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anubislover · 5 years

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Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya Chapter 8: Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Crap crap crap! Nami thought, looking between the two Devil Fruit users. Her night really couldn’t have been going worse. She was disarmed, caught up in the sticky, painful grasp of a perverted old man with way too many arms, one of which was still worming its way inside the deep V of her bodysuit. Then, even if she could somehow escape the tightly wound tentacles, Black Cage Hina herself stood between her and the exit. The woman might not have been a powerhouse, but her abilities were like something out of a Marines’ wet dream, specifically designed to capture wayward pirates like Nami.

Escape couldn’t have looked more unlikely and at this point she was really hoping Law was ok so he could get his ass back inside and rescue her.

“Ah, Hina-chan, perfect timing!” Harpin laughed. Two of his unoccupied arms pointed at Nami, who was trying her best not to show how much the razor-edged suckers digging into her skin had started to hurt. “I caught this pirate lurking around my study. She must be in on the village’s rebellion; I recognize her necklace as one created by my worthless former jeweler. They must have hired her as an assassin. Arrest her at once, my dear!”

The pink-haired Marine jutted out her hip, expression stern and unimpressed. “I’ll gladly put a Straw Hat behind bars, you’ll be going to jail too.”

Black, watery eyes widened. “What?”

Cool as iron in winter, Hina pulled out a cigarette, taking the time to light it before answering, “Didn’t I tell you that my superiors decided my attendance at your party was more important than attending to my duties? That’s because they wanted me to gather evidence that you’ve been selling government secrets and destroy whatever blackmail you have on them; we’re in tumultuous times, and the last thing they need is you churning even more chaos for your own gain.”

“Ah, a honey-trap. Of course,” he chuckled, giving her beautiful, athletic body an open leer. “Not a bad plan, given my fondness for you, but shouldn’t you have been a little nicer to me if you wanted to get your hands on some evidence? Avoiding me all night isn’t a very good seduction technique.”

Hina looked disgusted at the very thought. “I’d rather cut my own face off than allow you to touch me. No, our plan was far more palatable; Smoker had snuck away earlier to mess with the pipes connected to the spa above the ballroom. We were hoping the water damage to the ceiling would catch your attention for a while so we could investigate.”

“And instead, the village’s rebellion, led by Cat Thief Nami, puts all that careful planning to waste,” he said, giving the captive woman a shake for emphasis. Much as the action hurt, Nami was silently grateful, as it dislodged the tentacle still in her cleavage.

A pink eyebrow raised in disbelief. “You really think the villagers are the ones bombing your mansion? How stupid.”

“Stupid? How dare you! It doesn’t matter whether those peasants were in on it or not; it’s the narrative I’ll spin to the papers when they report on tonight’s events. Once word’s gotten out that they sided with pirates over their beloved master, no one will blame me for finally eliminating those slums. I’ve been wanting that eyesore removed for ages, but they simply refuse to leave.”

The Marine captain scowled at his confession. “Then I suppose when I take you in, I can add ‘slander’ and ‘corruption’ to your list of crimes.”

“How are you planning on arresting me, Hina-chan?” he asked with an incredulous laugh. “By force? My rank was comparable to a Vice-Admiral!”

Grey smoke streamed from her cigarette as she replied, “But your strength wasn’t. Powerful as the Ika Ika no Mi is, you rarely ventured onto the battlefield, instead getting fat and lazy behind a desk. And now that you’re past whatever prime you had, I’d say you’re a little closer to my level.” She smirked, cracking her knuckles. “Hina will enjoy this.”

“You should have stayed downstairs with the guests, Hina-chan,” Harpin sneered. “I’d hate to hurt such a pretty face.”

Glancing at Nami, who’d wisely chosen to remain quiet throughout the conversation, Hina frowned in consideration and—surprisingly—a hint of sympathy. “You’re going to jail, Cat Thief, but if you promise to sit tight, I’ll get you out of your sticky situation first. No woman deserves to be manhandled by a creepy squid.”

All things considered, that was probably be the best deal a pirate could get from her, so Nami nodded enthusiastically.

Running forward, Hina extended her arm, clotheslining the two tentacles encasing her wrists. Nami stared in awe as the Marine’s arm went right through them, leaving behind a black shackle locked around each clammy limb. Spinning on her heel, she next kicked her leg through the two binding the pirate’s thighs. The way the rubbery grey flesh immediately began to pucker and swell indicated that the bands were painfully tight, and Nami soon felt their grasp weaken.

“Fuck!” Harpin yelped, though any further curses were cut off as Hina’s fist slammed into his face. The blow knocked him stumbling back, and after another right hook he had no choice but to release his hold on Nami, the shackles on four of his limbs too constricting and the Marine before him too skilled to engage while restraining a thief.

Falling onto her ass with an “oof!” Nami immediately inspected her thighs and wrists, wincing at the angry marks left behind. Perfectly round, thumbprint-sized red rings littered her skin where the suckers had taken hold, the incisions from the chitin little deeper than a papercut but just as painful. A few had even drawn blood, though to be honest, Beatrix’s nails had sunk deeper.

The suckers are designed to capture and restrain, not rend and tear, Nami concluded. Those tentacles are no joke, though. If he’d been trying, he could have pulled me apart like a paper doll!

With a heavy kick to the chest, Hina sent her former superior crashing into his desk, papers and trinkets flying everywhere. Glancing down at the thief, she raised a challenging eyebrow. “I’m not going to waste my time and energy restraining you, but if you try to run, I won’t hesitate.”

“Fine. Wouldn’t want to miss your beatdown of that pervert, anyway,” she ground out, gingerly prodding at her disfigured legs. If she were lucky, Hina would eventually be too distracted with her fight to notice her sneaking off, but she wouldn’t play her hand until the time was right.

Pleased with the compliance, the Marine darted across the room to continue her cathartic thrashing of the ex-head of Navy intelligence, each punch, kick, and slap making her smile wider as she threw him into suits of armor, furniture, and anything else that was in the way.

Meanwhile, Nami took the opportunity to crawl towards her Clima-Tact, hugging the batons to her chest like an old friend. A glimmer from across the room caught her eye as Harpin was knocked into a lamp, and the embossed titles of the black ledgers winked at her as they lay on the floor. After all this trouble, Law would be pissed if she left without them. Quite frankly, now Nami was feeling pretty determined to get them, too. She wanted to read up some more on Jinbei, and that diagram on the Pacifistas could be useful if they ever ran into Kuma again; maybe it even had some information on how his powers worked, and she could use that to track down the others!

On top of that, Hina was right; the world was already in chaos, and people like Harpin shouldn’t be gaining from it.

While the Navy captain was busy repeatedly grinding the heel of her shoe down onto his crotch, Nami took the opportunity to dash across the room, skidding to a halt by the knight’s armor and gathering up the black leather books.

A crash caught her attention, and Nami’s head whipped to the left to watch Hina dodge a fallen chandelier. Haprin’s floppy lips smirked around his beak, hand pressed against a hidden switch on the wall.

Crap, Nami thought. I forgot there were other traps. She froze as Hina tossed her a glare, the thief’s new position not escaping her notice. Double crap!

The Marine didn’t have any time to do anything about the wayward pirate, though, as Harpin decided to go on the attack, using his multiple arms to fling books, debris, and scattered pieces of armor at the women. Nami awkwardly dodged the projectiles, ducking behind the safe. A thought suddenly hit her, and she peeked out from around the corner of her impromptu shield to observe the Golden Octopus.

Despite the beating Hina had given him, he didn’t look all that much worse for wear. No bruises or welts marred his ashen skin, no bones seemed to be broken, and he even seemed to be walking normally despite the testicular trauma Hina must have inflicted. On top of that, the shackles still locked around his tentacles didn’t seem to be slowing him down, either.

Having had more than enough, Hina shouted “Awase Baori!” as iron bars extended from her arms, spanning across the room. The cage smashed into Harpin’s rubbery body, squishing and distorting it as the bars wrapped around him. Maliciously, she raised the bars and the ensnared man as high into the air as she could before slamming him down onto the floor. As he glared at her, she smirked around her cigarette. “Give up. Everything that passes through my body is locked tight.”

The feeling of victory shattered as his scowl morphed into a smug smile around his beak. “Silly Hina-chan,” he sneered, and as if deflating a balloon, his body became thinner and more flexible, squeezing out from between the bars. Even the shackles Hina’d wrapped around his arms fell away, clattering to the floor. Quickly, eight rubbery limbs lashed out, the two powerful clubs slamming into her stomach like bludgeons. “You can’t cage a squid!”

“Gah!” she coughed, the air pushed from her lungs. Six more arms lashed out, striking her across her face, torso, legs, and ass, jerking her about with each surprisingly powerful blow.

Damn it, didn’t Hina even stun him? Nami thought incredulously, doing her best to stay behind the safe and out of sight.

Inflicting more harsh and humiliating lashes against his former subordinate, he cackled. “I’ll admit, your powers are quite the bane of normal men, but they’re useless against me. A giant squid’s body is malleable enough to withstand deep sea pressure, yet powerful enough to fight a sperm whale! It also makes physical blows practically useless. And while squid might not be quite as notorious escape artists as octopi, this flexible body makes your cage and shackles little more than temporary inconveniences. But escape isn’t my plan.”

Before both women’s eyes, Harpin began to transform again, this time growing larger and larger, his whole body becoming that of an enormous squid that took up nearly a third of the room. Each arm was now at least ten feet long and over a foot thick, with the clubbed feeding tentacles extending to nearly fifteen feet. Black, watery eyes swelled to the size of beach balls, and the disturbing beak grew to the point where it could easily crush a melon in its jaws.

Oh, right, Nami thought, cold terror freezing her lungs. Zoan-type Devil Fruit users can fully transform into their animal.

Quick as a whip, one arm wrapped itself around the dazed Hina, the powerful limb pinning down her arms while sharp suckers latched into the skin. The long silk gown allowed her legs some protection, but only from the chitin; the tentacle itself twined about her entire body until she was completely trapped, squeezing so tightly Nami could hear some of the Marine’s bones pop.

“You should have just been a good girl and agreed to be my secretary instead of hiding behind Sengoku,” he said, voice even more distorted now that his mouth was mainly beak. He dragged her close so he could glare at her through one massive, soggy eye. “I would have treated you nicely—given you more than you deserve. All you had to do was look pretty, spread your legs, and know your place!”

Hina bit down on her cries of pain as Harpin gave her another squeeze, laughing at her attempts to remain defiant. “Pity you had to play so hard to get, Hina-chan. At least Smoker won’t have to mourn you long; he’ll join you in Hell once I’ve finished ripping him to pieces!”

“Fuck…you,” she gasped out, glaring down at the hideous creature even as her bones creaked in his powerful grasp.

Looking on, Nami knew Hina was outmatched, and there was little that the Straw Hat navigator could do to help her. It was better to take the chance to run and live, maybe even find Smoker and tell him to help his friend, as unlikely as it would be that he’d get to her in time. Besides, if she didn’t get out now, she’d be next, and if Hina did manage to beat him, all she could count on a one-way trip to Impel Down.

But that pink hair, cigarette, and determination was just far too familiar, and Nami always had a soft spot for female Marines. Plus, she did owe her for the earlier rescue.

“Thunder Ball!” she shouted, launching a barrage of small electric bolts at the giant squid. She knew it wouldn’t do as much damage as a concentrated lightning strike, but it was just enough to distract him, keeping Hina from getting crushed.

Harpin let out what Nami assumed were yelps of pain before he turned his full attention on her. Grey skin sizzled slightly where the shocks had hit—his skin was rubbery, but it wasn’t rubber. Unlike Luffy, Harpin clearly still took damage from electricity. Nami didn’t have time to gloat, though, as one of the clubbed tentacles raised itself high before swinging down, slamming into the floor right in front of the safe, missing the thief as she dodged just in time.

The force of the blow, combined with the time Nami had been standing on the pressure tile, activated the trapped suit of armor, releasing the halberd from the knight’s grasp to fall onto the massive limb. The sharp blade didn’t quite slice all the way through the slimy club, but it did open a deep gash, blue blood gushing out.

“You bitch!” the giant squid cried, pulling the wounded arm back to inspect the cut, shocked that one of his own traps had been used against him.

Cat-like smile stretched across her face, Nami replied, “Oh, that’s nothing. Didn’t I say there would be thunderstorms tonight? Well, it’s not over yet!”

“Are you seriously—” Harpin began, only to be interrupted by a low rumble from above.

As he looked up, a bolt of lightning came down from the forgotten cloud, striking through the center of the arm constricting Hina as it connected to the Clima-Tact. “Thunder Lance Tempo!”

Once more the foul scent of sizzling sea creature filled her nose, and the concentrated electrical blast was just enough to cripple the limb holding Hina, the blackened flesh smoking and oozing blood in places. A horrific scream of agony rang out from the creature, the closest equivalent she could think of being nails on chalkboard. The limb wasn’t severed like Nami’d hoped, but while it still gripped the captive Marine, her face was much more relaxed, the crushing pressure significantly lessened as it flopped on the floor.

However, the Cat Thief now had a new problem; Harpin was hurt, furious, and his enormous, hateful eyes were fixated squarely on her.

Before she could hide herself or cast another lightning strike she was scooped up by a different tentacle, its grip ten times stronger than before, the serrated suckers the size of peach stones and digging deeper into her skin. She didn’t have Hina’s restraint, screaming as he maliciously began crushing her chest, bit by bit squeezing the life out of her.

“You worthless, stupid, wicked twat!” he snarled, bringing her so close Nami could see her pained, terrified reflection in his watery eye. “I’ll make you pay for that! You should have run while you had the chance! Now who’s going to save you, pirate whore?!”

The answer came in the form of Law and Smoker crashing through the windows, the Marine’s thick smoke clouds wrapped around the surgeon’s waist while their weapons locked in a stalemate. Trapped in the smoke were two large barrels of gunpowder. Shattered glass from the windows floated through the air, forcing Smoker to shield his eyes, giving Law an opening to punch him in the jaw, causing him to fling the pirate and the barrels deeper into the room.

Switching his body and the tumbling barrels with debris, Law smirked up at his opponent, patting one of the bombs as it settled next to him. “Gonna have to try harder than that to get these away from me, White Chase-ya.”

“I’m gonna tear your fucking head off, Trafalgar!” Smoker countered still wiping away the glass. His suit was shredded and smoldering faintly in some places while his jitte had a few scorch marks on it. Law must have taken the bombs meant for the third distraction to use against the Marine. Nami had been so caught up dealing with the Baron she hadn’t even noticed they’d never gone off.

Panting lightly, the Heart Captain brandished his cane sword, preparing to strike, only to pause as he took in the state of the room. He’d lost his mask and coat at some point and his lip was bleeding, but at least he was in one piece. More importantly, once he saw what kind of situation Nami had gotten herself into, he used his powers to switch her with one of the barrels.

She barely had time to regain her footing before he ordered, “Nami-ya, a spark to light the fuse, please.”

