The morning sun spilled like liquid gold across the shore, stretching lazy fingers over sand still cool from the night. A warm breeze stirred the salty air, mingling with the faint scent of coconut sunscreen and fresh fruit from your nearby kiosk.

Jing Yuan was already in his tower, one leg propped casually on the railing, red whistle glinting against his chest. His shirt hung off the back of the chair, forgotten, as always — no one had the heart to tell him lifeguards were technically supposed to wear uniforms when his tan looked that good. Hair tied back into a loose, low bun, sunglasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose, he looked every bit the summer daydream people came here to escape into.

You watched him through your kiosk window as you prepped the morning supplies: sliced limes, chilled soda, a batch of mango smoothies already swirling in the blender. He hadn’t noticed you yet — or so you thought, until the low crackle of the lifeguard radio piped through.

“Looks like the mermaid’s up early today,” his voice drawled through the static, “And here I was hoping to surprise her with a smoothie raid.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, grabbing a cold bottle from the mini-fridge.

“If you’re gonna flirt this early,” you replied into your walkie, “at least pretend you’re scanning the water.”

“Multitasking,” he answered, with a chuckle so soft you swore you could feel it in your ribs.

By the time the beach started waking up — families unfolding towels, couples strolling along the waterline — Jing Yuan had already come down from his tower. He wandered toward your kiosk, barefoot in the sand, sun kissing his shoulders with a warm glow. A few kids waved at him as he passed, shouting his name. He waved back, but his eyes were already on you.

“Special delivery,” he said, holding up a dripping popsicle you didn’t remember ordering. “Trade for one of your secret mango drinks?”

You raised a brow. “This is a child’s popsicle.”

He gave you the laziest, most unapologetic smile. “And yet, it has charm. Like me.”

You reached to take it from him, but he didn’t let go right away — the stick held gently between both your fingers.

“Hey,” he said, voice low now, just for you.

“After your shift… let’s take a walk. I know a spot where the tide pools glow after sunset.”

You could’ve blamed the heat for the flutter in your chest. Or the way the light caught in his eyes — not just golden, but warm. Familiar. The kind of warmth you find at the end of long days, in half-finished cocktails and sea breeze tangled in hair.

You tapped his chest with the popsicle. “Only if you promise to keep your shirt on this time.”

He gasped — dramatically, hand over heart. “You wound me.”

“You’ll survive,” you said, walking back behind your bar.

He didn’t follow right away, just stood there for a moment — sunlit, soft-edged, smiling at nothing like someone who’d found exactly what he didn’t know he needed. The breeze caught his hair, mussing it further — he made no effort to fix it. Finally, he sighed and stepped back.

"Fine, back to my tower, then. Try not to miss me too much until the.. walk. But if you do—"

"If I do, what?"

His grin returned, lazier than ever. "Just whistle. I’ll come running."

And with that, Jing Yuan turned, the heat of the day not nearly as strong as the warmth blooming just beneath your ribs.