost personal.

Your strength is ebbing, but the sea shows no sign of slowing. It’s a living thing, testing your resolve. It’s waiting for the moment when you will lose your grip, when the board will slip from your fingers, when the leash that binds you to it will snap, and you will be claimed.

The dark water beckons, yawning wide, promising oblivion - a cold quiet grave beneath the surface where you would lie, not as a person, but as a forgotten droplet, swallowed by the depths. Because that’s all you are - a speck; a drop of water in its vast, uncaring expanse. The thought terrifies you. The image that the sea will take you and forget you in the same breath.

There is tightness in your throat, a swelling of emotion so overwhelming it feels as if the ocean itself has seeped into your heart. You can’t tell if the salty water on your face is mingling with your tears, can’t tell if you’re actually crying.

You feel like you’re unraveling, piece by piece, your strength, your hope, your very sense of self slipping away with every wave.

Perhaps the water has already masked your sorrow, each rush of water a reminder of your frailty - the fight for one more breath, one more heartbeat.

Numbness creeps through your limbs, a heavy fog settling over your consciousness. It’s strange how empty you begin to feel, devoid of sensation. Not just your body, though that too is beginning to lose its fight against the cold, the chill sinking deeper into you, making it harder to move, harder to care.

But there is a nothingness inside you, like part of you has already accepted what’s coming - an abyss that waits with patient malice and a gaping mouth.

You fight it. Of course, you do, but in the back of your mind, a small voice whispers that it’s only a matter of time. The sea is stronger than you, more patient. It’ll wait for you to falter, to let go, and then it will take you.

There are more wails and screams coming from the shore, all faint and distant. They became as constant as the waves around you. Though the deeper you are engulfed in the surf, the fainter the screaming feels, slipping away like grains of sand between your fingers desperately reaching out for solid ground.

For a moment you imagine letting go. Letting the deep, dark silence of the ocean swallow you, pulling you down to its unreachable and endless depths. A cold, quiet grave, the kind you never expected but that now feels so close you can feel it on your tongue.

Another towering wave rises before you like a mountain, its treacherous crest poised to unleash its ferocity. In a single, brutal shove, it hurls you from the board, and for a heartbeat you’re airborne, a marionette cut from its strings, suspended in an agonizing moment of uncertainty.

But something deep within you ignites, a primal need - a will to live - stronger than anything you’ve ever felt and it pulls you to the surface and up the board again with a strength you didn’t know you had left.

You gasp for air and every single part of your body wants reprieve, but your mind sharpens with a clarity that sears through the chaos. You won’t let the ocean take you. You need to find Nat.

Determination fills your veins like fire and you whip your head around to pinpoint where her relentless screams come from. Her cries, frenzied and panic-stricken, echo from everywhere suddenly, piercing through the tumult like a siren’s wail.

But as you strain against the tide, attempting to hear her better, something halts you for a dangerous moment.

It’s not just Natasha’s voice.

There’s another voice, calm and steady, weaving through her frantic cries, almost soothing in its cadence. The words are impossible to make out over the sound of the storm, but you can tell it’s a man. He’s speaking to her, perhaps trying to calm her down.

You don’t have time to process that before something else grips your attention. A third voice; deep, more resonant - another man - drifts in and out between the wafting waves. It’s closer, much closer than the others.

Your heart pounds so loudly, you can hear it over the storm. You strain your ears, desperate to catch that voice again, to make sense of it, but the wind tears the sound away before you can latch onto it.

With every ounce of focus you can muster, you whip your head around frantically, eyes scanning the water, and then you see it. A flash of white, cutting through the churning grey of the sea. A board?

Your breath catches.

Nat’s board is blue. Yours is still beneath you. The only white board you’ve seen was back on the beach, strapped to the lifeguard’s post.

Could it be?

Is your mind playing tricks on you? Are you that far gone?

But then it appears again. A flash of white and then red between the flooding currents, coming closer to you.