“Screw the fuse,” she gasped, gulping down air. Her Thunder Lance Tempo crashed through the wooden barrel, quickly setting off the explosive powder, making Harpin bellow as the tentacle was reduced to nothing more than a stump, enormous body flailing backwards to avoid the flames and shrapnel from damaging his face.

At the sound, Law finally gave the creature attached to the tentacle a good look, color draining from his face at the massive sea monster. “Well shit,” he said as he pushed her behind him, ready to fend off further tentacle strikes. “He’s actually a Devil Fruit user.”

“You owe me so much money for this!” Nami practically sobbed in relief, clutching the back of his vest.

“I’ll pay you when we don’t have a fucking squid monster trying to kill us.”

“And who the hell are you?” Harpin snapped, furious that his prey had been snatched from his sticky grasp once again.

“No one,” Law answered coolly, expanding his Room and slashing at the tentacle whipping towards them. It fell to the ground, wiggling and twitching, and Nami sent another blast of lightning at it for good measure.

“The fuck is Trafalgar Law doing with Cat Thief Nami?” Smoker growled to Hina as he slammed his jitte into the tentacle restraining her, the Seastone tip forcing it to go limp as Harpin howled in pain. Once he’d managed to clear the glass from his eyes, he too had decided aiding his companion was a higher priority than taking out his opponent.

“Are you surprised?” she asked dryly as she peeled the suckers from her skin, wincing at the rings left behind. “Perhaps saving Straw Hats is his new hobby.”

“Well, put them in a cage so we can focus on kicking Harpin’s ass!” he snapped as a shadow fell across him.

“Thunder Lance Tempo!” he heard the female pirate cry out, and he whipped around, ready to defend himself, when he was blinded by a lightning bolt flashing right in front of his face.

When the blotchy spots cleared from his vision, Smoker looked down to find a sizzling lump of squid flesh at his feet, the rest of the tentacle gingerly dragging the mangled tip away.

Hina gave Nami a grateful smile, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. “I only have so much energy and would rather let a few pirates gain a one-day head start if it means taking down a man who’s been leaking government secrets.”

Smoker’s eyes widened in comprehension, then narrowed in annoyance. “Are you shittin’ me?!”

Rather than hear out their argument, Nami urgently tugged Law’s vest. “I think the Navy’s got this covered. They don’t need us getting in their way.”

The way the line of his mouth hardened indicated he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, however, when he noticed the three hardcover ledgers she’d scooped off the floor, he nodded in acceptance. Grabbing her free arm, he turned towards the door, but Harpin was already two steps ahead of them, a massive tentacle batting the safe off its pressure-sensitive tile as easily as a cat would tip over a glass of water. Iron grates shot down over the entrance and windows, cutting off their escape routes.

Before Law could use his Room to bypass the gate, another tentacle whipped forward, smashing into his spine and knocking him into a wall, dragging Nami along with him. It was only sheer instinct that allowed him to turn midair and shield the smaller pirate from the hard impact, but as she reoriented herself, she immediately began to panic.

“Law!” Nami shouted, frantically checking to make sure he was breathing. “Oh, God, please tell me you’re alright!”

“Fuck,” he hissed, cracking an eye open as his teeth grit against the pain.

At least he’s alive, she thought, heart thundering in her chest. “Can you move? Is anything broken?”

Despite the obvious distress he was in, he gave a weak smirk. “And here I thought I was the doctor.”

Behind them, Nami could hear Smoker shout “White Blow!” a sickening, squishy sound filling her ears as the blast made impact with Harpin’s rubbery head. Glancing over her shoulder, she found the Marine standing in front of her, thick white smoke billowing from his arms, the dense clouds wrapping around the flailing tentacles like manacles. “Hina, if we live through this, you’re buying me dinner! All you can eat seafood!”

“Fine, but I’ll skip the calamari,” Hina coughed, slamming her Kimono Sleeve into the open wound of the pinned-down club, smirking slightly when the Baron let out a pained scream. The halberd’s gash hadn’t been deep, but even a creature resilient to physical strikes wouldn’t like a metal pole shoved inside a cut.

Unfortunately, their moment of victory didn’t last long, as Harpin had another trick up his sleeve; flexing his stomach, a spray of inky mist filled the room, blinding the quartet of humans, distracting both Smoker and Hina enough that Harpin was able to wiggle his way out of their traps.

“Hahaha! What are you going to do now?” the giant squid gloated, grunts of pain sounding from the pair of Marines. The floor shook as something repeatedly slammed into it, tiles cracking followed by more groans. “You can’t see me, but you’re all easy enough to find; squid are designed to hunt in virtual darkness!”

“Not much of an advantage when you take up half the room, you freaky bastard,” Law wheezed.

Though she couldn’t see her companion, she could feel him gingerly trying pull himself into a sitting position beneath her. Ok, if he’s snarking, he should be ok, she assured herself as she blindly got to her feet. Muscle memory and familiarity allowed her to assemble her batons properly, and following Harpin’s maniacal laughter, Nami tossed her Clima-Tact in what she hoped was the right direction. “Cyclone Tempo!”

His angry shouts told her she’d hit her mark, and with the ink cleared from the air, she was able to blink away the black film that formed over her eyes. Vision cleared, she was startled to find both Smoker and Hina in his grasp, the serrated rings in his suckers puncturing their skin, the muscular tentacles squeezing them like a pair of toothpaste tubes. Smoker looked far worse for wear, and she understood why as the squid bashed him against the floor like a child trying to break a toy soldier during a tantrum.

Seeing the lone thief before him, Harpin laughed again, taking a break from abusing his former subordinate. “Seems it’s my lucky night; all my problems will be solved in one fell swoop! I can frame Trafalgar Law for Smoker and Hina-chan’s murders and for those little information leaks—the World Government will be happy to pin the blame on him over one of their own, especially if it means I won’t release some rather scandalous information to Big News Morgans. Those charges against me will be dropped in no time!” he cried joyously, a third arm plucking Law from the rubble behind Nami, giving all three of his victims a harsh squeeze. “Add in the arrest of all those pathetic fishermen and their families for ‘aiding’ the Heart Pirates, and I’ll finally have my beautiful island all to myself! No more low-class trash or eyesore shanties—just beautiful women and fancy parties!”

His enormous eyes zeroed in on his final opponent. “That just leaves you, Nami-chan. Since I’m in such a good mood, I’ll give you a choice; be handed over to the Navy with your boyfriend or stay as my pretty plaything. After the trouble you’ve caused me, I can’t promise I’ll be gentle, but I can assure you, it’ll be better than what they’ll have in store for you at Impel Down.”

As Law, Smoker, and Hina cried out in pain from the crushing pressure of Harpin’s grip, Nami ran through her options. The choices he’d offered weren’t even worth considering. She couldn’t run; even if she weren’t trapped, she couldn’t just leave Law and the two Marines to their fates, nor risk Harpin framing the innocent villagers for an attack they weren’t involved in. Bargaining was pointless as the Baron held all the cards. Nami considered pleading for mercy, but she was positive that it would do nothing but stoke the squid’s massive ego and possibly sign herself up for an even worse fate—if Harpin was willing to blackmail his own companions, who was to say he wouldn’t force her to commit any number of depraved acts for the sake of her companions’ lives?

Spying the remaining two barrels of gunpowder, she came to a decision. With a shout of “Cyclone Tempo!” she launched them at him, pleased when he instinctively knocked them aside with his last pair of uninjured tentacles. She had no intention of setting them off; there was too much of a chance that the others would get caught in the explosion.

They did, however, distract Harpin enough to let her dash the twenty feet she needed to reach the entrance.

“Did you forget about the gate, stupid girl?” he called mockingly as he realized where she’d run.

Instead of answering verbally, Nami smirked as she stomped her foot down on one of the tiles in the third row, praying that the mechanisms hadn’t been damaged during the battle.

The result was better than she could have hoped; a Seastone net the size of the room itself plummeted from the ceiling, smashing into the huge, hideous creature, narrowly missing Nami as she sprang back and squeezed her small body against the grate, taking advantage of the narrow shelter provided by the threshold. Loud groans from the four Devil Fruit users rang out, all their strengths sapped but the thick tentacles around the three humans loosening, their rubbery bulk also providing ample protection against the force of the heavy net.

“Cat Thief, I’m not sure if I hate you more or less than your captain right now,” Smoker wheezed. His forehead was bleeding, his nose looked broken, and his beefy body would probably be one big bruise in the morning, but he was still alive.

“Be grateful,” Nami panted, walking out into the room to collect the black ledgers. “Luffy would have punched him through the floor; I at least left the room intact.”

Either the Gods of Dramatic Irony decided such a statement couldn’t be left alone or Luffy had died and his ghost was haunting her, but beneath her feet, thin fissures began to form.

“Smoker,” Hina asked softly, “you memorized the blueprints of the mansion. What’s below us?”

Briefly, Law and Smoker shared a guilty glance. “The art gallery. Which Trafalgar and I might have briefly…tussled in.”

“Tussled?”

“I may have bashed his head into a potentially load-bearing pillar or two.”

“And I may have cut a few more,” Law added weakly.

As the cracks grew wider, Hina sighed. “And of course, below that is the spa, which has surely sustained massive water damage by now due to Smoker breaking the pipes.”

There was no way to deny it—from the battles to the bombs to the sabotage, the structural integrity of the room had been compromised. Comical tears streamed down Nami’s face as she collapsed to her knees. “We’re all gonna die.”

Trapped as they all were, there was no choice but to watch the cracks grow larger and larger before the floor finally broke apart like a jigsaw puzzle. Harpin’s much heavier bulk mixed with the force of gravity caused him to smash through the floors of two more ceilings, finally crashing into the first floor. His squishy body did provide ample cushioning for the Cat Thief, though, as she bounced off his elastic head, landing hard but safely on the floor.

When the smoke cleared, Nami realized that they’d landed at the far end of the ballroom. Most of the guests had chosen to use the room as a shelter instead of evacuating and possibly facing what they believed to be an angry mob of villagers, but Reginald had managed to herd them all into the corner closest to the entrance where it was safest, and conveniently away from the spot Harpin’s hulking form had landed.

Luck was once again briefly on the pirates’ side as the fall had also managed to dislodge Law from both the tentacle and the net, freeing him. Tired, dirty, but not as badly injured as assumed, he unsteadily got to his feet, grinning slightly when Nami immediately rushed to his side, juggling the books under her arm, ready to catch him if he fell.

“Are you ok?”

“Better than I was under the Seastone net,” he assured. “That was quick thinking back there. I’m just sorry you had to face him alone.”

“Is the crew ok?”

“Shachi’s team has some pretty bad injuries, but Penguin’s was able to evacuate them while I took on White Chase.”

She let out a sigh of relief. Of course he hadn’t abandoned her; the others had just been in more immediate danger. He wouldn’t have even left her in the first place if he hadn’t known they needed his help. And once he saw she was in trouble, he’d immediately saved her and was even apologizing for the fact that he hadn’t been there sooner.

He wasn’t Luffy, but she was grateful her temporary captain had her back.

Grey eyes shifted towards the small red circles that littered Nami’s skin, and she could see him taking stock of her various minor injuries. His glare intensified as it landed on the smaller rings wrapped around her upper thighs, his highly intelligent brain easily deducing what she’d gone through while he’d been off fighting Smoker. “Since we’re back in the ballroom, I guess I get to play the part of ‘jealous boyfriend’ again,” he said lowly, dark tone sending a shiver down her spine.

“What?”

Pulling out of her grasp, he nodded to the books under her arm. “Hold onto those while I thank the Baron for his hospitality; I’ve got just enough strength for two more big techniques.”

Bad as their own states were, their host was far worse off, the Seastone net still twisted around his bulbous head, pinning him to the floor as Hina and Smoker lay barely conscious in his limp tentacles. His beachball-sized eyes glared at the two pirates that had ruined his plans before bulging further as his guests began screaming in horror.

“Dear god, what is that thing?!” a woman cried, pointing at their host.

“What kind of monster has Harpin been keeping?”

“Gerald, must you show that form in public?” Beatrix shouted, appalled.

“Miss Bellemere, is that you?” Reginald called out. He must have recognized her mask, or at least Law standing next to her. His eyes widened as he took in her infamous tattoo and mikan hair. “Gracious, you’re a pirate?”

Somehow, despite the giant squid that had crashed through the ceiling, it was the word “pirate” that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

“Pirates are leading the villagers’ rebellion!”

“No, they must have murdered the townspeople and are now here for us!”

“Where are those Marines?”

“They’re trapped under the net with that monster!”

“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of this!” Kujakumaru shouted, grabbing Law’s fallen cane sword and lunging at Nami.

Exhausted though she was, she still had the strength to sidestep the untrained fop, tripping him before smacking him over the head with her Clima-Tact.

“Nice one,” Law chuckled as he staggered over to Harpin’s pinned form, a sadistic grin on his face as he stared down at the trapped former Intelligence Officer. “Weaklings like him are lucky to be left alive.”

“Law?” Nami murmured in concern, hovering slightly.

Glancing over his shoulder at her, Law’s eyes were filled with wicked excitement and pride. “I said I had the energy for two more techniques, didn’t I? Well, I’ve been looking for a decent subject to test this first one on. So good of Harpin to donate his body to science.”

Before Nami could reason with him to use his powers to get them out of there, a small blade of green, crackling energy formed in his hand. Without even a moment of hesitation, he stabbed it into Harpin’s big, watery eye.

“Gamma Knife!”

A violent tremor rocked the giant squid’s rubbery body as Harpin let out a truly inhuman shriek of agony, blue blood exploding from his beak before going completely still, the spark of life visibly fading in his eyes.

When Law started to sway, Nami grabbed him around the waist, looping his arm over her shoulder and letting him lean on her for support. “What was that?” she asked, voice somewhere between horror and awe.

Panting, he replied, “An attack I’ve been working on. Completely destroys the body from the inside. Figured it was the best way to finish that creep, since external damage wasn’t doing the job.”

Inside, she was torn. Harpin had been a monster, a lecherous creep, an asshole, and a very real danger to the world, Navy and Pirates alike, with the information he had. Even with Smoker and Hina’s testimonies and the ledgers as proof, his extensive connections with the World Government and Underworld meant there was no guarantee that, if left alive, he’d really pay for his crimes.

But in her entire time sailing with Luffy, she’d never seen her captain kill anyone. Not Arlong, Enel, or Crocodile. He left them a broken, bloody mess, dreams destroyed and helpless as the Navy sent them off to prison, but alive. The Straw Hat captain was a reckless fool and a pirate, but he wasn’t a murderer.

Law had just killed a man like it was nothing.

A little part of her wondered if he’d always been planning on taking Baron Harpin Gerald’s life, or if seeing the painful and suggestive marks on her skin had sealed his fate.

Conflicted as her feelings were, Nami didn’t allow her hold to loosen as Law slumped a little harder against her. She could feel his body tremble, his breath coming out in short, staggering pants, his heart pounding beneath her hand.

