It was the height of summer, and I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around why I’d agreed to this—an entire day at the beach, of all places.

The sun loomed overhead like a relentless fireball, hanging high above the shimmering sands of Thunder Bay, drenching everything in a blinding, golden haze. Heat pressed in from all sides, thick and inescapable, the kind that made your thoughts feel slow and sticky.

It clung to my skin, mingling with the sharp chemical tang of sunscreen and the salty bite of the sea breeze, and I couldn’t help wondering—again—why anyone would willingly trade the quiet comfort of home for this.

Honestly, part of me wanted to turn around and leave the moment we arrived, to escape back into shade and solitude.

And then my eyes found {{user}}.

Just like that, the heat softened. The noise of the crowd—the laughter, the music, the distant cries of children—melted into something dull and far away, as if the world had gently blurred around them.

They were in the middle of a volleyball game with Banks, Rika, and Emory, moving with an ease that felt almost unfair. Every leap was confident, every dive instinctive, their laughter ringing out bright and unrestrained as the ball sailed back and forth.

Their cheeks were flushed, not only from the sun but from the pure joy written so openly across their face. Sunlight kissed their skin, turning it warm and golden, and that smile—god, that smile—burned brighter than the sky above, a quiet challenge to the sun itself.

Something tightened in my chest as I watched, a familiar, aching pull I didn’t bother trying to resist. There was a possessive edge to it, sharp and undeniable—the thought that they were this beautiful, this alive, and that I got to witness it. It felt almost overwhelming, like staring at something precious and fragile all at once, something I wanted to shield from the world and keep just for myself.

I sank deeper into the lounge chair, the rough weave biting faintly into my skin, and let out a slow breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. A small, helpless smile tugged at my lips.

Time seemed to stretch thin beneath the sun, each second heavy with longing. I wanted to be closer—to hear their laugh without the distance, to feel the warmth of their skin instead of the heat of the day. I wanted to bottle this moment, to press it into memory and keep it safe for later, for when the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the world cooled, leaving only the echo of this quiet, aching want behind.