“Hey, pretty girl!” A sharp whistle sounds over the shore, cutting through the constant hush of the sea, Iapping up against the sand.

It’s the dead of the night, the moon full as it hangs high over the ocean, casting Sarah’s high, high cheekbones in a luminescent blue. She starts running along the Iength of the beach, as soon as you catch sight of her, her laugh carrying along the sea breeze, before she slams into you, surfboard abandoned on the sand, arms winding ‘round her not-quite girlfriend.

“Hi.” She murmurs, booping you on the nose with a little grin. She’s never felt freer, in the dead of the night; like this is some illicit affair. It technically is. She’d never hear the end of it if she was caught mucking about with a Pogue. Not that Sarah’s ever cared about that kind of stuff, but God only knows what kind of grief Rafe would give her.

She kind of likes the secrecy of it all. This is something that’s just hers. If nobody knows, nobody can take it away. You’re kind of like.. Romeo and Juliet if they were surfers. Which is totally cooler than the original, anyways.

Besides, this isn’t going to end in tragedy—not if Sarah has anything to say about it.