It seemed her unflinching support was appreciated, as Law gave a tired wink as he activated his Room, spreading it so widely she had to look out the window to see the faint blue edge at the far side of the island.

“What’s he doing?”

“Oh my God, he’s the Surgeon of Death!”

“We’re all going to die!”

Taking a deep breath, Law ignored the crowd’s panicked cries, softly murmuring, “Scan. Shambles.”

In a blink, the duo was whisked from the ballroom to the other side of the island, the Polar Tang waiting in the cove, the rest of the Heart Pirates immediately rushing forward to check on their captain. Law waved off their concerned questions, but Nami shrieked as she was dragged down to the sandy ground as he collapsed to his knees in exhaustion. Now she understood why he’d been against using his powers until necessary; doing all that on such a large scale, plus his fights with Smoker and Harpin, was draining.

Her concern only distracted her for so long, though. As she looked around, she realized they were surrounded by solid gold statues, jewelry, the buffet, the ledgers, and blessedly, her dress, leather wallets spilling out of the hidden pockets. Gleeful that not only were they alive but that he’d kept his promise, her grip around him shifted into a grateful hug, her lips unconsciously brushing against his cheek in thanks.

Law opened one exhausted eye. “Everyone start loading up the loot.” The last syllable barely left his lips before his eyes rolled back and he completely passed out in Nami’s arms, head lolling until it was squished against the Cat Thief’s chest.

“Captain!” the crew cried out.

Terrified that she might be holding a corpse, Nami pressed her fingers to his neck, heaving a massive sigh of relief when she felt a steady pulse. “He’s alive,” she assured the hovering pirates, attempting to shift the dead weight of their captain so he didn’t smother himself in her cleavage.

“Holy crap, Nami, you both look like shit!” Ikkaku said as she kneeled down to help, too concerned to even tease her about the fact that she hadn’t even hit Law for using her breasts as a pillow.

“It’s been a long night,” she sighed as they finally managed to maneuver him so he was lying flat on the ground. As if annoyed at the loss of his comfortable headrest, his brow furrowed briefly, but after a moment smoothed out as he fully succumbed to his exhaustion.

There was still work to be done, though, and Nami accepted her roommate’s proffered hand, letting her pull her to her feet. With a quick glance around, she raised an eyebrow. “Hey, there’s no way we can eat everything from the buffet before it goes bad. Load up what you can, but before we go, do you think you can help me get some of these leftovers to the town?”

“The Marines will be swarming the place within an hour.”

“Harpin’s call for backup was already denied and Smoker and Hina were barely conscious when we left. Even if they did wake up, they’re going to have their hands full up at the mansion. I don’t think we have to worry for a while yet.” Despite her stinging cuts, sore muscles, and flagging energy, Nami gave a cat-like grin. “In the meantime, the food’ll make an excellent bribe to convince the townsfolk not to tell them about these caves.”

Shaking her head in amusement, Ikkaku simply replied, “Whatever you say, Nami.”

XXX

Several hours later Nami staggered into her quarters, only pausing to check that all three black-bound ledgers were still on her desk before letting out a sigh of relief and collapsing into the vanity’s plush chair. The work had been non-stop; they’d been short-staffed in terms of loading up the treasure into the cargo hold. Even Nami had been roped into partaking in physical labor, barely even given enough time to drop off her dress and the ledgers and change into more sensible footwear before she’d been put to work.

It couldn’t be helped. The majority of Shachi’s group was recovering in the infirmary, the second mate’s wounds the worst with a broken arm and three cracked ribs. Bepo had seen him try to take on Smoker by himself to protect the others, and according to the bear, he’d be far worse off if Law hadn’t arrived in time to save him.

Speaking of, while Law could have moved all the food and treasure in an instant, it was universally agreed that they weren’t going to wait around for him to regain consciousness just so he could overuse his powers again. Penguin had even insisted on carrying him to his quarters before heading to infirmary to act as interim doctor, the First Mate piggybacking the taller man awkwardly, but refusing any help. It had been kind of sweet, watching him take such a big-brother role, and it confirmed in her mind that the crew cared for each other just as much as the Straw Hats did.

At least her own injuries hadn’t been too debilitating, and once they’d gotten everything they could into the ship Ikkaku had roped Bepo, Jean-Bart, and Clione into helping transport the remaining food into the town. Late as the evening was, the villagers had been absolutely in shock as they stumbled out of their shacks, staring at the massive feast that had been laid out before them. Several had even rubbed their eyes in disbelief, clearly thinking it was some kind of dream. Once they realized what was actually happening, though, the whole town had let out a cheer, and Nami had been blessed with a hug from the little girl from earlier, the child recognizing the thief’s jewelry and mischievous smile.

Nami was a bit sad to have to leave, as the townsfolk had asked the pirates to stay and celebrate the Baron’s downfall, but the navigator wasn’t going to squander that one-day head-start Hina had promised and had immediately ordered Jean-Bart to get them out into the open sea. Once Tokken Island was nothing more than a speck in the distance, she’d handed the reigns over to Bepo; he’d shyly informed her that Law had discussed an escape route and destination before the mission had even started.

Now she was back in her room, finally able to take a moment to herself. Ikkaku would be gone at least a few more hours; she’d insisted on monitoring the engine, making sure the additional weight of the treasure wouldn’t put too much strain on the ship. She’d given the hickey on Nami’s neck a meaningful look, though, and the navigator hadn’t even bothered trying to play it off as one of Harpin’s suction marks. Looking at it in the mirror, she knew that was the right call; only an idiot would assume the plum-colored blemish was in any way related to the bright red rings.

“Pervy jerk,” she grumbled, tearing her eyes from the hickey to focus on wiping off her makeup. “Maybe Ikkaku has a cute scarf I could borrow.”

A brief knock interrupted her musings, so she called out “Come in!” assuming it was Bepo asking for her input on their heading. To her surprise, it was Law who sidled through the door. He was once more in his normal hoodie and spotted jeans, colored contacts gone, dark circles proudly visible under his eyes. The black hair dye was still in, but it would likely be fully washed out and back to its original midnight blue in no more than a week.

“Here for your hat?” Nami asked, indicating the black-spotted accessory on the bed. She’d noticed it when she’d dropped off her things and had planned on returning it in the morning. Even she wasn’t mean enough to disturb an exhausted swordsman just to get his hat out of her room.

Plopping the fuzzy accessory onto his head, Law stood behind the back of her chair, pulling something from his jeans pocket. “Among other things.”

The cool touch of gold made goosebumps rise across her collarbone, and she gasped as she recognized Beatrix’s extravagant, heart-shaped diamond necklace as it settled against her throat.

“Is this—?”

“Let it never be said Dr. Goodheart doesn’t spoil his woman,” he chuckled in her ear as he secured the delicate clasp behind her neck. “Consider it my payment for being my date tonight. I estimate that yellow diamond alone is worth at least ten times the forty-five million belli I accrued for three hours of your company. You can count the other thirty diamonds as reparations for dealing with such a shit host.”

Unbidden, a tiny smile came to her lips. She was good at reading between the lines, and this was definitely Law’s way of begging forgiveness for the absolute shitshow she’d endured because he’d left. To be honest, it wasn’t necessary. After hearing about the state Shachi was in, she couldn’t bring herself to blame him—if that had been Usopp or Sanji or Robin, she’d have done the same.

Not that she was going to let him know that. He might take the necklace back.

“Hmmm, I guess it’s acceptable,” she replied coyly, admiring herself in the mirror. The diamonds sparkled elegantly in the light, the pale yellow heart resting precisely in the divot of her collarbone. “Though with all the chaos, I’m impressed even thought to grab it when we left.”

Behind her, Law’s wide grin was devious and self-satisfied. “Oh, no, I grabbed it when I set the curtain on fire. Even if I came away with nothing else, I was making damn sure I got this after that crazy bitch had the gall to insult you.”

Oddly flattered that he’d put in the effort to get her such a luxurious gift and revenge on the woman who’d dared to call her “cheap,” Nami gave him a soft, genuine smile. She wouldn’t even sell it, since he was being so sweet. “Thank you. It’s gorgeous.”

“You carry it better than she does, anyway,” he replied, thumb idly rubbing little circles on her shoulders. “I think you should wear it to the next party.”

Without the gloves, his hands were deliciously warm against her skin and it was oddly nice to see the tattoos on his fingers again. Like the bags under his eyes, they were such a familiar part of him that she’d unconsciously begun to miss. “Hard pass. Tonight was a clusterfuck, and I think I’ll stick to hitting bars. At least there I can beat the crap out of the horny assholes dumb enough to grope me.”

“Fair.” Carefully turning her chair around, he pulled a small first-aid kit out of his hoodie pocket. From the little white box he removed some gauze, antiseptic, and medical tape. Pouring a bit of the clear alcohol onto a small square of white cotton, he gently dabbed at the scabbed-over cuts on her clavicle. “I promised I’d clean these up when we got back to the ship, and I wanted to get a better look at those suction marks. Did you even bother getting these checked over earlier?” he scolded.

Red crept across her face as she realized she’d completely forgotten about her own injuries. “Shachi’s team needed the medical attention way more than me; I figured I could wait until they were out of the woods.” She winced as the sting of alcohol irritated Beatrix’s claw marks but knew better than to complain.

“Of course. It had nothing to do with you being distracted by piles of treasure.” After carefully taping a wide gauze bandage over the cuts, he turned his attention to the sucker marks. His frown darkened as he got a better look at the rings across her thighs. “In the interest of doing my job as your doctor, I have to ask; were all the injuries you received from Harpin external, or should I scan you for internal trauma?”

Her eyes widened and the blood drained from her cheeks as she registered what he was suggesting. “No I…I’m fine. He didn’t…I mean, he groped me and I’m sure if Hina hadn’t arrived—”

Law held up his hand, halting her uncomfortable stammering. “Again, I’m truly sorry you had to deal with him on your own. I knew he was a creep and a pervert, but I swear I thought he was a normal human—someone you could hold off on your own if necessary.”

“It’s ok,” she assured, anxiously rubbing her arms. She really didn’t want to dwell on what Harpin could have done to her if Hina hadn’t shown up. Given the Marine’s willingness to release her from his lecherous grasp, Nami wondered if she’d been in that position herself, or at least seen comrades treated similarly. After all, he had at least a hundred reported accusations of sexual harassment against him. The Navy really needed to stop giving such monsters seats of power. “I guess I should be flattered that you had faith in me to take out a former Marine officer.”

“I promise to never make that mistake again. Once things have settled down, we’re beginning combat training. Your weather attacks are impressive, but they won’t work in every situation,” he said seriously as he turned his focus to her wrists. Taking a silver tube out of his hoodie’s pocket, he squirted a small amount of thick, grey cream into his palm before massaging it into the thumbprint-sized rings. Cool and slightly minty, Nami could immediately feel it begin to soothe her sore muscles and stinging marks.

“I’m pretty sure the odds are good that we’ll never run into another squid-guy,” she joked weakly.

“True, and I suppose he could have been so much worse.”

“How?”

“Did you know several species of squid are cannibals?”

Stomach churning in disgust, her mind frantically fought against the images that tried to wrestle their way into the forefront of her mind. “Ew ew ew! Oh god, how do you even know that?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in amusement as he worked the cream into the larger circles on her upper arms. “When you spend a lot of time in a submarine, one of the main ways to pass the time is studying the habits of underwater creatures. Clione’s even started writing a book about some of the things we’ve seen.”

“Ugh! Remind me to never read it!”

Squeezing another dollop of cream into his palm, he chuckled. “I make no such promise as his research has been extremely beneficial. Right now, he’s studying a skin and blood sample from one of my own sucker marks to be safe, but he assures me that giant squid aren’t venomous. I am ordering you to report any dizziness, shortness of breath, swelling, or other unusual symptoms, though.”

“Fine,” she sighed as he let go of her arms to crouch between her legs. She jerked violently as his long fingers wrapped around her calf, leg kicking out while her heart hammered against her chest with instinctual panic. With the cream coating his skin, the sensation was far too similar to the texture of Harpin’s tentacles slithering across her flesh. Law must have drawn a similar conclusion, as he mumbled an apology, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm.

Nami immediately felt guilty and mentally berated herself. Sure, Law could be forward, but she knew he was no threat compared to Harpin. Yes, he flirted and stared, but if the disgust he showed towards the mere possibility that she’d been sexually assaulted was anything to go by, he wasn’t that kind of threat. She had no reason to be afraid of him.

Taking a few calming breaths, she met his eyes, nodding down at her leg. “It’s fine. Go ahead, doctor.”

As if she were a skittish doe, he slowly and cautiously placed his hand on her shin, pleased when she remained completely still, even though he could still feel the tension in her muscles. Slow and gentle, he focused on massaging it into her left calf with both hands, keeping his hands where she could see them.

“So,” he began, glancing up at her from his place on the floor, “where are you taking me for dinner?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, eyes locked on the way his fingers splayed out and he rubbed careful, broad circles over each contusion. It seemed he was doing everything he could to make his hands feel as different from the invasive tentacles as possible.

“The dinner you owe me for losing the bet.”

“Fucking excuse you?” she snapped, sitting up straight in her chair so she could properly glare down at him.

A dark eyebrow raised in challenge, though only amusement danced in his amber eyes. “You only got seven wallets before escaping the ballroom. That means you’re paying for our victory dinner.”

“Um, no, I grabbed six more as I ran out,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“Did you really?”

“Yes!”

“Too bad you can’t prove it.”

“My word’s enough!”

“It’s absolutely adorable that you think I’d trust your word when money’s on the line.”

Furious though she was, she knew he had a point and she really couldn’t prove that she which wallets were stolen when, so she switched tactics. “That reminds me; you owe me an extra fifty million belli for your shitty intel, and no, the necklace doesn’t count towards that.”

“Do you accept gold bars?”

She blinked, surprised. “Um, sure.”

A narrow shoulder lifted in a relaxed shrug “Then you’ll get your payment after I get that ugly-ass squid statue melted down on Knox Island.”

“You grabbed that?” She’d noticed a few gold statues being loaded up, but in the excitement of all that treasure, she hadn’t really registered that it was the one from Harpin’s office.

“I decided I deserved a bonus for everything I’ve put up with tonight, though I grabbed just about everything of value I could. Even if we couldn’t fit it all in the cargo hold, stealing and scattering Harpin’s possessions throughout the island will make it harder for the authorities to figure out what we actually took until after we’ve sold it.”

“Good thinking.”

His smug grin made it clear he knew exactly how clever he was. A more liberal dollop of cream filled his palm, and without even asking he began massaging it into her right thigh. It only then registered that throughout their argument, he’d finished treating both her calves without her even noticing, if the cool tingle dancing across her skin was anything to go by. He’d easily managed to distract her from his actions, and she must have unconsciously gotten used to the feeling of his hands on her legs, as she barely twitched when his calloused palms touched her.

