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“Minho, are you ready to carve some sick waves?” Jisung’s eager question is muffled slightly, by the oceanic wind whipping past their ears.
Minho grumbled, and readjusted the cumbersome board held in his arms. He prayed that would suffice as a response as to how not ready he is. At all.
But this is Jisung we’re talking about here. So of course it didn’t.
“Minho?” Jisung prodded his friend in the shoulder, taking care to avoid knocking into the huge board pressed to his chest. “Are you ok?” His already wide eyes are even more agape with worry, until they appear spherical in his head.
Jisung looks ready to “ catch some waves ” alright. He looks like a regular beach bum; because he is. He’s a tank-top-even-in-winter, water-proof-sunscreen-wearing beach boy extraordinaire. His surfboard looks like it belongs with him, held easily under his right arm. His skin is tanned from the kiss of the sun and beautifully bronze. His blonde hair is perpetually stringy from prolonged exposure to salt water, and even more bleached from the UV.
Minho sighed, and heaved the board up from where it’s slipping from his grasp. How does Jisung hold it with one arm so casually?! He’s not even straining! Minho can barely keep it off the ground with the strength of both his biceps working overtime!
“I’m fine, Jisung.” Minho lied through his teeth, as they began to walk towards the mouth of the beach. Soon enough they left Jisung’s Range Rover—and its glaringly empty roof rack—long behind.
“You know I don’t like the ocean, that’s all.” He now truthed through his teeth. And now you’ve forced me head first right into my biggest fear! Minho was tempted to bark, but he kept his irritation in check. Jisung has been talking about this nonstop for days, and the last thing Minho wants to do is ruin his tangible excitement. Even if his stomach is pinching with apprehension.
Jisung sent his best friend a sympathetic smile, and nodded in understanding. However, the entrance to the beach is only nearing, with each step they take. Minho made his bed, and now he has to lay in it.
Plus, it’s not like he was totally forced into a surf day with Jisung. He, admittedly, said yes on his own volition. It was a lapse in judgment, he swears, but can you blame him for falling prey to Jisung’s puppy dog eyes? Those things are killer.
“Can I take you surfing with me next week?” Jisung had implored a couple days earlier, eyes wide and sparkly. Hands clasped in mock-prayer, as he looked at Minho through his lashes.
Minho tried to say no. He really did.
But he failed, as he felt his willpower chip away with every second spent staring into Jisung’s pleading gaze.
“Fine! Just this once!” He submitted, much to his own chagrin.
Jisung, however, never looked happier. “Great!” He cheered, throwing a pair of lanky arms around Minho’s neck and pulling him in for a hug. “You’ll love it! Surfing is easy, promise!”
Famous last words, Minho couldn't help but think.
And he was right.
He was so, so right.
🌊
It’s a weekday, so the beach is glaringly empty. The only noticeable fixture is the wood lifeguard tower, crimson and white and built on stilts to protect against high tide. The stretch of sand is all but deserted, free from huge beach umbrellas and colorful folding chairs and coolers filled with icy beverages. Thankfully. Less people to see Minho fail miserably. If he can even attempt to stand on his board, that is.
Or maybe not so thankfully. Less people to come to his aid if he ends up drowning . Which, if he’s speaking honestly, is the most probable outcome. Oh well. Minho always had a feeling he would die at Jisung’s hands.
“The swell today is perfect .” Jisung announced, as if Minho is supposed to know what that means. Jisung sucked in a huge gulp of sea air, and looked out to the sea with passion and reverence shimmering in his eyes. Maybe even a few flecks of love. It's visible even through the lenses of his tinted sunglasses.
“I see some A-frames offshore for me, groundswells around the outside break, that's good, and–oh! There's even some mushy waves out there for you, Minho.”
A-frames? Groundswells? Mushy?! Minho has no idea what Jisung is talking about!
“And you're in luck,” Jisung continued, ignoring Minho's look of absolute bafflement. “No ankle busters out there today.”
Once again, Minho can not even fathom what that could possibly mean. He should've brought a surf lingo to English dictionary with him, at this rate.
But ankle busters sound like a bad thing. Busting ankles? Yeah, hard pass from Minho. So he supposes he should be grateful that whatever they may be, they're not here to greet him today.
Is he happy to be trudging down the beach and towards the shoreline, however? No. No he is not.