Hope flickers in your chest, fragile but bright. You squint your eyes, willing that shape to appear again, your heart racing in anticipation. But the sea remains relentless, making it impossible to get a clear view.

Your concentration costs you.

The next wave blindsides you, slamming into you with a blow that knocks the breath from your lungs. You yelp in shock as the water swallows you whole again, dragging you down beneath its unforgiving surface once more.

Your body tumbles, twisted by the current, and for a moment, you’re lost in the dark, cold world beneath the waves.

You are weightless. The ocean’s embrace is absolute. You can’t tell where the surface is anymore, can’t feel which way is up or down. Yet, there is that voice again. It’s blurred by the water filling your ears but it seems to surround you.

An urgent shout, muffled and distorted, yet oddly comforting, like it’s reaching through the water just for you. You can’t make out any words, but the tone is strong and deep, cutting through your panic, grounding you for just a moment.

You feel the leash around your ankle tugging, pulling you as your board drifts with the current, but you no longer have the strength to reach for it. You let it pull you along, your limbs flailing uselessly in the water.

Your body is beyond exhausted, each muscle burning with fatigue, your arms and legs barely responding to your desperate attempts to swim. You’re too drained to fight anymore. You feel the air still trapped in your lungs, but your body’s energy is slipping.

Slowly, you let your eyes fall closed and everything blurs. The only thing in focus is that voice. It almost seems like a part of the water, surrounding you, enveloping you. You want to hold onto it, but you’re so tired.

Then, suddenly there is a slight splash nearby - different from the waves. It cuts through the water like a jolt, a ripple of something deliberate. For the first time, you think you might know where the surface is.

Before you can do anything to react, a firm hand clamps onto your arm.

The grip is solid, unwavering, and with a sharp pull, you’re yanked upwards, your body dragged through the water with a sturdiness you couldn’t summon on your own.

Another hand grasps your other arm, and now you’re being lifted, hauled out of the water, breaking the surface.

Your body moves limply, like it’s no longer your own, the weight of exhaustion too much to fight.

Air hits your face, cold and bracing and you feel your lungs expand in relief of it. The sound of the ocean and the wind rushes back into your ears as you’re pulled up onto something hard - a board beneath you.

The tug on your ankle leaves you but you don’t have it in you to question it. Panic ebbs as more air floods into your chest, aching and yet so sweet. You feel the warmth of skin at your back, around your body, keeping you from slipping back under.

But you’re too weak to open your eyes. Too drained to look back at your savior, to see who has pulled you from the water’s grasp. You can only feel the firm grip, the solid presence behind you, and the way the board keeps you afloat.

The world feels so distant, the sounds around you muffled, your body so heavy it’s almost like you’re still submerged.

Fingers are pressing down on your wrist, as steady as the rest of him, perhaps feeling your pulse or just to balance you.

A thought strikes through your weak frame, igniting a flicker of energy fueled by adrenaline. Natasha. Worry surges within you. Is she even safe? Sure, you’ve heard those voices but what do they really convey?

With a sudden burst of resolve, you push away from the muscled body behind you, choking on the saltwater that clings to your lungs, gasping wildly for breath, your throat feeling like sandpaper.

A sharp exhale of relief sounds out from your rescuer, his grip loosening just enough to give you the space you need to find your breath, but your focus is somewhere else entirely.

“Thank god,” he mutters under his breath, but you don’t even register it.

“Nat!” you rasp out, voice trembling and barely more than a croak. “Where is she?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him, yourself, or pleading with the vindictive ocean still around you. The question is ripped from your chest with a feral need to know. She has to be okay.

“Hey,” your savior tries but you shake your head fervently, panic closing in and you snap your head around for a glimpse of her, only feeling his arm tighten around you, pulling you back against his chest.

“You need to get Natasha! She’s somewhere out there, she-”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts, his tone firmer and louder by your ear, yet still soothing and gentle, and you let it ground you for a second just like in the water moments earlier.