Unfortunately, she now had a different problem—he was intimately close, hands thoroughly rubbing the cream into the sensitive flesh of her thighs, and hot blood immediately rushed to her cheeks as she took in the picture the handsome captain made kneeling between her spread legs.

“What is that stuff, anyway?” she asked, trying to keep herself distracted, though this time for very different reasons.

“It’s a special salve I developed. It soothes the pain, plus speeds up the healing process. I’ve found it’s damn good on welts, bruises, contusions, and other unseemly blemishes.”

“How do you make it?”

“It’s plant-based, actually. I found a unique type of aloe on a jungle island, among several other interesting medicinal plants. That’s actually why I’m so invested in your greenhouse idea; I’d like to plant some of the seeds so I can replenish my stores once they run low.”

He may be a pirate, but he definitely takes his medical duties seriously, she thought with a hint of fondness.

Nami noticed then that, despite how suggestive his position was and how risqué the area he was massaging the thick cream into might have been, his actions were cold and clinical. He was in full-on doctor mode, all his focus on treating a patient.

It also didn’t escape her attention that, once more, he didn’t seem to be moved by the amount of skin on display. She was still in her skimpy bodysuit, and considering how many times she’d caught Uni, Clione, and others staring at her and sporting nosebleeds, she knew she looked sexy as hell, even with the sucker marks. She knew he wasn’t as easily impressed by women as the others, but did he find the marks that repulsive? Maybe the others just hadn’t been able to properly see them in the moonlight, or they’d been too fixated on her chest to notice.

Except Law also didn’t seem to be flirting with her as much as she’d expected. Hadn’t even teased her about the kiss, or even seemed aware that he’d passed out on her boobs earlier. Was he too focused to bother? Too tired? Or was he just not interested now that she was practically naked?

Deciding to test the waters as he switched to her other thigh, she quipped, “I don’t suppose that stuff works on hickeys, does it?”

“Oh, there’s not a chance in Hell this stuff’s going anywhere near your neck,” he said, glancing up at her with a tired but devilish smile. “I worked hard on that mark, and you’re going to wear it with pride.”

Ok, that was more like the Law she’d gotten used to, annoying as he was. “No, I’m going to slather it with concealer until it goes away on its own.”

His hands stilled their motions as his voice dropped an octave. “If I think you’ve put even a speck of makeup on that hickey, Nami-ya, I may have to leave something a little more…obvious.”

She swallowed hard, red tinging her cheeks. She wasn’t quite she what he had in mind, but she knew better than to ask when he started to get that hungry glint in his eyes. After all, if the hickey was payback for her sunburn prank, his punishment for covering it up was probably the kind of kinky shit Robin had told her about after a few too many glasses of wine on girls’ night.

Forcing away those kinds of thoughts, she huffed, “Fine, I’ll leave it alone. You’re just lucky I’m in a good mood from all the treasure we got.”

Salve thoroughly worked into her skin, Law finally stood. “Things might not have gone exactly as I planned, but in the end, I’d call tonight a success.” He strolled over to her desk, picking up the black ledger marked “Intel,” casually thumbing through it with a pleased grin. “Especially since we got what we came for. More, even.” He tsked sarcastically, grin stretching wider as he took in the various reports and formulas. “Look at all this classified information. The Navy should really send us a thank-you card for taking this away from an unscrupulous bastard like Harpin. I mean, who knows what kind of chaos could be stirred up if it got leaked to the Underworld?”

The sharp, maniacal gleam in his eyes sent tremors down Nami’s spine. “It…definitely could cause problems.”

“Absolutely. Imagine how people would react if they saw what Vegapunk and his subordinates got up to? Why, there’s a whole chapter here on the experiments performed on Punk Hazard—looks like a scientist named Caesar created a chemical weapon that nearly destroyed the whole island. And look,” he chuckled, turning the book to show Nami a complicated chemical formula, “there’s even a recipe.”

It suddenly dawned on Nami that as dangerous as such intel was with Harpin, Law might not be much better. He wasn’t like Luffy, who was too good-natured and direct to even consider using such backhanded means against the Navy. Nor was he like Arlong, who would have been too stupid to understand the scientific intel and instead focused on selling the blackmail. Robin and Franky were smart enough to understand and potentially use it, but they had the morals not to, especially if their captain was against it.

Law was intelligent, ambitious, connected, and unscrupulous. It was clear he had some sort of plan for what was in those books, and Nami wasn’t sure she liked it. These weren’t just military codes or dossiers on shichibukai.

This was the kind of stuff that could start an arms race.

White teeth sank into her lower lip. “Considering how dangerous that information is, then, I think we should get rid of those ledgers.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, Hina may have only been specifically ordered to retrieve his blackmail materials, but Harpin was already being investigated for leaking classified intel to the Underworld—if the Navy thinks we took more than just gold, they’ll send every Fleet Admiral after us with extreme prejudice. We’re better off dumping them at a Marine base so they won’t consider us a threat.”

“Are you seriously saying you want me to give them back?” Gold eyes flashed with anger, and after hours of staring at the more muted grey, Nami found them all the more intense. She jumped when he slammed the book down onto the desk. “I did not fight a giant squid and nearly get my crew killed for nothing!”

“Wha—it wasn’t nothing! We got all that treasure—”

So quick she could have sworn he used his powers, Law was back in front of her. Long, tattooed fingers harshly grasped the back of the chair, trapping her in her seat. “I’ve told you before; I don’t give a shit about money. The information in those books is more valuable to me than everything in that mansion combined,” he sneered.

Brown eyes widened at his change of tone as she shrank back, immediately on-guard as his threatening aura surrounded her. “Look, Law, I know it’s been a rough night, but you have to listen to me; we can’t let that intel out into the world. I hate the World Government just like any other pirate, but if the Underworld gets hold of those blueprints and formulas, they’re not going to just be used on Marines—innocent civilians will be caught in the crossfire. There will be massacres across the Grand Line, wars could start—”

Leaning in so close their noses nearly touched, his glaring irises filled her vision. “Innocent civilians also get slaughtered to cover up the World Government’s crimes. I’ve seen genocide carried out because of greedy bastards who would rather kill thousands than admit they’d poisoned an entire city. That’s just the way it is, Nami-ya; the weak don’t get to decide how they die.”

Manicured nails dug into the armrests. For a moment she considered backing down, but all she could imagine was all the inevitable death that would come if she allowed that intel to find its way into the wrong hands. Swallowing hard, she replied, “You…sound like you speak from experience. Are you saying that if someone could have stopped that massacre, you would have told them not to?”

“It might never have happened in the first place if the truth that Amber Lead wasn’t contagious hadn’t been covered up!”

She gasped. She’d heard about Amber Lead and the tragedy of Flevance, but was he saying there was more to it than the world had been told? It wouldn’t surprise her, but…

Wait, he’d said he’d published papers on the effects of lead poisoning in children, she thought with dawning understanding. Had he discovered some government conspiracy, some sanctioned cover-up that had led to the genocide of the White City during his research? Was that why he wanted to out their secrets? Why he became a pirate instead of a doctor?

“There’s a difference between releasing information about a disease and selling weapons, though,” she said quietly, desperately hoping her uncombative tone would calm him down. “If those ledgers have methods for curing a disease, by all means, spread the word, but you know as well as I do that the formula to a weaponized gas in the wrong hands will bring nothing but disaster. And if innocent lives aren’t enough to convince you, think of your crew; aside from the Navy coming after you, how do you know whoever you sell that formula to wouldn’t immediately use it to take you out? After all, you could easily play both sides and sell them out for double the profit. A smart man would see Trafalgar Law and the Heart Pirates as their biggest threat and act accordingly.”

The grip on the chair behind her audibly tightened, and Nami was reminded that this wasn’t Luffy, or Usopp, or even Zoro she was dealing with; Law was a pirate known for his sadism and didn’t have her nakama’s qualms against killing. For a brief, terrifying moment, she feared he might shift his hands to crush her throat, but after a few slow, calming breaths, he dropped his arms and backed away.

His tone was significantly lighter as he stated, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding—I’m not looking to sell any of the intel in those books. Especially not the weapons research. It’s fascinating and will make for great bedtime reading, but at most it’s a passing curiosity. Something to entertain me on sleepless nights.”

“Then why go through all the trouble to get those ledgers?” she asked nervously.

“Because they have information I need to achieve my dream.”

“Information that’s worth the Navy and Underworld coming after you?”

The trademark smug smirk returned to his lips. “Concerned for my safety? I really must be growing on you.”

Pale hands fisted on her knees as she glared up at him. “After tonight, people are going to realize I’m sailing with the Heart Pirates; that means for the next year, your enemies are my enemies.”

“True, and we’re both smart enough to know that it’s better to avoid trouble.” As if sensing her need for more space, he backed up until he was leaning against her desk. “If you’re worried about Black Cage, I’m happy to compromise—we’ll take a photo of you burning the Personal ledger and send it to the nearest Navy base. That’s the one I’m the least interested in, and it should lower our threat level in their eyes.”

It wasn’t a bad plan. Blackmail and personal information on the Admirals was generally easier to sell and distribute than scientific research, as even a dummy could recognize their value. If the Marines saw they’d destroyed that, they’d likely assume they’d done the same with the rest so long as the secrets never got out. “What about the rest of it?”

“Like I said, I’m not looking to release anything dangerous, but I see no reason not to study it myself in case we ever encounter those weapons. If I can understand how a poisonous gas works, it’s easier to develop a cure, and that’s something I could certainly bid off to interested parties in the Underworld, or maybe the Revolutionaries would be willing to make me an offer.”

After the way he’d been acting, he was sounding a little too reasonable, instantly raising alarms in her mind. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“After everything we’ve been through tonight, you still doubt me?”

“Yes.”

He frowned briefly but didn’t seem surprised. Then again, he’d just lashed out at her over a misunderstanding—he’d be an idiot to assume she’d blindly trust his word. “I appreciate your honesty, at least. I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to prove myself.” Picking up the ledgers, he playfully tipped his hat. “Of course, I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t trust leaving these with you. You might do something stupidly noble like destroy them before I can get what I need.”

“And what exactly is it you need?” she pressed.

As he opened the door, he grinned over his shoulder. “Now I’m not sure you’ve earned that information, Nami-ya, but you have time to change my mind. If you manage to show me I can trust you by the time we reach the Isles of Grimm, I’d be happy to discuss it over dinner. I’ll even concede the bet as a show of good faith.”

Much as she wanted to argue, the navigator knew better than to risk sailing back into a storm. Law had proven that night that he was loyal to those he worked with and wasn’t completely without honor. On the other hand, he was still willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted, and anyone who got in his way would suffer his wrath. He had his own morals and plans—ones that might not coincide with hers.

Most importantly, he had the book on the shichibukai. It was clear he wouldn’t let her near the ledgers if he thought she might use the opportunity to double-cross him. If she had any hope of getting the information she sought on Jinbei and Kuma, she’d have to play nice and not rock the boat until she had her opening.

“Fine. But you’re going to have to work a little harder at earning my trust too, Trafalgar. I mean it when I say I don’t want any of those weapons specs finding their way to the Black Market.”

“A reasonable enough request. Now get some sleep, Nami-ya. If those marks haven’t faded in the next twenty-four hours, come to the infirmary for more salve.”

On that doctorly order he closed the door, leaving a concerned and confused navigator to stew over the night’s events.

19 notes · View notes

taeverie · 7 years

Text

Against the Current [m]

“Ready to catch a wave? Or perhaps catch the moves I’ll make on you?” Taehyung beams.

“No thanks, surf bum,” you take a step back, already ambling to the group of locals, “You know I’m not surprised that your macking is smoother than your surf.”

“My… what?” He tilts his head, trying to sort out his thoughts as you walk away.

Synopsis: After beating Taehyung in the national surfer’s competition he strives to top you — in more ways than one, of course. He just never expected that he would catch feelings for you along the way, just in time for the next championship.

[cr.]

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader // surfers au

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Humor

Word Count: 43.7k

A/N: second re-upload :’) enjoy!! i really enjoyed writing this out, haha. really, thank u ps for dealing with my screaming over this

The sound of waves crashing onto the shore roars over the distant cheers of Taehyung’s friends. Taehyung is sitting on his board, painstakingly close near the deep end of the ocean and waiting for the perfect wave to settle itself onshore. The warm rays of sun are beaming down onto him in this late afternoon, kissing his skin and providing it with a flawless glow.

Taehyung feels his anticipation rise, excitement pushing itself towards its peak the moment his eyes fall on the incoming ten footer. He inhales a deep breath of the refreshing sea breeze, salt meeting his senses and intoxicating his mind entirely. He now lays prone on the board, feet dangling by the tail as he paddles slowly to the overhead wave. The exclamations from his buddies on shore are shut out, nothing but white noise now as Taehyung focuses on the waves and nothing more.

He squints his eyes when the scene begins to unravel, salt already stinging his two orbs just by being present at the tempestuous sea. Under the scorching sun on an early morning, the deep blue beckoning him in every way, it truly is a perfect surf. The wave starts its pursuit as a breaker, speed kicking up and aching to crash with the shore like all its other smaller motions. Surf has never been so great — never has been so outstanding — until this summer. The waves are typically nothing more but small dawns, providing only quick glides and sudden wipeouts that are caused by furious winds. Though in this case, it is the polar opposite.

And it is just in perfect time for the annual surfer’s competition, Stoked, in two days.

Stoked is the most exciting event of the year that all surfers from the country travel to the west beach for. The west beach carries the best surf: waves gargantuan and leveled, especially in the summer. Suspense runs through their veins as they watch other competitors unravel themselves with the home of the sea, hunger present in their blood. The grand prize? Tabloids and reporters soaring to the winner and bombarding them with picky questions to make headlines, news articles — everything. Oh, and a twenty-five thousand dollar check.

It is the event that competitors spend years preparing for, if ‘years’ is somehow enough to make it to the top ten. Practice is arduous, endless, and one’s mind would be just as awashed as the sea alone from the time dedicated to score a spot in the top ten.

Taehyung’s palms quickly sail to the recently waxed surface of his board, a dull sticky feeling spreading on this palms, and props himself onto his feet when the wave gains its height. The sea’s beckoning creation is more heavy than what he thought, raging water almost mocking him, tantalizing him.

Standing goofy-foot and back facing the sand, he begins to carve right and attempt his best at acting in the flow of the motion. Throughout the duration he is expertly weaving him and his trusty board fluidly against the ocean. Once he gains a stable momentum, power starts to surge within his chest.

He glances for a split second at the position of his feet on his nine-foot-five board, perfect for control and large turns, before directing his full attention to the love he is grinding on the wave. Taehyung easily eases into the rhythm, savouring the bitter air and water as it splashes onto his skin — the best sensation he is more than happy to experience with a series of cascades in the ocean.

