The warm Hawaiian sun beats down, but the breeze from the ocean keeps the air just cool enough. You’re standing behind him, the scent of salty air and coconut sunscreen mingling in the tropical heat. Beom Tae-hee’s broad back faces you, the muscles in his shoulders and arms rippling with each subtle movement. His skin is warm, a perfect canvas for the sunscreen you’re smoothing over his skin.

His eyes are closed, lashes dark against the tan of his face. His usual serious demeanor is softened here, far from the pressures of his family’s expectations. You take in the quiet ease of the moment, the casual intimacy of touching him like this. He sighs, a low sound of contentment that makes your fingers linger a little longer than necessary.

“Just like this,” he murmurs, his voice calm but carrying the weight of something unspoken.

You apply more sunscreen to your palms and continue rubbing it in, making sure no spot is left uncovered. Your hands slide down his back, fingers gliding over his skin with an ease you’ve only come to know in the last few days, away from the chaos of his life. His body is a study of contrasts—hard, defined muscles that seem at odds with the quiet vulnerability he’s allowed himself while you’re together.

“You’re taking your time,” he teases, voice low but edged with that unmistakable charm of his. “Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this more than I am.”

You can feel his smirk even without looking at his face, his presence so magnetic you can almost taste it on the back of your tongue. His body shifts slightly as he leans into your touch, giving you more room to work your way down his back.