The sun is beating down on them, and the wind is kicking up the loose layer of sand atop the dunes, sending it straight into Minho’s eyes. He should’ve worn sunglasses, like Jisung. Rookie mistake. Even more of a misstep? Coming to the beach in the first place!
Minho thinks he might be the only human on earth who doesn’t enjoy a day at the beach. But he can make a pretty good case for his hatred of that summer-day paradise, really! For one, the beach is hot. Always. Especially now in the early weeks of summer, the expanse of sand and shells is sweltering. And yet, the wicked wind gnaws into your skin like a beast with a double row of fangs. As if proverbially sticking its tongue out at the heat shed from that single star in the sky, the ocean wind does everything in its power to make you feel frigid . You're cold and you're hot all at once and it's so damn annoying.
The sun is always shining and bouncing off the sea like some kind of atmospheric laser into your retinas. The sand is rough and scorching from soaking up the rays, and it sticks between his toes and his lashes and his fingers. Minho still finds sand pouring from his shoes, courtesy of the last time he let Jisung drag him to the shore. And that was two months ago!
The air is too salty and there’s annoying seagulls patrolling the sky, cawing at the highest decibel possible. Ready and eager to swoop down and swipe your snacks or shit on your head. Or both. Minho is still scarred from his last trip to the beach, when a particularly roguish seagull stuck its meddling right beak into his ice cream cone. He was enjoying his chocolate vanilla swirl, too!
And the worst part of the beach? On top of the ice-cream stealing birds?
The ocean.
It’s loud; the waves are deafening.
It’s cold; the water is freezing all year round, no matter the season or the sunshine.
And what else? It’s terrifying.
You see, Lee Minho isn’t afraid of much. In fact, he prides himself on being nothing short of unshakable when it comes to irrational fears. Fine, his dislike of the Koolaid Man isn’t necessarily normal, but he wouldn’t go as far as to call it a fear. Just a very strong...hatred. But that’s not important right now.
His fear of the ocean, however? That’s totally rational! The ocean is nothing short of horrifying, if you really think about it:
Humans don’t know what the hell is lurking beneath those waves. There could be sharks! Or angry dolphins! Or a squad of dolphins and sharks working together to wreak undersea havoc! There could be dinosaurs down there, for all we know! Prehistoric bullshit that hasn’t seen the light of day since the Triassic, laying in wait for the day Minho steps foot into the tide!
Ok, maybe he's overreacting there. Just a bit. Because, honestly, the main reason Minho hates the ocean? He can’t swim.
Yes, Minho is in his twenties. And he can’t so much as doggy paddle to save his life.
So when you think about it that way, Minho’s intense phobia of the ocean and all its horrors makes perfect sense. Excuse him, for not wanting to drown or get stung by a jellyfish or get eaten by a great white. Or get stung by a jellyfish, and then drown, and then have his waterlogged corpse become shark bait. Honestly, any watery demise sounds pretty...unsavory, to Minho.
And yet, here he is. At the shoreline. With Jisung. Surfboards in both their arms. Jisung looking cool and natural and the picture of beach perfection. Minho on the other hand, is awkward, and barely keeping his board stable in his arms, and curling in on himself from the marine chill chewing up his flesh.
But he’s here for Jisung—to make his best friend happy. So he might as well get this over with, and ride a few waves to satisfy his buddy. And hey, if he drowns, he’ll just come back as a vengeful spirit and haunt Jisung’s ass for the rest of his days.
When he thinks about it that way, a fatal aquatic mishap doesn’t sound so terrible.
With that thought in mind and bringing him a perverse sense of comfort, Jisung and Minho began to get ready. Well, Jisung began to get ready. Minho fumbled to follow his every move, like a child copying their father.
Jisung removed his sunglasses and folded up the legs, before stuffing them into his beach tote. He squinted under the UV assault, and held a hand over his brows. As if on instinct, Minho raised a hand to bat at his own eyes. As if his brain has an unconscious compulsion to copy Jisung's every action, despite his obvious lack of polarized shades.
Jisung zipped up his wetsuit, from where the arms were tied around his waist. Minho did the same, sighing in relief as the thick material instantly blocked out the nasty wind blowing off the sea. Soon, they’re both decked in their sleek wetsuits, neck to ankle in aerodynamic neoprene. Minho is just relieved Jisung’s spare rashguard is stretchy enough to fit comfortably around his thighs, without cutting off any much-needed circulation.
Jisung fastened his guard strap around the dip in his ankle. Minho did the same, but not without stumbling to attach the Velcro.