The drag disrupts his flow, resisting the turns that Taehyung wants to commit, and he shifts his weight to twist the board high, aiming for the top of the breaker. Saving his fall, he creates an aerial by dropping down on the same wave. Past the lingering salt his hand grips onto the board for stability, controlling the rotation as he squints his eyes through the mist. Salt begins to layer on his lashes and kiss his lips, a taste he is all too familiar with as he diverges his time into the raw power of the sea.

The sea is singing its song, tune swimming in his ears to urge him to do another trick while the water is still grand. Barely giving himself time to think, he smiles to himself and starts to bend his knees more. A rodeo — he is preparing himself to do a rodeo, one of the hardest tricks in surfer’s time. He positions his feet, steadies his position, and starts to guide the board to the top of the breaker once more as he grips onto the edges tightly. With his feet glued onto the wax of the board he kicks up, gaining the momentum to spur off the angry ocean and within seconds he views the world upside-down.

Though, seconds is all it takes for him to realize his mistake: he did not carry all of his weight throughout the motion and it has disrupted the force, causing him to wipe out into the water head first. Everything runs muted in his ears, his hair rippling like seaweed under the surface. His board bobs up first, the board’s leash tugging on Taehyung’s ankle to push him back to the open air which he gasps for the second he feels the whip of the cold breeze.

He paddles to his board, arms draping over it as he brings himself back onshore. God, he already expects the laughter and petty jests that will come from his friends the moment his toes meet the sand. Taehyung moves his board under his arm, grip still firm as he dashes to his friends that have been hyping him the entire session despite his failure.

One of his friends near him, a bright smile on his face when he asks, “Sick wipeout. That was totally overhead, yet you still tried to do a rodeo?”

Taehyung laughs airily, his other arm soaring to scratch the back of his neck. “Of course I tried, Jimin. That’s the final trick I want to do for the competition.”

“Hey,” chimes in another friend, Seokjin. “You were pretty far out this time too. I caught the way you twisted the wrong way the first time, don’t act like I didn’t see it! You looked like a total hodad.”

Taehyung roots his board into the sand and raises his arms in defeat. “Sorry I acted like a complete newbie, but the current was insane.”

“True.” Seokjin laughs. “I should have warned you about the tide. But hey, lifeguard duty calls elsewhere.”

“You’re just lazy for a lifeguard,” Taehyung points out. “Always on babe watch, right?”

Seokjin merely laughs, brushing the truth of his comment away.

Jimin chuckles and loops his arm around Taehyung’s neck, ruffling his wet hair. “You do realize that if you pull of that move during the competition it’s an instant win, right?”

Taehyung grins. “Of course I do, which is why I have been practicing for ages.”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “Ages, yet you still haven’t landed it. It will honestly look gnarly, or—” he crosses his arms— “like you’re trying to do a fancy feast.”

“‘Fancy feast,’ my ass. I have to go over the top, and why would it matter when I win?”

“You act like you don’t win the competition every year.” Seokjin rolls his eyes.

Jimin steps away from Taehyung and stretches his arms into the sky. “True,” he directs his attention to the younger boy, “you’ve scored first place for five years straight, can we just accept the fact that this is your legacy?”

“My legacy will be the day I land the rodeo on national television, where everybody can witness it with their own eyes.” Taehyung’s own two orbs glimmer with hope, golden aspirations running through his mind. They are not wrong though; Taehyung has won the annual surf competition five years in a row. Oh, and as the youngest competitor as well.

The first year everyone was rendered aghast, shocked to the core from sheer disbelief that someone that stood on equal par to a newbie had stolen first place. News reporters flooded to and fro, each aching to catch a scoop with the Kim Taehyung. And ever since that event, his life had never been the same. He met other surfers, lifeguards — developed a friendship with almost everybody who lives on the beach and shared the same passion.

And of course, he started to win Stoked every year it rolled along.

And this summer is no different.

Jimin snaps Taehyung out of his reverie, questioning him, “The bonfire is going to start in a bit; the sun is beginning to set. Shouldn’t you clean up some more?”

Taehyung shrugs. “I seem fine, just a little sand in my shorts.”

Seokjin takes a step away from his friends. “You both should at least put on a new pair of shorts—you guys reek of darn squid.”

The boys all exchange similar glances of jocularity before bursting into a fit of laughter, a sound similar to bubbles gracefully rising in the ocean.

“Fine,” Taehyung says and begins to dash off the sand. “Jimin, let’s go change so we don’t miss anything.”

Seokjin smiles. “We’ll be next to the post. If you’re late then you’ll miss out on all the food!”

–

As the sun drips its golden rays into the night, stars rising whilst, Taehyung and Jimin return from their rinse, tossing on a cleaner pair of shorts and a tee. The midsummer night is warm, almost temperate and welcoming — the same as always to Taehyung.

Every Wednesday night Taehyung and his group of friends would linger around the beach after hours, tossing a raging bonfire as a night to alleviate all the stress, worries, and weight from the world. It is a night where everyone comes together — where those who share a love for the sea can drink, sing, or waste the night away in the comfort of each other’s company. It is one of Taehyung’s favorite aspects about living on the west beach, the perceptible closeness everybody has with one another.

Jimin tugs on Taehyung’s wrist, dragging him on the sand until they near the gentle flame. It brings a smile on his face when his friends wreath around the rising fire. Their skin glows scarlet and gold, iris’ reflecting the flickering sparks. “So,” Taehyung’s friend clears his throat, “The first round of the competition is on Friday. Nervous?”

Taehyung can only chuckle, grabbing a beer from the cooler.. “Hoseok, I’m always nervous when the season of Stoked rolls around; you know, despite me always winning. Are you competing this year?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Not this year, buddy. I haven’t practiced in ages and I feel like a barney.”

“Hey.” Taehyung comments, “With your years of skill you can never deem as untalented.”

“I’ll be relying on you to keep up the title of the west beach—we all will.” Hoseok downs a beer, drinking away the night as if tomorrow will not arrive.

Usually in moments like these Taehyung would assure their worries, flaunting his wins that maintain the pristine title of the west beach; after all, that is where the champion, himself, is from. But for some reason he cannot pull himself to parade his accomplishments, almost as if there is something anchoring in his chest to hold his words back.

It almost feels like this moment is the calm before a tempest.

And it is quickly disturbed when Seokjin chokes on his drink, eyes glued onto his cell phone after reading some news. Everyone’s eyes raise, pondering and questioning what shocked him in ways that a storm warning does not. “T-the lineups,” Seokjin begins. “The lineups of the competition are released for the first round.”

Taehyung crosses his eyebrows together and begins to skirt the area to get at Seokjin’s bare feet. His toes dig into the sand, anticipation running through his veins as Taehyung asks, “What’s the big deal? Are they not the same as every other year? A new name, or unknown?”

“A-a new name to you guys,” he stammers. “But I know her.”

Silence chases the situation like a boom of lightning has taken place, the only sound being the crackle from the bonfire. Sparks fly above everyone’s once vivacious bodies and the dull of the world appears to drown back on their Wednesday night. “Who is she?” Taehyung questions.

“Y/N,” Seokjin informs everyone, head turning in every which way. Confused looks are being sketched on people’s faces, puzzling expressions exchanging with each other when the name alone does not ring a bell — almost as if she is as relevant as one of the sparks flying up into the night.

It takes a moment but Hoseok stands up, steady. “Wait,” he shakes his head again, “isn’t Y/N your ex-girlfriend, Jin?”

Seokjin nods his head and swallows his breath, almost nervous.

“I didn’t even know she could surf!” Hoseok raises his arms into the air, almost like he is defeated. Taehyung stands beside Seokjin, dumbfounded on who you are — your name has not once circulated the sphere of the surfer’s paradise, so how on earth are you participating in a gloried competition?

“Neither did I…” Seokjin admits.

“Wow.” Jimin laughs. “No wonder she broke up with you. You didn’t even know she had a talent on the water.”

Laughter rises among the crowd again and Seokjin’s face flushes red. “Hey,” he bites back, “this is exactly why we couldn’t work. She told me she never really had an interest in the sport before, so I guess she’s… new?”

Taehyung groans. “If she’s ‘new’ then why is she in the competition?”

“Why does it matter?” Seokjin laughs nervously, the thought of you sending shivers down his spine. “You’re going to win anyway. Trust me on this, not once has she ever shown any interest in surfing while we were together last year.”

Taehyung sighs, taking his friend’s words into consideration. Last year, Seokjin says. The year that Taehyung invested every ounce of his time into practicing for all the upcoming contests and competitions. He never found much time to hangout with his friends, go out with his crew — he always practiced on the water, found a home within the sea, and embraced it. Frankly, he improved greatly; but there is a periwinkle of curiosity that pricks at his mind asking, what if he met you last year?

Your name alone plays in his mind over and over like a broken record, sparking his interest and he barely knows anything about you. Is it the way you are enrolled into Stoked by being a new surfer, or if it is because you are Seokjin’s ex-girlfriend? Probably not the latter; Taehyung never had an interest in love tied with others, for every fraction of that sentiment is poured out into the wide arms of the sea.

Whatever, it probably is not anything he needs to worry about. All he has to do is land that onerous move and the competition is his from the start.

Taehyung decides to drown out the dawn of his worries concerning you with another beer, hoping that they will disappear like the smoke that rises in the air.

–

When Taehyung wakes the next day the first thing that pops into his mind is your name. He groans, forearm resting on his forehead when he tries to match any of the previous surfers to your face, but nothing can pair together. Though, Taehyung is more puzzled from the fact that your incoming presence is irking him. If you are competing in Stoked, then you need to have some talent running in your blood; he just does not understand.

How can someone who has only been surfing for two years able to participate in the largest competition?

Bursting his own thoughts, Taehyung slides out of his bed and prepares for another day of sun.

There is only one more day before the competition; that is one last chance for Taehyung to score his winning move for tomorrow. He shuts out his distractions, refusing to contact his friends, and heads out to the shore earlier than usual. The untimely sun remains blazing, waves more on the calmer side until noon, and Taehyung takes a deep breath in preparation for the event.

Gawking out into the open the wide ocean blue beckons him.

And so he goes.

He paddles on his other board, a simple shorty no more than seven and a half feet — after all, he does need the control to pull off his planned trick. His toes bob in and out of the water as he lays prone, the cold mist pressing on his skin. He duckdives with every dawn of a wave, the whitewater overhead and he holds his breath until he is at the back of the breaker. The chill of the water shakes his senses awake, goosebumps rising on his skin either from the thought of the trick, or the cold sea alone.

He narrows his gaze once he is far out, catching a double up. Taehyung gulps, watching the two waves combine into a powerful single with twice the energy. Once it nears Taehyung’s anxious self, he pops up and begins to force his way into carving. The wave feels shallower than normal, a more hollow wave than others, steeper for the most part. And Taehyung does not feel in control.

He tries to maintain his drive, control unstable as he weaves up and down the raging body of water — it results into a constant fleeting of drag and drive. God, why did he not just commit a drop in? To initially go down the face of the water after catching it is typically the smarter choice; but Taehyung, he practically committed the sin of surfing etiquette.

Nonetheless, he still attempts to force his rodeo. Taehyung grits his teeth together, eyes barely open as he braids his way past the arduous movement of the water. He puts most of his mind into the particulars: no wind, a simple overhead double, and he needs the perfect amount of kick to gain the right momentum so he can end the rodeo flawlessly. He can already hear it, the cheers of his name, surfers worldwide crying for him, or so he wishes — just because he has landed one of the hardest tricks in history.

But it is with his head currently in the gutter, he crashes before he can even kick up. The duration of the wave lasts longer than expected, but Taehyung has fallen right into the face and is engulfed by the steepening shoreward.

Taehyung frantically swims himself back to the surface and hangs onto his board; the only wave he has caught that time is disappointment. “Fuck,” he curses to himself and wipes the dripping salt water from his face. “I should have just hit the lip…”

Taehyung takes a deep breath to calm his nerves before hopping back onto his board, ready to give the rodeo another shot.

He spends majority of his day on the water, barely cracking in any time for rest despite his friends visiting his presence every now and then. Just as Taehyung becomes tackled by waves countless times, wipes out on the face like he is perfecting an imperfect landing, his friends become worked by how the competition is tomorrow; and rather than resting to prepare, he is overworking his own body.

By far, this is his longest surf session and his most failed. No matter how he tackles the situation in different ways, his mind building its way around the goal, he just cannot land the darn rodeo. Is it inexperience? Distractions? Perhaps both, but Taehyung is never one to quit. Stoked is only once a year — broadcasted for televisions worldwide — and he needs to impress. After all, he does not want the “youngest champion” to be his only title.

Little does he know, a challenge more grand than any wave is approaching tomorrow.

And no amount of preparation has been tossed into his being.

As the sun begins to set he decides to call of his sessions of strenuous surfs. Tired and almost lifeless, he crawls from the foam of the sea and onto the dry shore, tired, red eyes watching the sun dip into the distance.

“God.” Taehyung kicks the sand. “What am I going to do tomorrow…?”

He lays himself down on the hot grains, arms and legs spread and the heat transfers to his exposed back. He closes his eyes and dives into a sea of deep thoughts, nothing but chaos replacing his original peace of mind for the competition tomorrow. An outlandish feeling of anxiousness unfolds, and for the first time he feels nothing but dread for the competition the next day.

–

The dawn of the competition comes quicker than what he expected and he rises right at the crack of the first light. He raises himself from his bed, fingers drumming on his mattress before he finds the energy to drag himself to prepare for the long day. The vibe of the competition already feels different — Taehyung does not feel prepared, yet he still has hopes of stealing the spotlight effortlessly.

He puts on his wetsuit that he prepared last night, zipping it up and tugging on the fabric as he watches the sun rise farther out from his window. He stares at the scene for a long while; an attempt to draw peace from a simple picturesque view, that is until his phone rings and breaks his reverie. Taehyung rushes to answer the call, only to find out that it is Hoseok exclaiming for him to rush down to the beach already for the early morning reporters.

Taehyung laughs at his friend’s excitement, more thrilling than his own, and grabs onto his board before ambling down to the shore. The sea breeze kisses his nose the moment his feet dig into the sand, grains getting sent to the air with every kick of a step Taehyung takes. It doesn’t take long for him to reach the miniature crowd that wreaths around the main tent, his friends lingering around the table like tourists. Taehyung spears his board into the sand with a smile, grabbing onto a pen and filling out the last of the papers required for the competition that day.

“Finally,” Hoseok says and wraps an arm around Taehyung’s neck. “Ready to kill it out there?”

Taehyung chuckles. “You already know.”

The rest of his friends come around him, each wishing him a good luck and softly swatting onto his back like it will pin skill onto his body, before the reporters orbit him away. There are three more hours until the first heat, enough time for the warmth of the sun to sink in and for the tides to rise to perfection, not a single fraction available for swamp.

Taehyung humbly answers the reporters’ questions, each inquiring how he feels and if he is confident to take this year’s prize. It becomes tedious after an entire crash of correspondents bombard him with words of motivation, each wishing him a good surf. Taehyung brushes them off and attempts to pin them to the other competitors as they start to roll in.

