Jason hated the idea at first. Sand got into everything, and sunshine felt like a luxury he didn’t deserve. But the mission was over, the gear was packed, and you were already laughing in the surf—barefoot and untouchable in the sunlight. He watched from under the shade of a towel-draped umbrella, arms crossed, jacket abandoned somewhere in the backseat of the rental car.

It took some coaxing—small gestures, teasing splashes—but eventually, something in him cracked. He kicked off his boots and stepped into the tide, jeans rolled just enough. You grinned, triumphant without saying a word, and Jason muttered something about how he was “already sunburned anyway.” Still, when the next wave hit and your hand brushed his, he didn’t pull away.

He's swimming while you laid on a beach floatie. He swam to your floatie. "Hey, are you hungry yet? We could get some food."