Jisung picked his board back up, after waxing it. Minho did the same, after haphazardly wiping a block of surf wax over the surface. He doesn’t even know what it’s for.
“You ready?” Jisung asked with a toothy grin, nodding at the waves crashing before them. Frothy foam and spirts of white from the crests are flying into the air with each roll of a wave, and Minho supposes he is. He’s as ready as he’ll ever be, at least.
“Yeah,” Minho said through a loaded breath. What is he getting himself into? “Let’s do this.”
Jisung sent him a beaming grin, and the racing of Minho’s heart eased. If he’s with Jisung, he’ll be ok.
Hopefully.
He can’t make any blanket promises.
Jisung took a step into the sea, and Minho followed. He hissed, as the water bathed his exposed feet. It’s freezing. Like an oversized puddle of melted ice. How the sun can beat such pure, concentrated heat onto the beach all day and the ocean is still cold is beyond Minho. He winced and screwed his eyes shut, but he took another cautious step forward.
Step after step after step. Until the ocean lapped at his ankles, and then his hips, and then his belly. Until the ocean floor bid his feet farewell completely .
Luckily, with the insulation of his wetsuit, Minho acclimated to the frigid temperature of the ocean relatively fast. Yet he’s still shaking. Not from the cold.
He and Jisung are free floating in the open ocean, boards held under steady hands on the surface, and Minho is terrified. There’s no safety net now. No sand bar to cushion him or keep his balance steady. They’re alone, with the sea. With the waves.
The waves rushing at them, a metaphoric stampede of aquatic beasts with foamy white eyes trained solely on the two boys who foolishly paddled right into their grasp.
Minho squeaked, at the sight of the endless expanse of ocean before him. No end in sight. Just blue. Everywhere. A blanket of rippling water stretching across the horizon line. Undulating, like the sea is simply the flank of an earth-sized serpent, ready to swallow him right up. His heart is pounding beneath his wetsuit, and he suddenly became frighteningly aware of his feet dangling freely into the sea. Suddenly, he doesn’t know what came over him to make him agree to this .
Without a word or acknowledgement of Minho’s palpable unease, Jisung hopped on his board in one elegant, fluid movement. He’s straddling it now, legs dangling off the sides and into the sea.
“C’mon up, Minho.” He called, cupping a hand over his lips so he can be heard over the waves. They’re right next to each other, but Minho still had to strain. “Hold the board steady, that’ll make it easier.” His friend continued.
He sucked in a nervous breath at Jisung’s instructions, but did as told. He splayed his palms on the board, grounding the weight of his fingers into the coated foam. And then he jumped from the sea, landing with a vaguely wet flop across the width of his board with the grace of a seal plopping onto an ice sheet.
He heard Jisung cackling, but he was a little too busy righting himself to call him out on it. After some clumsy wiggling on his part, Minho finally managed to copy Jisung’s seated position on the board. Great. If a shark doesn’t kill, the embarrassment surely will. He can already feel it sucking away his life force.
Jisung began to paddle; leaning forward and rowing with his arms. Minho followed as best he could, under the (terrifying) circumstances.
Blindly following Jisung’s lead, Minho paddled farther and farther out to sea. It didn’t strike him just how far they got, until he snuck an absentminded glance over his shoulder.
And when he did, Minho’s heart careened down his wetsuit, and landed in his toes. Right below his leash strap. The shore is so far away. It’s just a muddled bar of yellow in the distance, fuzzy and nondescript. They’re smack dab in the gaping maw of the ocean, with nowhere to hide. Minho wants to cry—why did he let himself fall victim to Jisung’s stupid puppy dog eyes again!
Speaking of which, Jisung is talking to him again.
Minho couldn't even hear, from the combination of his heart thudding in his ears and the thunder of the waves. A seagull flew above their heads and screamed, as if mocking Minho personally. It probably is. It’s probably the same winged demon that stole his ice cream.
“Well, Minho.” Jisung drawled, as he shifted his positioning again. Suddenly, his words became all too discernable, and prickled Minho’s ears as if individual zaps of lightning. Now, Jisung is laying flat on his tummy. Paddling his board around so the tail is facing the incoming waves.
Oh no.
“Ready to catch your first wave?”
🌊
“Jisung!” Minho shrieked, at the sight of a wave heading straight for them. His eyes are wide and terror-stricken. “I'm gonna die, I'm gonna fucking die–Jisung!”
