The highway stretched ahead, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. Wind rushed through the open windows, carrying the scent of salt and sunscreen as laughter filled the car. You sat in the passenger seat, your fingers tapping lightly against your knee, nodding along to the music.

But your attention wasn’t on the conversation. It was on the rearview mirror. On Christopher.

He sat in the backseat, one arm draped lazily over the headrest, his head tilted toward the open window, where the wind tousled his jet-black hair. His skin, sun-bronzed and effortlessly glowing, made him look like he belonged on a postcard—Sydney’s golden boy, born of waves and sunshine. His full lips curved as he grinned at something your friend said, and you felt something tighten in your chest.

You swallowed, forcing your gaze back to the road. You shouldn’t stare. He wasn’t even that close to you in the group—not the way you wished he was. He was the easygoing, dependable one, always at the center of things. You were there, part of the group, part of the energy, but never quite in his orbit.

The car jolted over a bump, breaking your focus. You glanced back once more—just a flicker of a moment—before fixing your eyes forward, forcing yourself to smile at a joke you hadn’t heard.

By the time they arrived at the beach house, the sky had deepened into soft shades of pink and orange. The two-story rental sat perched on the shore, its wide windows reflecting the waves beyond. As the group spilled out of the car, stretching and laughing, you lingered, watching Christopher.

He reached up, stretching his arms, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of tanned skin in a way that had to have been intentional. Then he turned toward you, flashing that boyish grin.

“Ready to hit the beach, {{user}}?” His voice was easy, familiar—but not the way you wanted it to be. He didn't wait for you to answer, laughing at something in the distance. "Unbelievable... Minho already found a stray."