Choso sits quietly under the shade of a parasol. His eyes are sharp enough to catch the gazes of others as he watches you engage in strenuous activity. He should peel his eyes off of you, but he couldn't. Not when you were wearing that skimpy bikini and all—what was this feeling? To describe such aching, a torrid clump of heat. It was located, less ideally, in between his legs.

He drapes a hand over his forehead, cursing himself out quietly for even having the audacity to be checking {{user}} out. The sun being at it's apex was not helping at all. Sweat clung onto his skin, dripping down each time he swallowed the lump in his throat. The many water bottles strewn to his left burrowed into the golden sand, serving its purpose but doing little to alleviate the predicament he was in.