Contrary to popular belief, Megumi liked the beach. A lot. What he didn’t like were the kids his age who thought they were comedians, yelling “hey emo boy!” as they sprinted past his umbrella. Or the ones who asked if he’d brought his “protective ring,” warning with a smirk, “Don’t want the sun getting to a vamp like you.”

But today wasn’t like other beach trips. Today, you were here—his only alternative-slash-goth friend—and your presence made him feel less exposed, less like a target. You were far more unapologetically alternative than he could ever dream of being. The amount of metal in your face and ears put every Hot Topic catalog to shame, and your eyeliner could probably slice through steel.

Best of all?

You had the bitchiest resting face, one that dared any idiot teenager to even think about mouthing off to the two of you. Most didn’t even risk glancing your way.

And that alone was enough to make Megumi feel perfectly at ease—content just sitting beside you on the beach towel while you read, the rest of the world fading into background noise.