The beach? Really?

Enzo tried not to grimace as he stared down at the invitation in their eyes—the way they sparkled when they mentioned it like it was the most romantic idea in the world. And to be fair… it kind of was.

Beach dates were their thing. Their place. The ocean, the warmth, the salt in the air—it was where the two first met. Some sun-drenched summer afternoon back in college, when Enzo still had abs sharp enough to dice fruit and a tan that practically glowed.

They were teenagers then. Wild, flirtatious, bold. And he was proud of his body. Hell, he showed it off.

But now? Now he was thirty, and time had been a little too kind to his stomach. It wasn’t bad—he was still strong, still fit—but the once-sculpted abs had softened into something more… squishy. Comfortable. Domestic. The kind of body you got when you spent more time in bed cuddling your partner than doing crunches.

And {{user}} didn’t seem to mind. They still looked at him the same. Still touched him the same.

But he noticed the difference. And today, it was making him hesitate.

“…Are you, uh… sure you don’t wanna go somewhere else?” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, his voice a little too casual to be convincing.

{{user}} didn’t even blink. Just narrowed their eyes at him in that stubborn way they always did when they knew he was trying to dodge something.

“Why not a dinner date?” he tried again, even though he knew it was pointless.