His hands are white-knuckle clasping the sides of his board as if his life depends on it. And since this is Minho, it most certainly does. He’s surprised he hasn’t croaked yet, in fact.
“Calm down!” Jisung exclaimed, as he swam his board towards Minho. “If you keep freaking out like that, you'll fall off the board!”
Minho does not want that to happen. That sounds like the worst thing that could possibly happen to him, in fact. So he dug his fingernails even deeper into the hardened foam, and kept freaking out just as vehemently as before.
Jisung is returning from ‘charging waves’, as he and his fellow surfer dudes would put it. Jisung’s been catching wave after wave, riding through the lips with the utmost of grace and ease. Carving through barrels and shredding crests like he was born on a surfboard. Sharp cutbacks on the shoulder of a line just offshore, before swooping back and making the drop on a huge groundswell farther out, Jisung is a blur of motion and joy as he rides the swells with reckless abandon.
As for Minho?
Well, Minho is doing his best.
And Minho doing his best comes in the form of him hunkered down on his board, in the same fetal position as when he first mounted it, and holding on for dear life.
The wave rushed Minho. He shrilled again, as he helplessly gripped the board tighter. He instinctively closed his eyes tight, but he felt his surfboard rise up up up before sinking down down down. Like a rollercoaster. A very slow and languid rollercoaster, but just as terrifying. And motion-sickness inducing.
The darkness behind his eyelids is not helping to alleviate the nausea of being at the will of the rocking waves. His board tipped this way and that, up and down and backwards as the ocean holds Minho in its proverbial grasp and it would not let go. It’s taking him for a ride—whether he likes it or not.
And trust him when he says that he wholeheartedly does not.
Another wave hit, before Minho even had time to collect himself after the last one. Unsurprisingly, he screamed like a banshee, and pressed his chest flush to the board. A dollop of freezing water jumped up and smacked Minho in the face, as if the ocean herself is slapping him silly. It just made Minho whimper harder, once he wiped the saltwater from the seams of his shut eyes.
“Jisung! I’m drowning!”
“No you’re not,” Jisung retorted without missing a beat. “You’re still on the board! I can see you.”
Minho whined, imperceptible over the incoming swell. “I’m not waterproof!” He howled, voice wobbly from fear. He white-knuckle gripped the sides of his surfboard, as it rocked side to side under the shifting of the sea.
He could hear Jisung rolling his eyes in response. Even with his eyes screwed tight. And over the cawing of a flock of seagulls. And the dizziness wringing out his brain. “Do you want me to call the lifeguard to come get you?” And Minho heard that too, loud and clear.
Minho nodded so hard he smacked his forehead into his board. Ouch.
He heard Jisung sigh over the ocean’s hiss, but it’s wistful. Vaguely melancholy, and overtly good natured. He knows his friend would have wanted him to stay longer. To actually try to ride out a full wave; standing. Kneeboarding, at the very least! Not... whatever it is Minho is doing.
But Minho officially does not want to do this anymore. He wants off his board, and out of the water, and most of all he wants dry fucking land. He’d even kiss the sand once he returns to shore, and he doesn’t care if he gets grains up his nose. He’s just lucky Jisung knows him so well, and is gracious enough to cut Minho’s inaugural foray into surfing short. Jisung is a good friend. Even though he lives to give Minho a premature heart attack.
He would have swam himself to shore at the first sight of Jisung venturing out to tame some waves, but there was one small problem. A fear of the ocean and an inability to swim are not the best combination. In fact, it’s probably a deadly equation. Minho would have tried to doggy paddle his way to safety, but he’s much too afraid to remove his hands from clutching the sides of his board, thus indenting crescents into the foam from the force of his nails. And so Minho found himself stranded, subject to the uncaring and equally unending roll of the waves. With no way back.
But maybe not for long.
“Hey, Chan!” Minho heard Jisung scream back to shore, loud enough to be discernible over the din of crashing waves. “Can you come help my friend? He can’t swim and he’s stuck out on his board.”
He heard someone respond from the shoreline, but it was muffled by the sheer volume of the sea. He heard a shrill whistle blow, and the sound of powerful strides advancing into the sea, kicking up the relatively static water tonguing at the shoreline.
Minho doesn’t know who Chan is, in any way shape or form. But if he’ll pluck Minho from this oceanic-Hell, he may just kiss him instead of the sand.
Once again, famous last words.