“Your friend’s alright. She’s safe. Sam is looking out for her,” he sweetly explains to you, his thumb brushing tender circles against your arm while his other arm works to maneuver you two back to the beach.

You barely hear him, your gaze still flickering across the waves, but then he turns your head gently. “There, look.”

He nods to the shoreline that’s slowly coming into view. There, through the haze of wind and saltwater, you see her. Natasha is waving frantically, her face pale as a ghost, her mouth moving as she shouts something. Her voice is hoarse, barely audible.

Next to her stands a tall, dark-skinned man, his arm securely around her shoulders, making sure the blanket wrapped around her stays in place at her distressed movements. He is speaking to her in low tones, his hands rubbing warmth into her skin.

She looks wild with fear, the strands of her hair looking dark as they are pressed to the sides of her head. And she is shaking. But she is visibly safe.

Relief crashes into you like another wave, but this time, it doesn’t knock you down. Instead, it lets you breathe again. The tension in your chest that had kept you moving and looking for her, releases. Your body grows heavy, muscles giving in to the exhaustion that had been building since you hit the water.

Your body slumps back against the chest behind you, and you feel the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. He only tightens his arm around you, pulling you closer, letting you breathe in his warmth.

Your head rests against a sturdy shoulder, your cheek brushing his wet vest. And for the first time since you entered the water, you feel safe.

As you reach the shore, your body betrays you. A violent shiver takes over, teeth clattering uncontrollably, as the wind continues to bite into your soaked skin. But all you can focus on is Nat’s words finally reaching your ears.

“Y/n!” she screams, her voice cracking with emotion. “Oh my god, Y/n!”

You’re barely aware of the man behind you guiding you up to your feet, now both of his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you steady as you stumble forward.

The ground beneath you feels wobbly, the world still swaying like you’re trapped in the rhythm of the waves, but his unyielding grip keeps you from collapsing.

Natasha breaks away from Sam, or at least you assume that’s who he must be, and runs toward you with so much hurry, you’re scared she might knock you over. But again, the strong presence behind you balances your wavering body as she crashes into you.

Her arms sling around you in a tight embrace that makes you forget about your current situation for a second. You feel her sobs against your chest as she pulls back just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face filled with regret and agony.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her hands gripping your shoulders, afraid to let go. “God, Y/n, I’m so sorry!”

You try to shake your head, to give her some semblance of reassurance, but your face is too numb, muscles too drained to manage more than a faint twitch of your lips. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

But Nat shakes her head so fast, it overwhelms you, her eyes wide. “No, it’s not okay. Don’t say that. It’s not.” her voice cracks and you see the guilt warring in her eyes. “I should’ve never asked you to come with me. I should’ve never done this. Fuck, I’m so stupid.”

This time, you’re able to shake your head with more conviction, pulling strength from the man’s touch at your back. “Stop, okay? Please!” you ask, your voice more certain. “I’m just… I’m just glad you’re okay.”You offer her a real smile, though your lips tremble from more than just the cold.

Natasha curses under her breath, shaking hands pulling you into another tight hug. You close your eyes, sinking into her.

You hug for what feels like an eternity, her grip never loosening, and you realize your rescuer doesn’t even attempt to leave your side. At some point, he drapes a warm blanket over your shoulders, which Sam must have given him, and the slight weight of it makes you blink, pulling you back to reality.

The shivers don’t stop, but it’s a comfort to feel the warmth seep into your skin.

When you finally pull back from Nat, strong arms immediately wrap the blanket all around you from behind, his hands unshakable as he rubs in the warmth of it. Sam returns Natasha’s blanket over her own shoulders and you watch the curt nod he shares with the man behind you, a silent acknowledgment that everything went well.

You don’t make a move to do anything, mind still a hazy maze, exhaustion heavily wearing down on you, so you’re thankful to hear the gentle voice again near your ear. “Let’s get you warm, yeah?”

All you do is nod, but it seems to be enough and you let him guide you to the wooden lifeguard post down the beach. Wind is still whipping around you, but you don’t register that anymore.

