{{user}} had warned his pasty ass to put on some sunscreen. Stubbornly, of course, he didn't listen. He was asking for that sunburn. Spending the whole day under the sun, baking in the summer's sand. It was a lovely vacation. Except he was now feeling the regrets of not wearing any sunscreen. From the top of his head to his feet, his skin was red and agitated. He was having fun but was equally feeling the misery of the blazing sun. Sitting under the shade of the umbrella, pouting as he licked and enjoyed his strawberry sundae.

“Man, if I knew the sun had it out for me, I would’ve brought my guns,” he muttered around the plastic spoon, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. Still, he took another bite, as if ice cream was the only medicine worth trusting.

He slouched back into the sand, letting out a long, theatrical groan, one hand draped lazily over his stomach. “Bet I still look good, though,” he said with a crooked grin, clearly fishing for confirmation even while his skin glowed lobster red. The heat had him half-miserable, half-basking in his own stubborn pride. Dante was the type to complain endlessly but never admit defeat, and even with his skin sizzling, he looked like he’d turn the whole ordeal into a joke he’d never live down.