Minho heard something else; the sound of the ocean surface being disturbed. Something cutting through the waves, rhythmically. Powerfully. Roaring straight at him.
Oh fuck, Minho thought frantically, as his stomach dropped. A fucking shark is coming to eat me, holy fuck I’m gonna haunt Jisung so hard after this—
Something latched itself onto the edge of Minho’s board, and he shrieked, for the umpteenth time that day. His throat is beginning to hurt, from how rubbed raw it is.
His eyes flew open on instinct, and—and he isn’t met with a towering grey dorsal fin, synonymous with beachy nightmares.
“Hey there,” said a man. A human, and very much not a talking shark. A man now at Minho’s side, resting his chin on his arms, folded up on Minho’s board.
And what a man he is. He’s just about the hottest thing Minho’s ever seen ; Minho had to stop his jaw from hurtling into his board and denting the foam. He’s masculine and ruddy, someone who looks like they belong in the sea. Someone who looks like they were born from the sea. Like Venus, he appears molded from sea foam and flecks of ocean water. And he’s just as beautiful, if not more.
His jaw is sharp and cut like a diamond, his lips reddened from the chill of the biting wind. His skin is pale, as if in purposeful defiance of the sunlight constantly at his throat. His hair is a crown of bleached blonde curls, the tips dampened dark gold from stray droplets of salt water. With how the sun is shining onto him, his hair appears to glow. Like something magical. Like something godly.
Oh, also? He’s shirtless. Which makes sense, because he’s in the ocean , but Minho still feels his head spinning like a top at the sight. Minho can’t see much of his body, with how he’s currently chest deep in the sea and chilling on the side of his board, but if the muscles of his arms mean anything?
Well, maybe Minho should try getting stranded at sea more often.
“Poseidon?” Minho whispered, breathlessly. Mindlessly. Like a dumbass, because you are what you eat, and Minho must have had a heaping helping of dummy-flakes for breakfast.
But this guy looks mythical, ok?! He totally looks like he can summon a trident at will, and rides an unearthly chariot pulled by literal sea horses. Minho is simply calling it like it is.
The man cracked a smile, and dimples took residence in his cheeks. Minho almost fainted right off his board. He chuckled, and Minho was a second away from tipping windward and leeward and back again.
“Nope, sorry to disappoint. I’m Chan,” he said, and realization struck Minho atop the head. “I’m a lifeguard.” Not a Greek god. But close enough, if you asked Minho.
Chan is who Jisung called to come to Minho’s aid. He’s the lifeguard! Wow. Minho suddenly wishes Jisung forced him out into the waves long ago.
“Are you here to, um,” Minho keeps stumbling over his words. He’ll blame it on the chill of the sea and the dizzying rock of his board. For now. “Save me?”
Chan’s smile widened. Became devious. Sent shivers down Minho’s spine, despite the heat stored from his wetsuit. “Nah. You look cute all scared.”
Before Minho could react to that, Chan contradicted himself. He unfolded his arms, and pushed his palms into the board. With a single heave, he popped from the sea with a raucous splash and climbed onto Minho’s board; slinging his legs over either side, like Jisung did before. He slid up straddle to the nose of the board, leaving the rest to (a still cowering) Minho.
And woah. If Chan’s arms looked nice from a brief glance? The rest of his torso is no joke. He’s sculpted like a goddamn statue! Greek-god shit, as if that hasn’t already been readily established. His abs look like marble. Not even a six pack, but a holy shit eight pack. Water is dripping down his skin, and it looks like melted gold in the sunlight. It sparkles like diamonds affixed to his flesh. There's a black braided cord around his neck, ending in a ruby whistle now dangling limp between his pecs. He’s wearing matching bright red swim trunks that expose a scandalous amount of his milky thighs, and Minho’s mouth watered. Yeah. He’s hot. And he’s here to save Minho?
Yup. Having a fear of the ocean is officially paying off.
Chan glanced over his shoulder, his eyes heavy-lidded and glittering in the light of golden hour. “Grab hold,”
He gestured at his waist. He gestured at his very much shirtless waist .
Minho, once again, almost fell unconscious into the tide.
He’s still reeling from the casualness of Chan’s “cute” comment, but he spurred his brain and body into motion. With tentative movement, Minho scooted forward on the board. Closer to Chan, sitting steady at the nose.
Soon, Minho found himself hovering no more than an inch behind Chan. The lifeguard smiled at him, as if confirming something unspoken. Much to his surprise, Minho returned the grin. He didn’t think he had enough mental energy left in him to do so.