He gently walks you up the ramp and you notice the missing white rescue board, the one he used to pull you from the water. Another shiver whacks your spine.

He pushes open the door and you step into a small room that seems to be well-organized. The air inside feels warmer, a welcome change from the biting cold you had been under way too long, though it still carries that smell of salt.

There is a wooden bench in front of you with a neat stack of folded towels and blankets in bright red and yellow. He sits you down, layering the blanket over yourself so it is completely enveloping your shivering frame.

He kneels in front of you, moving slowly and deliberately, as if careful not to startle you too much too soon. His presence is calming and you don’t shy away at the intense way he searches your features, the soft expression he wears soothing your aching muscles.

The warmth that radiates from him makes your heart flutter in a way you don’t quite expect.

“Is it okay if I ask you a few questions? Have to make sure everything’s alright.”

His voice. God, you love his voice. There is that slight rasp in it and a boyishness that makes it so soothing, so grounding. It’s as enveloping as the blanket that already surrounds you.

He only makes you feel reassured, and the quiet curve of your lips turns into a small smile as you nod in agreement. His gaze sweeps over your face, checking for any signs of pain, discomfort, or lingering fear. The way he studies you is careful, but not invasive.

“Alright,” he whispers, blue eyes not leaving your face. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

You can’t help the stretch of your smile at the almost bashful way he runs his fingers through his tousled and slightly wet hair. It’s endearing, considering the fact that he just saved your life. The confidence and the sureness he carried while saving you from the water seem to melt into quiet humility now that you’re safe.

You tell him your name and age after he asks. Watching his facial reactions to your words feels so calming, it’s all you can do to slow your heart rate down a notch and stop the involuntary shaking of your body.

There is a small tug at his eyebrows, and a frown threatens to overcome his features, revealing a hint of underlying worry and he keeps drifting his eyes over you, watching the way your shoulders are still shaking.

A little hesitantly he moves his hands up to your knees and rubs the blanket over them softly, hoping to warm up your legs.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you have any trouble breathing? Anything that hurts?” The concern you see on his face is evident in his voice as well and a swell of warmth rises within you, spreading through your body. You relish it.

Sam, who attends to Natasha a foot away, raises an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction, a question in his eyes, but teasing in his smirk.

“Normally, you wait for your patient to answer, before moving on to the next question man,” he chimes in with playful sarcasm. He looks up to you for a second before his gaze moves back to Bucky.

Bucky straightens up before you, the teasing from Sam seemingly lost on him as he clenched his jaw. His face flushes slightly and he looks down at his hands, still gently rubbing circles on your knees. “Yeah, right,” he mutters under his breath, but you pick it up.

A small giggle rises in your stomach and you let it pass, coming out a little breathless and weak, but genuine enough for Bucky’s head to snap back up. His eyes soften, a sparkle shining in them you are able to make out because you watch him so intensely. A smile brightens his face and his momentary embarrassment is lost.

You answer Bucky’s questions one by one, recalling the disorienting moments of your rescue after he almost hesitantly asks you to do so. His hands still soothingly rub your knees.

Bucky listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face, nodding softly at your words. You see him trying his best to remain calm but you notice the tension in his stance, the tick in his jaw, and the slight frown never leaves his face - the weight of his concern lingering in the air.

Sam, who has been standing nearby, leans in slightly. “Gave us a pretty good scare there, sugar.” His tone is light, clearly trying to cut through the tension with a bit of humor, but the moment the words leave his mouth, Bucky’s head snaps up. His gaze hardens drastically as he shoots Sam a sharp look, his voice laced with frustration and irritation.

“Now imagine how she must feel, you fucking idiot.”

His tone catches you off guard. It’s the first time Bucky’s words carry an edge, so different from the gentleness he’s shown you since. Sam raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, licking his lips as he tilts his head slightly.

“Alright, grumpy pants, my bad. You’re right,” he concedes. His demeanor shifts and he becomes more serious, sincere as he steps closer, crouching down to your height and laying a hand on your shoulder. “No, but really,” he says with a nod of his head, “I’m glad you’re okay.” His words hold weight, and the smile he gives you is genuine, toothy even.

