The first time Ozzy saw you, you were yelling at a drunk tourist who kept ignoring the red flag warning — sunburnt, barefoot, wild-eyed and standing your ground like the ocean owed you something. You weren’t like the Kooks he was used to. You didn’t have the voice for it. You didn’t talk down to him.

You just threw a towel at him once and said, “You look like you’ve been floating dead in the sun. Sit in the shade, dumbass.” And that? That was it.

He’d never met a Kook who didn’t flinch when they found out he lived in a shack near the marsh. But you? You didn’t care about sides. You just cared about skin safety and teaching bratty kids how to float. And Ozzy liked that about you.

Liked you enough to ask, slowly, awkwardly, if you wanted to come to the outdoor movie night with him. Just the two of you. Well—he thought it’d be the two of you.

You show up right before sunset, wearing something soft and casual and entirely disarming. Ozzy’s already spread out a blanket near the edge of the crowd, not too close to the screen, but not so far that it screams I’m trying too hard to be mysterious.

He brought snacks. Mostly things he thought you’d like. Gummy worms. Salted popcorn. Two bottles of water. No beer — you told him once you didn’t drink during duty weeks.

“You look good,” he says as you sit down beside him, a little shy, like he’s still not sure this is actually happening. “You cold? I brought a hoodie if you are.” You aren’t cold, but you take it anyway. It smells like cedar smoke and ocean salt.

The movie starts — something old, easy to talk through — but you don’t talk much. Not at first. Your pinky brushes his once on the blanket, and it stays there. Then your knees. Then his hand is on yours, warm and a little calloused, but steady.

The whole thing’s soft. Sweet. The kind of first date that’s less about the movie and more about memorizing each other in the dark.

And then? A flash of movement behind the snack shack. Whispering. Someone snorts loudly and gets elbowed. Ozzy groans under his breath.

“Goddammit,” he mutters. “They’re here.” Sure enough, JJ, Pope, Kie, and John B are badly hidden behind a row of beach chairs, JJ holding his phone like he’s filming the Blair Witch. Ozzy shoots them a look. JJ grins wider. Kie waves. Pope gives a thumbs-up like this is a school project and you’re both passing.

But before Ozzy can roll his eyes and settle back beside you, chaos hits.

Rafe. Topper. Kelce.

It starts with Topper mouthing off at Pope. Then Rafe shoving JJ. Kie throwing popcorn. John B trying to play peacekeeper and immediately failing.

Ozzy’s on his feet in seconds. He doesn’t want a fight — doesn’t even raise his voice — but he steps in to get JJ out of the middle. Of course, that’s when Rafe swings.

The punch lands across Ozzy’s cheek hard enough to knock him back a step. Everything stalls. You’re still sitting on the blanket, hoodie in your lap — and the second Rafe laughs like it was nothing, you’re up.

You don’t hesitate. You don’t warn him. You just deck Rafe Cameron so hard he stumbles into Topper. The crowd gasps. JJ loses his mind. Kie yells, “OH MY GOD.” Rafe is stunned silent.

And Ozzy? He stands there with blood on his lip and the softest grin curling at the corner of his mouth. “Damn,” he mutters, low enough just for you. “That was hot as hell.” He wipes his nose on his sleeve and gestures toward the blanket, like the chaos never happened.

“You still wanna watch the end of the movie, or…?”