The waves begin to rise, breeze starting to crash — just like his anticipation. He tries to fight the nervous jitters; the best thing you have to do during competitions like these is remain calm.

His mind wanders as he takes time for himself on the beach, soaking himself in the golden warmth of the sun. Despite the substantial amount of protection on his body, his skin still burns; all he aches to do is feel the ocean mist brush on his being. He wonders if you are on the site yet, getting attention from the swarm of pressers as he did when he first entered as a guppy.

Taehyung thinks longer than he should about the competition, placing more mind to it than natural skill, and he tries to sort out a personal lineup of tricks prior to his first heat — enough for him to own the show.

Hours of thinking for an array of moves seem to drift by and before Taehyung knows it, it is time for his first heat of the competition.

‘Can competitor Kim Taehyung make his way to the wash-zone?’ says the announcer. ‘Heat number two is commencing.’

He runs over to the tents to hear his final words of luck and motivation from his friends and to grab onto his surfboard. Taehyung steadies his breath and tries to calm himself as he trails down to the damp sand, nearing the white water. He hesitates, allowing the ocean that withers to foam to tug at his ankles, and he exchanges the salt infused air with his lungs.

Taehyung feels a dozen of eyes locking onto his being, each person anticipating what he will do this time in the competition: a three-sixty or a reverse aerial? Whatever it is, they all are more than aware that Taehyung will score as the best in today’s round — just as the other times before. The other two competitors during his heat line up next to him with a bright smile on their faces.

“Good luck,” Taehyung says to the other few.

Before they can even say the same two words back, Taehyung is already off into the sea. He drags himself past the force of the ocean and hops onto his board, situating himself nicely on the surface. Drifting far enough, he allows the current to take him far out. Taehyung latches onto the rim of his board, gripping onto it tightly until his knuckles turn white.

“Alright,” he whispers to himself, “you can do this.”

He sits patiently and gawks at the sight of the lulling sea, almost as if it is a calm before a storm.

Then, everything starts to build up: the water, his thrill — everything.

The cold ocean ripples around him as he eyes his two other competitors; they are waiting for the right wave to catch just as he is. Baby rollers make their way to him, carrying him a short distance before he duckdives and rises, refreshing his senses. Taehyung closes his eyes and takes multiple deep breaths as an attempt to calm his nerves, but when he opens them a whole adventure rests right before his eyes.

It is the breaker — his breaker.

Taehyung acts on the spot and paddles to what starts off as four to five feet, that quickly rises into an overhead. Anticipation pumps throughout his body, swirling with the tingles of excitement that rise from the bottom up. He looks at the wave with nothing but determination, settled to take over the raging water and own it as another legacy.

The riptide is under-dragging him, but he does not stop paddling. As the body of water reaches its peak, Taehyung shuts out everything else in the world except for him and the wave. He paddles to the left, positioning his board perfectly parallel, then quickly pops up to gain a fast and rooted balance as he starts his piece.

This is what he has been waiting for: the barrel curving above him, cold mist of the waves meeting his skin. He carves through the aegean comber like nothing, the perfect crystal blue being reflected from the burning sun. He cracks a smirk, ready to start small, and commits a pigdog to head high.

Crouching low onto the board, he grabs onto the rail of the surface and plunges for the backside. As if the barrel is molding itself for Taehyung’s perfection, it allows his body to peek past its lip. All is well until the water starts to become racy.

Blossoming fast down the line he silently declares that he has to make haste — gain speed to keep up with the wave and not wipeout. Smoothly maneuvering in the barrel he tries to kick up the speed with a re-entry, doing a similar action like the one before off the lip.

His expression remains, excitement building up the longer he remains fixated on the water; soon enough, he does a cutback and reduces his speed, preparing himself for a snap. He changes trajectory quickly, close to the pocket and creates a flash bucket of spray, each landing on him from above.

The wave starts to diminish, nearing the shore just when his power starts to reach its peak. The cheers from his friends and strangers, supporters and reporters, break his focus and intoxicate his mind. All Taehyung wants to do now is impress them.

So he concludes the first half of his heat with a superman. He kicks board, shifting the weight on his feet, and soars to the top. To gain speed he darts to the bottom of the line and forces the board up, grabbing onto the rail with a bright grin and just laughs. The two seconds of being in the air, feet not on the board and hands gripping onto the styled plank, gives him a sense of freedom.

‘Oh! Kim Taehyung has stricken us all with his perfect maneuvers and gnarly landings. Now we’re all Stoked, pun intended.

‘The judges are rolling in the scores, and… he has scored a perfect ten! No surprise here, Taehyung is the champion after all. Let’s see what the other competitors have up their wetsuits.’

The encouragement from those on the sand reach him just in time, and he reconnects his stance before the landing, smooth and steady. The wave finally froths to white water when he approaches the damp sand; he becomes close enough to see the smiles and proud expressions painting on acquaintances’ faces.

He turns to them with a smile, wiping the dripping water off his face, and ponders how much time he has left until the heat is over. Ten, twenty?

Taehyung takes notice of how the other competitors are still out resting on the break lines of the ocean, waiting for a wave that isn’t too grand for their taste.

He smiles to himself and takes two short breaths; then, he goes back to the deep end for another session.

–

After cranking in two epic sessions, immediately overshadowing the other two competitors, Taehyung’s feet hit the shore and victory washes over him. He smiles, board under his arm, and raises his other hand in the air as an action of victory. His friends holler as they move to meet him halfway, exhilarated at his showstopping performance.

Taehyung waves to the cameras and his fans, eyes squinting from the garish beams of the summer sun.

“Dude!” exclaims Seokjin. “Sick ride!”

Taehyung shakes his head, droplets flying in every direction from his soaking hair. “You saw?”

“We all saw,” says Jimin. “You moved like a total Kahuna.”

Taehyung laughs as he makes his way to his section, perfectly shaded by the towering palm trees and small tent. “Well, I can’t say I’m the best on the beach,” he shies off. “Tell me, lifeguard,” he says to Seokjin, “any Bettys out?”

“Hey, hey,” Seokjin waves his hands in the air dismissively, “I’m on safety watch, not babe watch.”

“Oh, so now you’re doing your job?” jests Jimin.

Taehyung sticks his board in the sand and takes a few large sips of water. “Let loose, Jimin. Jin just doesn’t want to look like a complete squid.”

“I never look like a loser.” Seokjin laughs. “Say, when’s your next heat?”

“Uh,” Taehyung hesitates and grabs onto the paper schedule to study, “an hour and a half—why?”

“Great,” he huffs, “how ‘bout we get some grindage at the snack shack.”

Taehyung hums. “I would love to go for a quick bite. Thing is, my legs are tired and—” he plops down onto the sand— “I just feel so lazy.”

“Lazy? What an excuse.” Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “Who’s the one on babe watch now? Ah, you want to see Y/N, don’t you.”

“I do not,” he retaliates. “Speaking of her, where is she? She was supposed to show up a few hours ago, but I didn’t see or hear a huge commotion. She really is not that big of a deal, huh?”

Seokjin thinks, recalling if he has seen his ex-girlfriend the entire time as he wandered the perimeter. “I don’t think she’s here. Oh gosh, she’s gonna get the postal for being late as a newbie.”

“God,” Taehyung sighs, “I worried about false competition for nothing.”

Jimin adds, “Bet that she will totally show up and own the show, though. Taehyung, watch out.”

“Hey,” Taehyung bites back. “Let me live. I won five years in a row for a reason, and I’m going to chillax and answer some questions from news reporters while they’re here.”

Jimin chuckles and pats Seokjin on the back. “Let the superstar live. Tae, we’ll come back with some pasties.”

“Sounds blastin’ to me,” he agrees with a thumbs up, closing his eyes as he kicks back.

The two men leave Taehyung where he is and just when he is about to kick back under the shade, enjoying the few bits of peace he has left, his friends’ presences are quickly replaced by another.

Unfamiliar, at best.

“Excuse me,” says an unfamiliar voice — one different than both his friends.

Taehyung waves his hand in the air, shooing the person away. “No questions right now please. Let me enjoy my peace.”

“It isn’t a question for you. Where do I sign the papers?”

Taehyung props himself up on his elbows, fluttering his eyes open to focus on who is standing before him. “Papers?” he repeats. “They’re over- oh.”

Realization sinks into his brain from who is speaking to him: not his friends, not a random surfer, but you. The one and only Y/N, Seokjin’s ex-girlfriend and newfound competition.

“Oh?” you repeat, impatient. “Can you answer my question, please? I’m already late enough.”

“I-uh, wow.” Taehyung shakes his head and sits up properly, unable to fathom your appearance. You look different than what Taehyung has ever expected; unfairly gorgeous. Your board is under your arm as your head frantically turns around for any sight of the tents, but the mass of people make it impossible to see any trace of the location. “They’re over… here.”

You follow his hand to where he is pointing to, indicating towards the mass wreath of half naked bodies. “Alright, that totally helps me out.”

“Glad to be of assistance,” he jokes.

“You don’t really do much to assist.”

“Fine—” Taehyung raises himself from the sand and pats his wetsuit down, allowing it to hang around his waist— “Do you want me to take you to the canopies?”

“That would be nice.”

Taehyung nods; he needs to study you more anyway, who exactly he is up against. “Then let’s go.”

You turn around, giving him a view of your physique. For some reason he adores the way your charcoal-grey wetsuit hugs your body, your hair perfectly disheveled in the sea breeze as well. Fuck, he thinks to himself, Seokjin lost this?

Taehyung eyes your board as he walks ahead of you, taking notice of the miniature details: a six-foot, double fin short board with a few dents here and there. He can tell that you haven’t gotten a new board in quite some time, and that the wax is slapped on carelessly. Jeez, someone like you is his opponent?

You shadow him through the crowd, weaving past the ocean of people while your gaze remains fixated onto his figure. You silently question why attention is all turning your way, a cynosure of all eyes. You ponder if it is because you are a new competitor; it feels as if you are walking right through a field of mines, cautious and aware, and you do not notice the arrival to the tents until Taehyung stops right in front of you.

“Here.” He motions. “Papers are here, talk to the kahunas.”

“Ah, thanks,” you tell him. You hesitate, trying to draw the pieces to your mind from the man; then, it hits you. You just talked to Taehyung, the man from articles, newslines, and every surfing magazine out there. “Hey, aren’t you Tae—” You turn around as you continue your sentence, but Taehyung is already lost in the crowd.

You are quickly urged by the managers of the competition to fill out the papers, prompt, for your heat is coming up within tens of twenty of minutes, and the thoughts of Taehyung leave your mind as if they never held a place to begin with.

Taehyung changes his own course and rather than returning to his tent to rest, he is standing at the side of the swash zone, right by a couple of reporters that do not bat a single eye his way. He is ready to inquire himself to why, but the thought line gets cut off when he turns his head, eyes landing on the you who is rushing to the water. Your other two competitors are already out resting on the ocean, straddling their boards while waiting for the right wave.

The water that meets your feet is merely froth, foaming seconds afterwards. You paddle out into the wide sea, gawking at every little wave that has potential to take a larger shape. There are no shouts of encouragements towards you or your competitors, no one disrupting the peace of your surf — just still silence, and that is all you need for everything to be yours.

The moment you head far out, body and board lingering over the verge of the deep end, you tilt your head to the sky and take a deep breath. The freshness of the air intoxicates you, preparing you for the best surf of your life. You stare at the sky for a short while, taking notice of the seagulls that fly circles in the air; it isn’t until they soar to the beach for you to realize it.

The wave is coming right for you.

You register that within a heartbeat. The other surfers swallow their breaths before heading straight towards the gargantuan body of water, but you paddle right to it. Determined, you meet the face of the wave with an equal amount of fury to conquer, almost like you want to be the queen of the sea.

You pop up, left foot in the front, and maintain a steady balance. The wave is hurtling, coldness of the mist spraying in every direction — a refreshing sensation for you to experience, one you have not felt for a while.

The small fractions of fear you felt prior to the competitions have been eradicated the moment you are riding the wave, the tube arcing over your head. You make it a goal to pick up speed and start off your tricks, and so you do.

Within seconds the nose of your surfboard passes the break and you prepare for your trick. You reduce your speed with a cutback, moving to the pocket of the wave to enter the energy zone. You grin as the movement is fluid, smooth — enjoyable. You do another simple kick to hit the top, remaining on the lip for a few seconds to perfect every minor factor; then, you soar down the wave and back up. You stick your hand into the face of the wave as you crouch down lower, fingertips now wrapping around the rim as you twist.

You are doing it, a flip — a rodeo.

And surprisingly there is enough air for you to land in a perfect, crazy start of a maneuver. You keep your eyes open past the ocean mist, catching a glimpse of the upside-down view of the beach while you turn; within a second, your board is kissing the waves again with a flawless landing.

Happiness sprouts within you, followed by threads of contentment as you proceed to tailside on the wave. A contemporary maneuver; simple enough for you to do until the water dies down, and everything after that feels like a dream.

You hear a sudden crash onto the ocean — two to be exact — and you curiously turn your head to the spectacle. Your other competitors have been wiped out by the wave, surprising you. “Was the ride that rough?” you whisper to yourself, watching them latch onto their boards.

Your attention is sent back to the shore, shocked expressions spreading from person to person like a virus. “Did I go over the time limit?” you ask yourself.

God, you really wish you know how these competitions work.

You paddle back to the shore; little do you know, there are ten more minutes to spare. Not that it should matter to you because after all…

“I think we have a new champion…” says one of the bystanders to his friend, equally surprised as everyone else.

“Shit,” his friend replies. “This is insane. who is she?”

As your feet dig into the sand, your board under your arm, you lock eyes with Taehyung on the far side. And he has the same face as every other being: aghast.

You watch the way his friends approach him with food in their hand, catching his attention and he turns his back to you, unable to spare another glance.

‘Oh darn! Y/N, a new competitor this year, has scored a perfect ten twice in her heat! That is twenty, two more than what Taehyung has gotten. I think we might have a new champion of stoked… Gnarly bros!

‘We have a few more heats with them, so let’s see if they will take the breath, or chase the section out in the back.’

“Are you… fucking kidding me?” Taehyung asks, astounded. He glances to his crew, their jaws dropped and bodies niche as they take in what just happened.

You, a new competitor, just overshadowed Taehyung without even knowing it.

Taehyung curses under his breath, catching one last look at you paddling back to the shore before he storms off to his tent. Taehyung, vexed, kicks the sand furiously with every step as he nears his section, disbelief chasing after his shadow.

His friends quickly join him after your feet come in contact with the froth of the ocean, not sparing another fraction of attention your way as much as they ache to. Moments pass until their blood simmers down, each of Taehyung’s friends too hesitant to speak — to even comfort him of his obvious loss.

But Taehyung is the first to release his frustrations.

“A rodeo,” he lets out, annoyed, “she did a freakin’ rodeo!”

Jimin steps closer to him. “Tae—”

“—This is bleak,” Taehyung says while raking a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe a grommet did better than I did!”

