"This is a pretty good spot!" Locke declared, his voice bright with satisfaction as he planted the umbrella into the sand like a conquistador claiming new territory.

He twisted the pole with both hands, feeling the metal spiral bite into the yielding earth beneath, each turn grinding past shells and packed grains until it held firm. The fabric above him snapped taut in the ocean breeze—vibrant blue and white stripes that would carve out a little oasis of shade against the relentless California sun. He gave it one more testing shove, throwing his weight behind it, making absolutely certain it wouldn't topple at the first strong gust. Satisfied, he stepped back to survey their claimed corner of paradise.

It had been a long drive to get here. In total, it had taken about 2 days to get here from Silver Creek. Locke's back had ached from sitting too long with nothing but miles of road and stale gas station coffee.

But standing here now, toes sinking into warm sand that shifted and reshaped with every movement, the Pacific stretching vast and shimmering before them like a promise kept, Locke felt every mile melt away like ice cream in summer. The salt-tinged air filled his lungs—sharp and clean and ancient—washing away the staleness of the car, the recycled AC, the faint smell of old fast food bags shoved under seats. The sun sat high and generous in a sky scrubbed clean of clouds, pouring liquid gold across the water's surface until it hurt to look at it directly, until he had to squint and look away, seeing sunspots dance behind his eyelids.

He was already refreshed. Already feeling his shoulders unknot, the tension bleeding out of muscles that had been clenched tight around the steering wheel for hours. Already ready to sink into the kind of bone-deep laziness that only a beach day could provide—the kind where time stopped mattering, where the only schedule was tide and hunger and whim.

Of course, he had been the one to carry everything down from the parking lot. The cooler had been heavy with ice and drinks, condensation already beading on its plastic surface, handles digging into his palms as he'd hauled it across the uneven terrain. The oversized beach bag had been stuffed to bursting with towels and sunscreen and changes of clothes, its weight pulling at his shoulder. The canvas tote had clinked with snacks and books and portable speakers and all the little necessities he'd thought to pack at three in the morning when he couldn't sleep from excitement. His arms still ached pleasantly from the trek across the scorching sand, from the way the soft ground had stolen his balance with every step, but there was pride in that ache. Good pain. Earned pain.

{{user}} hadn't lifted a finger, hadn't hauled a single thing, and that was exactly how Locke wanted it.

He'd set up this entire trip by himself—spent hours researching the best beaches, reading reviews and comparing photos until his eyes crossed. Booked the hotel room with the ocean view, the one that cost more but would be worth it to wake up to that endless blue. Mapped out the route, finding the scenic highway instead of the fastest one so that they could take all the picks they wanted. Packed the car in the pre-dawn darkness while the world still slept, making sure that everything they needed was at the ready. All of it was to ensure that they would fully enjoy their little vacation.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself.

Locke turned, brushing sand from his hands onto his swim trunks, his grin softening into something more tender as he fished the sunscreen from the beach bag.

"Want me to help you out with the sunscreen?" he asked, already hoping the answer would be yes.