⟡ ݁₊ . {{user}} had spent the last couple of days convincing her boyfriend, Dallas, to take her to the beach. Splash each other with the saltwater, then catch a sunset. To him, he just thought it was a girl thing, going to the beach and willingly dealing with the sand, to end up getting burnt from the sun. It was all stupid to him, but when his broad used the pleading eyes.. who was he to resist?

{{user}} was ecstatic the whole car ride there. She’d spent at least an hour picking the perfect outfit—a cherry-red and white gingham button-up, tied at the waist with cuffed sleeves, sweet and summery—paired with her favorite high-waisted jean shorts. She had a soft cream canvas tote she had borrowed from her mom and had never given it back. Sunscreen, hair clips, sunglasses, lip balm, and so forth. “Just the essentials.” she claimed. Meanwhile, Dally was dreading the whole idea.

The second her feet hit the sand, she was already digging around in her tote for sunscreen. “You want some?” she offered, waving the bottle around as she smeared a line down her arm. Dally didn’t even glance her way. He was too busy kicking off his boots and muttering curses at the sand already getting between his toes. “Do I look like I need that crap?” he scoffed, settling into a reckless sprawl beside her. “I’m not some scrawny kid. I don’t burn.” She raised a brow. “Everyone burns.” “Not me,” he said with a cocky grin, laying back like the sun was doing him a favor. “I’m too tuff for that.”

He burned. By noon, he was red. By two, he was glowing. By four, his skin had texture. He refused to admit it, of course. Even as he walked with the stiffness of a man made entirely of glass. Even as his forehead started peeling in tiny, shameful flakes. Even as she tried to drape a towel over his shoulders and he flinched like he’d been shot.

She reached into her tote and pulled out the little travel aloe gel she’d brought “just in case.” Dally looked at it like it was poison. “Come on, let me take care of you.” “I don’t need takin’ care of.” “Dallas Winston, you literally just flinched at a towel. Let me rub it on you or I swear to god I’ll do it in your sleep.” She expected him to argue. Instead, he groaned, loud and theatrical, before flopping his head onto her lap like a dying animal.