“I don’t know what those words mean,” you chime in as you approach his raging figure from behind, “but I take offense.”

Taehyung’s mouth runs dry when he sees you, almost feeling like sand to the touch. There you are, the new competitor who has stolen Taehyung’s rightful place at the top. He watches the way you tussle your hair damp with salt water, not an ounce of pride written on your face. It confuses him, you just won the best spot of the first round with that trick — took his place — and you are worrying about your hair?

“What’s wrong?” you ask and root your board into the sand, the sound of it sinking into the ground swirling with the nearby cheers.

Taehyung crosses his eyebrows together; those are supposed to be for him, he was supposed to be the one to mark surfer’s history. Not you. Taehyung forces a tight smile. “Nothing,” he says, voice cracking to expose his lie. “I’m just surprised that a wahine took my place.”

“Your place?” you repeat, surprise lacing your tone. “I didn’t think that first belongs to you.”

Taehyung curses under his breath. “I-it doesn’t,” he stammers. “I just…”

You quirk your lips into a smirk, an eyebrow cocking upwards. “You’re just used to… winning? What’s wrong? Did I dash your ego, big boy?”

Jimin’s jaw drops to the ground when he notices your one-eighty in attitude; he did not expect that the woman he witnessed out on the sea, cruising with a smile and without a care, would practically belittle Taehyung.

“I-no,” Taehyung stammers. “I’m just surprised.”

Your smirk blossoms into a full blown smile. “Of course you are.”

Though it is quickly washed off your face the moment a familiar lifeguard steps into the miniature wreath of surfers, out of breath and hair perfectly disheveled. He has a grin on his face, appearing ready to comfort Taehyung of his loss; that is, until he meets eyes yours.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Seokjin.” You wrap your arm around your board almost as a protective caution, ready to bolt from the scene.

The thick air is perceptible the moment Seokjin has waltzed into the scene, tension high amidst him just standing there with his toes dancing in the sand. “Been a while, when did you become a gidget?”

You divert your attention to the other boys, wondering if they are equally confused as you are to his word choice. “A what?” you reply.

“You know.” He shrugs. “A new surfer chick.”

You let out an extended groan. “New? I started surfing two years ago,” you inform. “I just never had the time to while we were together ‘cause for some stupid reason I was always hung up on your ass.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows and takes a small step back, almost as if you are a human threat. Seokjin laughs, forced. “I just didn’t know, you told me you never had an interest in the sea.”

“I said I never had an interest in being a lifeguard. You never mentioned the word surf to me, but that’s what I did when I wasn’t with you,” you bite back.

“Wait,” he pauses, “what?”

You tug your surfboard from the sand and place it under your arm, ready to abscond from the men’s aghast feast. “While you were out on the beach macking on other chicks, I immersed myself with my own hobby. I guess I owe you a thanks, I learned a lot on my own.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to retaliate, anger rising in his chest from your demeaning words but the second he finds the strength to voice his complaints, you are off. News reporters begin to chase after you, calling your name for a scoop or a proper picture.

God, Taehyung can see it already: your name replaces his on headlines, reports — everything.

Taehyung takes a deep breath. “Way to go, Seokjin. Seems like you dated a total catch.”

Seokjin pushes his friend’s comment to the side before Jimin hops into the conversation with, “Is she coming to the celebration tonight? You know, the one that is thrown after every round of Stoked.”

The men exchange curious glances, your whereabouts of the night all unknown to each of them. Are you going to show your face at the party tonight? If it is not Stoked that surfers look forward to, it is the vivacious after-party where every fraction of competition is poured down the drain.

And for some strange reason, Taehyung actually cares whether or not you show your face.

“God,” Taehyung spits out, “whatever.”

Taehyung heads back to his tent, a raging storm that attracts discreet peers.

“Where are you going?” asks Jimin.

“To prepare for my next heat—because I need to focus on the competition now.”

–

Heat after heat, the competition passes; and every single time you happen to one-up Taehyung, the champion, himself. Taehyung feels nothing but anger and vexation towards the entire situation — what can he even think about a fresh surfer taking his rightful place as first?

One by one the reporters that used to crowd him all orbit to you, bombarding you with questions and awaiting many answers. The inquiries that follow Taehyung wither to irksome questions like “how do you feel about Y/N having a shot as first?” to “your winning streak might be broken, any thoughts?”

Taehyung’s blood is almost boiling.

And so when the competition comes to a close he darts to the shack of the after party, wanting to escape the setting light of day and drink out the events he finds demeaning.

The melody of beachside acoustics play from the dingy speakers of the area, a compact bar that is enough to fit a handful of people inside to order drinks, but the outside lounge is what holds all the fun. The music is muted outside, another fire set in the center, reflecting off everyone’s eyes. The cackling of the wood swirls together with the melody, constructing a perfect ambience within the perimeter as those who are present drink their night away.

It almost feels like a typical Wednesday night to Taehyung, the dull fragrance of smoke from the wood chasing the area and surrounding the people he loves.

The sun has long set and the flames roar into the black curtain of the night sky, bold and scarlet; though, in this very moment he feels every ounce of sunshine being poured from people’s presences. He has a beer in hand, probably form tap, and he has intention of filling up the glass to the brim, drinking everything away as usual.

After jesting around with his surfer buddies he downs his drink, quickly heading inside to fill it up at the bar so he doesn’t miss any particulars that would enliven his night even further. Maybe it is the alcohol clouding his mind or your image being etched into his mind — whatever it is, it has drawn him to notice you sitting at on a high-chair at the corner of the bar, away from the party. It looks as if you want to be similar to the debris of ashes, silent and dispersing into the air like nothing.

His mind is fleeting between sparking a conversation with you and joining his friends outside for another intoxicated song-fest, and with enough arduous time being stuck at a crossroad he chooses the latter. The bartender fills up his glass again and Taehyung weaves his way back outside, head turning back to see if you are still there — that this isn’t another one of his drunken perceptions.

And you are, with a stern frown plastered on your face while you play with the salted rim of your full glass.

Taehyung joins his friends by the light show, taking a seat at the spreaded circle while arms intertwine like smoke twisting in the air. They sway to the music, almost like children being ecstatically lost during a campfire song, and sing. When the acoustic comes to an end everyone bursts out into a fit of laughter.

You peer up at the crowd past the thick windowpane, pondering what it would be like if you sat down within their sphere without a care. Nonetheless, you sigh and stare at your drink extensively.

“Hey.” Hoseok nudges Taehyung’s side with his elbow. “Isn’t that Y/N?” He jerks his head to the direction of the bar, guiding Taehyung’s agog eyes.

He nods his head. “Yeah, why?”

“Go talk to her,” he urges.

Taehyung freezes, wondering if he has heard his friend’s words correctly. Taehyung places his glass on the empty surface next to him, rubbing the condensation that stuck to his palms onto his shirt. “Seriously?” He shake his head. “Why would I talk to someone who stole my place?”

Hoseok groans. “That isn’t what this afterparty is about,” he reminds his friend. “You said it yourself, these nights bring competitors together. You just need to live up to your words.”

“Well she clearly wasn’t interested in conversation earlier during Stoked.” Taehyung steeples his fingers on his chin, hesitant and defensive. He has been aching to talk to you, but in regards to what?

“That’s because Seokjin drove her off,” Jimin includes, leaning into the conversation. “He isn’t even here ‘cause she is. They must have ended badly if he’s missing out on an after-party.”

“God,” Taehyung says with an airy laugh. “He has to chillax.”

“No,” Hoseok interjects, “you have to chillax. Nothing bad is going to come from talking to her!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Why are you so persistent?”

Hoseok remains silent and leans back with a smug expression, arms crossing over one another as if he has deemed himself victorious in such a plain situation.

Jimin appears just as equally confused as Taehyung is, until he catches the glint of aspiration in Hoseok’s eye, a gasp soon following his expression.

“What,” Taehyung spits out. “Am I really slow, or did I drink a lot?”

“No.” Jimin shakes his head. “You’re just fair.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow, unsure. “‘Fair’?”

Jimin laughs. “Hoseok’s implying that you should butter her up. You know, ask her the basics, treat her like a kook, then pop out the details about the competition.”

“God,” Taehyung sighs, “approaching her is like walking straight into kooksville. She doesn’t know anything here.”

“Show her around,” Hoseok urges. “Be all friendly and talk about the competition—what tricks she might plan on doing.”

Jimin adds, “Just so you can use it against her.”

Taehyung stares right through them, immersing himself in an array of thoughts swimming in his mind. It doesn’t take long for him to imagine the thunderstruck look on your face when he pulls off your trick, possibly more perfect than what you are capable of. A sheepish grin blossoms on his face from being practically intoxicated with the daydream of victory.

“I’ll do it,” he huffs.

Jimin and Hoseok flash a satisfied grin towards one another as Taehyung raises himself. He starts to braid his way past the conversing individuals, words that coming out of their mouths nothing more than drunken slurs. When he steps foot into the bar again he finds it strange the hear the music more clearly — a sudden change from the plethora of conversations being initiated outside along with bonfire songs. He turns his head to where he found you seated, happiness jolting within him when he sees you there still.

He takes the seat directly across from you, arms resting on the table and you peer up at him, eyebrows crossing together when you make out who is in front of you.

“Bad night?” Taehyung asks.

You look at him and shrink into the comfort of your corner. “No, I just wanted to enjoy my beer alone,” you fib.

Taehyung casts his gaze downwards, noticing that your drink is untouched. “You sure about that?”

You sigh. “I guess not. The life of this party isn’t speaking to me. Want to join?”

“Are you going to bite back at me again?” he asks with a smirk.

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Taehyung smiles, “I’ll take that chance.”

You chuckle and roll your eyes, wondering if this is the same man who complained about your skill earlier on in the day. “I think that makes my night bleak,” you poke.

“Whatever.” He shrugs and leans back in the high-chair. “So earlier though, I know we try to not talk about the competition during these after parties but I gotta say, you carved with a ton of steeze.”

“Steeze?” You analyze his words.

“Uh,” Taehyung hums, “style and ease. The way you entered the barrel before landing your tricks was ill!”

You feel the heat in your face surface, coral hues tinging your skin from his compliments. “Thanks. It was kinda’ hard since the wave was starting to die down, I was worried that I would mess up the landing in the hollow but I’m glad I got it scored in the bag.”

Taehyung nods, fanning your ego flame to get you comfortable. “It was sick. Honestly, I have to say I was kinda’ jealous of your skill. You used the right amount of kick, perfected the rocker—heck, you even looked like you knew what you were doing when you were at line-up.”

You shrug, brushing his comments to the side. “I guess. It felt great and I had fun, that’s all that matters to me.”

Taehyung pauses. “Really? You scored first today and immediately gained a place in heat B.”

“That doesn’t bother me at all.” You raise the glass to your lips, finally taking a sip of the beer that is a tad watered down from the melted ice. “It’s great and all, but I care about the fun.”

He pauses, wondering if you are right in mind. News reporters flooded you, begged for you to have a scoop, and dozens of pictures have been snapped today — yet they do not matter to you? He gulps, nothing but raw jealousy replacing the excitement in his veins. “Is that so?” He says with a quirk of his lips, “That’s interesting. People would usually ache for days to be in your position. What you did was radical, you should embrace it.”

You take another sip. “It’s not that big of a deal to me. I went to have fun, and I did. I guess I’m glad that others enjoyed what I did on the water; well, a little glad.”

Taehyung’s mouth parts, disbelief washing upon his face like a riptide. “I feel raked over by your words.”

“Raked over?” you ask for clarification.

“It means a little down,” he informs.

You nod your head, understanding. “Why?”

Taehyung laughs. “No reason.” He changes the topic quickly, almost as fast as white water takes to disappear, “How long have you been surfing?”

“Two years,” you respond, skeptical. You set your glass down on the surface and intertwine your fingers together. “Well, two summers. Why?”

Taehyung’s eyes flare wide. Two years — summers? “Only?” he asks, surprise sketching all over his face.

“Yeah,” you reply, nonchalant. “Why?”

“‘Cause you got a shitton of skill for a betty who has been surfing for two years!” he exclaims immediately, pure shock filling his expression.

“A… what?” you ask for clarification.

“A girl,” he fixes. Taehyung cannot help but smile from the way you are unaware of their slang, and to linger around someone who is not a local is highly refreshing. “Two summers… and you can rodeo? Who taught you?”

You hum. “I taught myself. Dude, I rode the waves for fun. If I got a teacher for surfing then the fun would be taken out of it. It’s just a hobby I enjoy—actually, I feel like because I learned everything on my own I developed my own style, you feel?”

Taehyung is rendered speechless at your words, unsure of what to think. If he really places his mind to it, this is the first time he has ever come across a surfer so careless, so nonchalant — it is sort of refreshing.

“I feel you,” he agrees. “What type of stick did you use?”

“Stick…?”

Taehyung clears his throat. “Unfamiliar with the surf slang?” he says with a fit of dry laughter. “Stick is another word for surfboard.”

You nod. “Yeah, note that I’m only here every summer. Your guys’ slang is so strange.”

“Wait,” Taehyung changes courses of the conversation, disregarding his own question, “why are you only here for summers only?”

“It’s just a cool vacay I decided to push myself to go on every year now. It’s a great break from college and everyone else.”

Taehyung agrees, “I feel you with that.”

You open your mouth to inquire him of something, but another factor chases your mind. “I never properly got an introduction from you. What’s your name?” you ask him.

He appears surprised by your sudden question, one he hasn’t heard in ages. “Taehyung…” he informs, almost like he is unsure. “Kim Taehyung.” He follows with a jest, “Did you not hear my name during the competition?”

“Note: Proper introduction.” You smile. “Another note: I was late.”

“True,” he acknowledges. “But you still made it.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to miss out on something new.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

You grin. “Probably.”

Taehyung mirrors that same expression back at you. “Well I’m glad you’re here.”

All you can do is smile.

“Tell me, formally, what’s your name?” he asks with a quirk of his lips.

“Y/N,” you respond.

“That’s gnarly.” He watches you take a sip of your drink before continuing. Taehyung questions himself if the girl he is talking to this very moment is the same one from the beach, for you seem like a complete one-eighty from the competition. “What was with that stunt earlier on the beach?”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “What stunt?”

“Your whole ‘first place’ bite,” he clarifies.

“Oh.” You shrug, fighting the burst of laughter that rises from your chest. “Nothing.”

He pouts. “‘Nothing’?”

You grin, taking the topic to the flipside. “So tell me, what’s good around here?”

“Aside from me?” he jests.

“Didn’t think you were good,” you tell him. “I sort of stole your spotlight.”

“Ouch,” he chuckles, “too early, Y/N.”

And after that joke the conversation carries on. For a long while, surprisingly.

Taehyung finds joy in the half-sober converse, the whole world seemingly slipping away with every word that leaves your mouth. You find out more about him: his friends and family, compounds on the west beach, and the entire surf lifestyle if you are a local. You inform him of similar qualities, and he feels absolutely mesmerized; finding music between the lines of your words.