But with that, Minho wrapped his arms around Chan’s waist, lacing his hands tight together over the lifeguard’s tummy. Damn, he’s ripped. His abs feel like stone under Minho’s hands! Like a washboard, should he be completely cliche.
“Next stop, shore.” Chan announced, once Minho is securely fastened around his waist and leaning into his back. And then, he bent forward—inadvertently taking Minho with him—and began to paddle.
With those muscular arms of his, Chan easily propels them across the ocean surface. They’ll be back to land in no time. For some reason, the proposition tasted bitter in Minho’s mouth.
“Thanks, Channie!”
Minho jumped, and turned around—making sure to keep his chest pressed flush to Chan’s back in the process. Which is just as muscled as his front, Minho would like to add.
And there, standing on his board like a sea nymph, is Jisung. He’s riding out a wave, posture perfect and the sun on his back. His colorblock board is gliding through the crest with such grace, it’s as if he’s merely hovering above the crashing swell. He looks like a vision; with his lithe body decked in shining black, and that mop of blonde hair pushed back from a mixture of salt water and the loving hands of the wind. Gold bouncing off gold bouncing off gold.
Jisung met Minho’s gaze, as he carved through the wave. He winked, as he rode out the barrel. Minho could see it plain as day, even as he and Chan left Jisung in their foaming wake.
Minho rolled his eyes, but smiled back nonetheless. He hoped Jisung could see it too.
Minho turned his attention back to Chan. To the sharp edges and gentle slopes of his back. To the pale skin that appears as spotless and smooth as a fresh layer of snow.
Minho rested his head against Chan’s back, in the dip between his shoulder blades. He smells like saltwater and kelp and something implacable. He smells like the sun. Like the light of day. The beach isn’t so bad, Minho is beginning to think.
The sea began to shorten under their legs, still dangling over the board and dipping their feet into the swell. The shoreline is coming into view. Now he can see the cherry red lifeguard station, a jagged smear of chipped scarlet and ivory on the otherwise pristine expanse of beige. The sandbar is starting its rise into existence, soaring from the ocean floor like a mountain incline.
Minho’s heart panged. He wouldn’t mind prolonging his ride with Chan.
Or maybe just stretching his time with Chan himself. He wouldn’t mind getting out of the water, for good.
As if reading Minho’s thoughts, Chan declared, “Alright, we’re here!”
And here they are; they’ve stopped right at the mouth of the shore, so their board can still be kept afloat. But they’re here. Minho is safe and sound, and abruptly perturbed at the thought of sliding off his board. Off his board he’s still sharing with Chan. It pained him to do so, but Minho (begrudgingly) released his arms from around Chan’s waist. He already misses the feel of his water-slicked skin under his fingers.
Chan hopped off first, landing with a plunk! in the hip deep water. He’s standing, holding a hand out for Minho. Which he gratefully accepted.
Minho clasped Chan’s hand, and followed his lead. He slipped off the board with relative ease—luckily. He’s not too eager to continue to make a fool out of himself in front of the charming lifeguard.
“Thank you, Chan.” Minho said, once he’s standing in the water next to Chan. He’s standing . The water is only up to their hips. Despite that fact, Chan didn’t let go of Minho’s hand.
And he couldn't feel terribly upset about that. In fact, Minho simply squeezed harder.
“Don’t mention it!” Chan chirped, that dimpled-grin back on his lips. “You’re Jisung’s friend, right?” They began the trek through the sandbar, towards the beach. Their hands are still intertwined. The water is miring around their thighs and their feet sink into the sand with each step, but Minho could swear he was walking on a cloud bank.
Minho perked up, and unconsciously swung his and Chan’s clasped hands. “Yeah! I’m Minho. I’m, um...not a huge fan of the ocean? No offense!” As if you couldn't see that already, when I was on the verge of tears on that board, Minho thought, but his affection for the lifeguard outweighed his residual embarrassment.
Chan tipped his head of blonde ringlets back, and laughed. The sunlight is beginning to wane, and it sent pillars of gold through the bleached locks. They glowed like a crown of light atop his head. Minho still stands by the notion that Chan is something godly. Something holy.
“Hey, I’m not from the sea,” Chan mused. Minho would beg to differ. “I only save people from it. No need to justify your fear, Minho.”
