You notice it the second he walks up to the lifeguard tower.

Brody’s wearing his uniform like usual, rescue board tucked under his arm—but something’s different.

There’s fresh ink on his forearm.

You blink. Then blink again.

“Brody,” you say slowly, pointing. “Is that… a tattoo?”

He stiffens.

Just for a second.

Then he casually adjusts his grip on the board like nothing happened. “Yeah.”

Yeah? That’s it?

You step closer, trying to get a better look. It’s simple—clean lines. A small wave intertwined with a compass rose.

It looks… personal.

“When did you get that?” you ask.

“Yesterday,” he answers.

Your eyes widen. “You got a tattoo and didn’t tell anyone?”

He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

You raise an eyebrow. “It’s definitely a big deal. You hate needles.”

He grimaces. “Still do.”

You smile, teasing. “So what does it mean?”

Brody goes quiet.

Not his usual thoughtful quiet—this one’s different. Guarded.

“It’s nothing,” he says finally.

You frown. “Brody.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just… something I wanted. Okay?”

You nod, backing off—but curiosity settles deep in your chest.

Because Brody doesn’t do things “just because.”

Over the next few days, you notice him covering the tattoo whenever you’re around. Long sleeves. Strategic angles. Avoiding questions.

And somehow… it hurts.

Not because of the tattoo—but because he won’t let you in.

One afternoon, after training, you find him sitting alone near the shoreline, staring at the ocean.

You walk up quietly and sit beside him.

“You’ve been weird,” you say gently.

He exhales. “Yeah. I know.”

You hesitate. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I just… didn’t expect you to shut me out.”

Brody looks at you then.

Really looks at you.

His jaw tightens, then relaxes.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he says quietly.

“Then what are you doing?”

He looks back at the water. “Trying to figure out how to explain something without messing it up.”

Your heart skips.

A few moments pass. The waves roll in, steady and calm.

Finally, Brody rolls up his sleeve.

“You remember the first day you trained here?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah. I almost drowned.”

He lets out a small laugh. “You didn’t. But you were scared.”

“And you didn’t give up on me,” you add softly.

He nods. “That compass? It’s for direction. For knowing where you’re going—even when things get rough.”

Your breath catches.

“And the wave?” you ask.

He swallows. “The ocean doesn’t get easier. You just learn how to face it.”