You offer him a smile in return, and Sam nods back, satisfied. You can feel Bucky’s gaze still on you, but it’s Nat’s soft, broken voice that cuts through the moment.

“It’s my fault this happened,” she whispers, barely audible. She is hovering nearby, her eyes red and swollen, shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt and her fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket. Her words hang heavy in the air, filled with regret and self-blame.

You react immediately, not letting her fall into that pit of guilt. “Nat!” you say firmly, facing her. “It was my decision to come along.”

Your best friend looks almost childlike in her distress, eyes glistening again with unshed tears. “You came along because you didn’t want me to go alone,” she counters, voice thick. “You and I both know I would have gone without you. I basically pressured you to follow me because I knew you would. You always just want to make sure I’m safe and now-”

Natasha’s voice falters, the words catching in her throat before a heart-wrenching sob leaves her. The sound pierces your chest, and you can’t handle it longer, feeling tears sting behind your eyes.

Without thinking, you push yourself up from the bench, your legs shaky but driven by the need to embrace her. Bucky, still kneeling before the bench, opens his mouth as if to protest, clearly concerned for your state.

You’re sure he was about to remind you that you should be sitting down, but the urgency in your movement stops him.

Nat clings to you immediately, her fingers gripping the blanket around you, sobs muffled into your shoulder. You start to gently shush her, whispering words of comfort as her body trembles in your arms.

You basically feel Bucky and Sam share a meaningful look behind your back.

Sam clears his throat softly, not wanting to intrude on the fragile moment. “Hey,” he says quietly, his voice gentle. “You two are going to be okay.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but you can feel his quiet support behind you, like ever since he saved you.

“To feel safe around someone's energy is a different kind of intimacy”

<Before dating if you can’t surf> -you guys defiantly met when him and his sisters moved to shore haven before Wren and Ari started dating -you were probably friends with Bodhi and Poppy -you guys would hang out at the beach and you would help them train. -they would always try and teach you to surf but you always refused because your balance is atrocious. -you definitely first met him at the beach. -you were watching Bodhi and Poppy surf when he approached you. -the interaction probably went like this:

“So I’m guessing you’re not a surfer?” You looked to your left to see a guy with pink hair standing over you. “No definitely not” you responded shaking your head. “And just when I thought I found the girl for me” he joked you let out a slight laugh smiling up at him. “Well if you ever change your mind come find me. I’m Baxter” he said holding out his hand you took it “I’m YN” you replayed as he pressed your knuckles to his lips and winking before running off.

-Bodhi and Poppy saw this from the water and wanted details -A few months later at tryouts when you were cheering on your friends you saw Baxter again. -Later at the bbq at the Gibsons. -he kind of cornered you when you were coming back from the bathroom -And he asked you on a date which you accepted

<Dating if you can’t surf> -Would take you on super cute picnic dates at the beach. -On multiple of these dates he’s definitely tried to teach you how to surf - was only successful on one but it did not last long. -Because he decided to take you further out which ended up being way deeper then you could touch the sand -So once you finally stood up on his spare board a wave knocked you over. -and because your not the strongest swimmer especially since in that moment you were panicking -he had to save you which he didn’t really mind. -Because it made him look strong -So after that the dates would be things that you like to do. -Being at all his comps helping hype him up. -Also being there for him when his sisters leave. -And when he finds out the truth. -Comforting him when he’s stressed -I feel like the way you would cuddle is either him between your legs his head on your stomach and you playing with his hair. -or you lying next to him your head on his chest and his arms wrapped around you keeping you close. -Being a bit jealous of how he act’s around Summer -And him reassuring you. -Wren scaring you and being thankful that your not on the surf team.

<Before dating when you’re a surfer> -I feel like the interaction when you first meet would be practical the same -except when you first meet it’s after your try outs heat. -You both ended up on the team