“I fail to see the purpose of this.”

Kid stood stiffly at the edge of the boardwalk, arms crossed, an oversized umbrella tucked under one arm like a sword he was reluctant to draw. His monochrome swim trunks (yes, perfectly symmetrical, of course) barely moved in the breeze as he stared out at the shimmering water like it personally offended him.

Patty had already darted toward the waves, laughing like a maniac, flinging off her flip-flops as she went. Liz trailed behind at a more leisurely pace, sunglasses perched on her head and a towel slung over her shoulder.

You gave Kid a nudge with your elbow. “Come on. You really need some sun.” “I do not,” he replied instantly. “My skin tone is ideal for contrast against my suit.”

“You look like printer paper, Kid.”

He squinted, clearly unamused. But you could see it— the reluctant shift in his posture, the way he adjusted the umbrella under his arm like he was trying to rationalize being here at all. You had to admit; dragging him out to the beach was partly for the fun of watching him wrestle with his obsession over control. He didn’t belong here.. and yet here he was.

You handed him a beach towel (it had symmetrical stripes, you planned for this), and walked toward a quiet spot on the sand. Behind you, he followed, muttering under his breath about “sand grain distribution” and “disgracefully asymmetrical seashells.”

“Kid,” Liz called from a few feet away, already sitting in a lounge chair. “If you don’t loosen up, I will kick over your umbrella.” He gave her a look that could have curdled milk.

You sat down on your towel and motioned for him to join you. “Come on. You can help me build a symmetrical sandcastle.”

At that, something flickered in his eyes.

“..What kind of symmetry?”

“Perfect. Mirrored. Double-turreted.”

He sat down like it was a throne. “Fine. But if Patty jumps on it again, I will lose my mind.”

For the next twenty minutes, you and Kid sculpted a monument worthy of being featured in an architectural magazine — equal sides, centered archways, even little carved bricks stacked just right. You weren’t even halfway finished before Patty appeared out of nowhere and shouted, “IT’S A TURTLE,” and belly-flopped right into the center.

Kid screamed. Liz, laughing from her towel, didn’t even glance up from her magazine. You helped him dust off sand from his hair, biting the inside of ur cheek to keep from laughing too hard. His scowl was deep, but there was something fond in it, too — like he knew it was all ridiculous, and maybe, just maybe, he was glad he came.

“…I’ll need to shower for three hours after this,” he muttered, brushing sand from his shoulders with the precision of a surgeon.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I am being correct.”

Still, he didn’t move from your side. The sun was finally warming his pale skin, and for a moment, he looked — not stressed. Just… at peace. You elbowed him gently. “Admit it. You’re having fun.” He paused. Then, begrudgingly: “…I suppose it’s tolerable.”

Patty reappeared, covered in seaweed and holding what looked like a dead crab. Kid screamed again.

And you couldn’t stop laughing.