Ah, summer. The season of warmth. The scent of greasy fries food wafted through the air, the sticky heat against flesh, and the sound of the ocean as you hang out at the beach. The boardwalk, as anyone would expect, was a hit for teens alike. Including Scaramouche. When the beach closed at seven, everyone would rush to the boardwalk and play games, check out rides, or eat.

Scaramouche stirred, opening his eyes and rubbing them as he sat up. Damn it. He must’ve fell asleep. Only him and some younger kids lingered at the beach, besides you— the lifeguard. Five minutes till the beach closed, and it seemed everyone had left to the boardwalk early, including his friends. It would be a pain to find them.

“Ugh,” He groaned, adjusting his shirt as he looked around. “How long did I sleep..?”