God, even the way he says his name is hot! Minho calls bullshit—Chan is too hot for his (and Minho’s) own good.
Minho blushed, and hoped Chan wouldn’t notice. He undoubtedly did, if the way his blinding smile eased as he looked to him means anything. How it became tender and soft, as he gazed at Minho.
The ocean was up to their hips, and then thighs, and then knees.
Now, it’s up to their ankles. Now, Minho’s board skidded as it connected with the shoreline. It knocked up against his shin, as if reminding Minho of its existence.
Once their toes are sufficiently in the dampened shore sand, Chan turned to Minho. His eyes are glittering under the diminishing sunlight. Minho is nothing short of awestruck.
“So, Minho,” Chan began, suddenly looking a tad nervous. Cheeks painted rose and his eyes staring down at the wet sand squelching between their toes. “Do you wanna stay on the beach with me? U-until Jisung is done surfing, I mean! There’s no one in the water besides Jisung, so now I don’t have to worry about saving anyone else?”
Cute. Chan is so cute when he’s spluttering. When he’s nervous, under Minho’s darkened gaze.
Minho smiled, and felt his heart thrum against his ribs. His chest warmed, despite the chill of the wind and the residual ocean water soaked into his wetsuit. Under Chan’s smile and his eyes, Minho can’t do anything but bask in the brilliance. In the heat.
“I’d love that, Chan.”
Chan met him with a smile.
Minho swears it bounced light off the sea.
Like the sun.
🌊
(Bonus!)
“Breathe! Breathe, damn you!”
Minho wailed, as he pressed powerful compressions into the...translucent blob beneath his palms.
He found what he assumed to be a stranded, land bound jellyfish on the shore. So, being the good samaritan Minho is, he decided it's his duty to save it. The sea was kind to him today, so he owes it to the ocean to be kind to its creatures! Sure, he knows absolutely nothing about jellyfish anatomy, or if giving it CPR is the best course of action. Sure, he could've just tossed it back into the tide and called it a day. Sure, Minho feels like an absolute idiot as he does chest compressions on a sea creature. But the ocean didn’t kill him today, so this is his gift to her.
Take it or leave it.
He has to admit, he didn’t expect a jellyfish to feel like... this. It certainly doesn't feel like jelly, that’s for sure. Kinda feels like plastic. Minho scowled, as he continued to press into the chest? Lungs? General body? Of the jellyfish. Pollution has gotten so bad, even the animals are starting to feel artificial!
“Um, Minho?”
He startled, his compressions jerking to a halt. His eyes snapped up, to see Chan standing before him. Outlined in shadow, with the setting of the sun.
“You realize that’s a plastic bag, right?”
Chan gestured at the clear lump under Minho’s locked palms.
Minho choked, and unconsciously flipped the jellyfish-but-not over. There’s a yellow smiley face printed on the soaked material. “Thank you for your purchase” is printed below. Oh.
So that’s why the “sea critter” felt so manmade.
“O-oh!” Minho coughed, internally beating his conscious to a pulp. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I thought you didn’t want Chan to think of you as an idiot!
“Oops?”
Chan paid Minho’s crooked smile and ruby tinged cheeks no mind. He just giggled, and knelt down to the sand before him. The only thing between them being the soaked plastic bag, now free of Minho’s life-saving pushes. He thinks it’ll survive. Until he chucks it into the trash bin where it belongs, that is.
Jisung is long since out of the water, now lounging on his board as he absorbs the last rays of sunshine. He left Minho with an audibly exhausted, “If you need me, I’ll be photosynthesizing.”
And Minho thinks he can manage just fine himself, while his friend lazes on the sand.
“In my defense,” Minho began, meeting Chan’s smile. “I’m still high off you saving me earlier. I’m still so happy to be out of that death trap, ” he hooked a thumb at the churning ocean behind him, “I could kiss you.”
Oh. Minho said that out loud now. Interesting.
Even more interesting? How Chan’s eyes darkened, almost immediately. How he scooched closer on the sand, until he’s right before Minho. He’s kneeling opposite Minho, knees caked in sand and sinking into the grains, yet he still has the aura of towering miles over him.
“Is that so?” He asked, while bringing up a hand to cup Minho’s cheek. It’s burning, still. Undoubtedly sending sizzling heat into Chan’s palm.
Minho nodded, wordlessly, and gazed up into Chan’s eyes. Hypnotized.
Chan’s lips quirked up at the corners.
“So why don’t you?”