Taehyung is helplessly grinning; you might be a wave that Taehyung is able to catch.

As the night carries on, Taehyung forgetting about the party outside, there is no kissing up to each other’s asses in the conversation, no thick air from the heated competition. It is a normal one to one conversation about each other, and Taehyung hasn’t experienced this in a while. You are not referring to him as a surf god — the almighty champion — but just as Kim Taehyung, a typical guy on the west beach.

And to him, you are just another girl that he can call a new friend.

The spark between you two last like the rising bonfire until they finally put it out, the heat between you and Taehyung remaining nonetheless.

It isn’t until half the lights within the area turn off, indicating that the party is coming to an end, for you and Taehyung to realize how long the converse has lasted. You stand up and tug at your outfit, noticing the way Taehyung is gawking.

“Yes?” you ask him.

Taehyung blinks, shaking his head. “N-nothing. It’s strange seeing you in another outfit.”

You roll your eyes, amused. All you are wearing is a simple summer dress that cuts off right above the knees, a cute pickup from a local shop. “I’d totally wear my wetsuit twenty-four seven, right?”

He shrugs. “You can do whatever you want.”

As the people outside start to help clean up, certain individuals evacuating from the scene, the music that you have paid less than a little attention to ceases, a light ring trailing in your ears afterwards.

“And,” Taehyung continues. “So can I.”

You wonder what he is talking about, what he is trying to score at from his random statement.

“So I’m going to ask you,” he clears his throat, nervous, “mind if we go out on a surf together tomorrow? Tonight was fun, but imagine the thrill on the water.”

“Uh,” you chuckle, hesitant, “I’ll think about it. Surfing with others takes the fun out of it for me.”

Taehyung persists, eager to get on the surf grind with you before the next round of the competition. It is three weeks away, surprisingly spaced out more compared to the other years of the competition, but it is a perfect three weeks from today. It gives Taehyung enough time to butter you up, and even more time to score your move.

But with the final “no,” Taehyung raises his arms in the air in defeat, aware that he will crash waves with your own again. “Alright, fine.”

“I’ll see you around?”

“See you around.”

You leave Taehyung standing alone by the bar, a lovesick grin etching on his face but he quickly wipes it off when he comes back to the most of his senses. Shit, he wonders how long has his face been like that. When you turn at the door, you shoot a glance towards Taehyung, a small wave being tossed as well, and he tips his head.

As you amble out of the scene his friends are revealed, waiting with sheepish grins for Taehyung to fill them in on the situation — to which he does.

He saunters to them, fists shoving into his pockets, and has a look of victory sketching on his face.

“A champion of liars as well, aren’t you?” says Hoseok. “Give us the dish.”

Taehyung brushes off his comment, artificially humble. “There’s no dish,” he informs. “I just got to know her a bit. I can’t just ask her what she has planned for the next round—I would be fucking up larger than Seokjin.”

“So what are you going to do?” asks Jimin.

Taehyung becomes smug, head tilting up like he runs the show with a leonine presence. “I’m going to take things slow, merely cruise the waves for now.”

As daylight drips onto the night, replacing the navy darkness with a fresh morning glow, Taehyung rises from his bed completely awake. The entire competition day feels like a dream to him — from dawn to dusk, and especially the unexpected after party. He cannot grasp the fact that a new surfer — that someone like you — has stolen the show he has owned for five consecutive years.

The final thought that crossed Taehyung’s mind last night was recollections of the conversation he had with you at the party. He thought about them longer than he should, at least long enough for him to drift into a deep sleep because of it. He wonders how you can surf without a care, not minding any fraction of the competition and focusing on fun.

Taehyung has learned the opposite — lived by a different set of personal guidelines, for winning is everything. But he wonders how Stoked would be like if he treats the competition as an easy ride with others. Would he still be at the top? It is his hard work that has earned him his first place, after all.

When Taehyung checks his cell phone on the side he roams the social media and the first, and only, relation of articles to the competition that pop up is an abundance of particulars about you. You, and not Taehyung.

He takes a couple of minutes to skim through each bit, eyebrows crossing together with how each article only fans his flame. He sighs, tossing his phone onto the mattress, and freshens up a tad. Switching into a loose pair of shorts and tee, he prepares for his morning run and grabs a small bite. Slipping on his shoes, he is out the door within moments.

He begins his dash with a desultory pace, jogging leisurely under the morning sun until he reaches the squeaking wood of the boardwalk. Along with the creaks of the aged floorboards is the melody of baby birds chirping into the distance. It tosses the scene together perfectly: the air is crisp, grounds are clean for the time being, and the beach as a whole is vast of pesky tourists and familiar locals. Every fraction of the moment provides him with a sense of peace. It is in small moments like these in early mornings that can help him clear his thoughts.

Though, his peace of mind is somewhat disrupted when he sees a figure on a surfboard on the ocean; not too far out or too close to the shore. He stops his stride, narrowing his gaze onto the daring being, and wonders what the heck this person is doing. Tides are low, the air is cold along with the ocean — yet someone is waiting for the perfect wave.

It isn’t until he puts two and two together, making out your physique and recognizing the style of your hair and short-board for him to realize that it is you.

“What the heck is she doing?” he asks himself.

No surf would be phenomenal at this time of the morning, and the sun is barely peeking in the distance; yet, you are still situating yourself on your board, relishing in the glory of the west beach.

Taehyung shakes his head, snapping himself back to reality to continue his run. Throughout the episode of making quick circles around the west beach he tries to sort out the rest of his surf piece for the second round. Should he do a series of gnarly aerials or an array of devil-may-care flips? Whatever he chooses, he knows it has to be enough to top you.

The second round is three weeks away, but Taehyung needs to do all he can to prepare — all he can to gain his place back. Thinking about the second round of Stoked pumps him up, causing him to increase his pace, and he makes the hasty decision to run up a nearby peak by the beach. He exerts his power into his stride just so he can reach the top to catch the sunrise on time, and with enough effort he does.

He walks circles on the tip of the peak, a smile spreading on his content self as he pants heavily, regaining his breath. The sun in the distance is right about to raise, leaking its illumination onto the ocean. Seagulls are circling overhead and locals start to rise, both ready to kick off their day on the right foot.

Gawking at the top of the scene, his gaze casts downwards to the ocean — and there you still rest.

Snug on your board, legs sinking into the cold ocean blue, you are straddling the surface comfortably. Taehyung realizes something; why you are down there. You are watching the sunrise as well.

There is no trace of a surf you ache in your body, no thoughts of the competition crossing your mind the slightest bit; a parallel of his own jumbled mind.

Taehyung takes a moment to think for himself; maybe he can learn more from you than just a new set of surf tricks and surprises.

After diving into his own pelagic of thoughts he comes to a conclusion that you are the epitome of strange — why go out so early in the morning, on the sea especially, just to watch the sunrise? Perhaps it’s a new tourist trend — or even a one time event for you.

“These darn kooks,” Taehyung mutters as he turns back to the path of the hill, preparing to head down.

With that thought Taehyung ambles down the peak and resumes to jog past the shore, only to find you out at the sea still, happily on your board.

Though, this time you are catching a surf.

–

Taehyung catches a thread of an idea when he sees you riding a few waves, and it prompts him to dash back to his place so he can grab onto the first board he sees resting in his crib to return back to you. Amidst, he strips himself of his shirt and discards his shoes in the void of his compact home, hoping that you will still be on the water by the time he returns.

But you are not.

When Taehyung arrives to the damp sand of the seashore, feet fighting past the pain of stepping on miniature pebbles and kicking warm sand, there is not a single trace of you in sight. His chest is heaving to regain his breath, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead while he spears his board into the sand. He curses under his breath, head turning in all sorts of directions in case it is a minor slip up, but you really are gone.

All he sees is a plethora of familiar faces find their home in the sea with their surfboard, ready to catch the pull of the tides for an entire day.

Taehyung groans and sits himself on the sand, allowing the white water of the sea to tug at his ankles. He moved as quickly as he could yet you disappeared as fast as a surging roller. His stomach grumbles, craving for any sort of food to fill itself and Taehyung releases another exasperated grunt.

This time it is heard by someone — one of his friends to be exact. “Something wrong?” asks Seokjin.

Taehyung turns his head to him, tilting it to the sky to look at the towering figure from the ground. “No, nothing at all,” he assures.

Seokjin smirks and wraps his arms tighter around the vermillion rescue tube. He appears far too clean to be going out on his lifeguard duty: hair recently washed, body coated in a protective emollient. His tank top is the definition of an immaculate white and all Taehyung can do is burst out in a fit of laughter.

“What did I do this time?” Seokjin asks, kicking sand to his friend.

“Nothing,” Taehyung dismisses his question, “you just look funny.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes and turns his head to look around the beach. “I freshened up, why is that funny? What if I meet someone today?”

“Why would you meet someone this early in the morning?” Taehyung asks. “It’s all kahuna and kooks at this time of the day.”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, fetching. “So why are you out? Did you upgrade to a kahuna?”

“I—” Taehyung stops— “I actually don’t know,” he fibs with a couple of airy chuckles. “I wish. I would have if I scored first in the premier heat.”

“Ah,” Seokjin throws his head back, understanding, “still upset with Y/N scoring your place?”

Taehyung grunts. “Of course, I had that position for five years. Five darn years, Jin!”

Seokjin laughs at his friend’s petulant self. It is understandable, why Taehyung is fretting. To be the youngest champion for five years and having that taken away out of the blue is a bullet to the pride, and Taehyung’s ego has never been so deflated. Seokjin still finds the fact that his ex-girlfriend has a talent in something he has never expected.

“Five years,” Taehyung repeats with a pout, burying his face into his hands. The tide rolls in and tugs at his ankles, the sound of the distant waves forming to crash into one another filling up the crisp air.

“Dude.” Seokjin comforts, “The competition isn’t even over yet, quit acting like a squid. There are two more rounds for you to build yourself back up to the top—you’re right below her too! Why are you acting like it’s the end of the world?”

“Because it is,” Taehyung exaggerates. “It’s way too diff for me to not be at the top.”

Seokjin grumbles. “Then top her.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Uh,” Seokjin laughs, modest feign, “it is.”

Taehyung straightens his posture, allowing the depth of his friend’s words to sink in before he wells in disgust. “That is nast!” Taehyung exclaims. “Way too nast and far too much info for me. That’s your ex-girlfriend! Christ, Jin.”

He merely shrugs, pushing away Taehyung’s comments. “Sorry,” he laughs, “but go build up your moves for the competition.”

“Oh,” the corner of Taehyung’s lips quirk up into a sly smirk, “I already have a plan.”

Seokjin stays silent and uses the same time to eye the entire beach. “That doesn’t sound good. What do you have in store?”

“I just plan on getting close to her to find out some stuff, learn a couple of tricks,” Taehyung admits, honest. Yet Seokjin is completely aware that Taehyung is attempting to beat around the bush.

“And…” Seokjin prompts Taehyung to continue.

Taehyung hums, disregarding his friend’s beginning. “Hey, you find out lineups for the second round first, right?”

“Uh,” Seokjin thinks, not bothering to question the shift in topics, “I already have them. Why? Don’t tell me you’re going to pull a haole mistake.”

“I’m no ‘haole,’ I know my shit. I just need to know if I’m going up first before Y/N.”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “As far as I can recall, yes. Can you tell me what your plan is?”

Taehyung grins and leaps back on his feet, placing an affirming hand on his friend’s broad shoulder. “You’ll see,” Taehyung urges. “I’ll dedicate that moment for you, my brother.”

“God,” Seokjin takes a step back, “you’re so strange, Tae. You’re lucky that your surf skill makes up for you lack of—” Taehyung slips his hand off his friend’s body and grabs onto his board, heading straight for the snack shack to catch some grindage before hitting the sea— “and... you’re already off. Great.”

It takes Seokjin a while to catch onto Taehyung’s plan; and he already has a negative vibe rising from the situation already.

–

The next couple of days consist of Taehyung rising early in the morning to go out on leisure runs, and each time he dashes towards the peak of the hill he always sees you resting on the beach, or even out on sea, awaiting the sunrise.

And every single time he concludes his runs he tries to meet up with you at the beach, but you are always out of sight — like he misses you by the skin of his teeth.

Time is ticking and Taehyung is more than aware that there are only around two weeks left until the second round of Stoked; he realizes he needs to step up his game and commence the plan. So, he wakes earlier than usual the following day — possibly right before dusk — and groggily grabs onto his longboard before heading out his door.

Taehyung’s mornings are not complete without his routinely runs; he feels absolutely drained trudging over to the beach just to meet up with someone who has no desire to see him, yet here he is.

And you are on the and, your board next to you as a companion.

“How is she not cold?” he whispers to himself. Taehyung has goosebumps rising on his skin, the cool sand cold to the touch. The sky still remains as a sleepy monochrome, only a scintilla of light in the distance to illuminate the dark of the morning. Stars that scatter across the sky begin to lose their radiance as the sky glistens more golden rays.

He does a sigh of relief to see you on the sand instead of on the ocean — frankly, he is glad to see you.

Taehyung raises his board over his head with his two hands and starts to slowly amble to you, feet sinking into the sand. The journey to approach your still figure is harder than it should be; he feels as if the sand is tugging him back, wanting him to turn the opposite direction but he does not.

He clears his throat, catching your attention, and you turn your head over your shoulder. Your eyes widen when you see him, confused to why. “I’ve never seen you on the shore this early,” you tell him.

Taehyung grins brightly, rooting his surfboard into the chilly grains. “I decided to go out for an early surf today.”

You blink a couple of times, comprehending his words. “You do realize the tides are low at this hour, right?”

He laughs, quiet. “Yeah, but I also wanted to catch a view of the sunrise from the beach this time.”

“This time?” you repeat.

Taehyung nods. “I usually jog up the peak to watch—” he sits himself down next to you, a comfortable proximity away— “but then I noticed that you’re always here in the morning so I just wanted to see the difference.”

“I’m touched,” you jest. “You came here for me.”

“Came here for the sun,” he corrects. “But I suppose you’re right.”

You remain silent at his statement, an awkward quietude filling up the spaces of the morning. No words are exchanged, but none are needed to pervade the moment. It takes a while for the sun to peer out from the distance, and within that time more people start to find comfort at the beach.

Taehyung finds an urge to speak to you — to drop the bomb of a question so his plan can fully initiate. He turns to you, a question resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dissipates when he takes in your appearance.

You aren’t in a wetsuit, not even a summer dress. You are in your favorite two-piece with a thin shawl draping over your body, goosebumps rising on your skin from the chill of the ocean breeze. A few strands of your hair are flying freely from the salty wind; your eyes are lazily open as you gawk at the picturesque rise of the morning sun.

Taehyung blushes. Your skin is being perfectly kissed by an early sun, a gentle, golden glow meeting your body. Your feet are digging into the cold grains of sand, toes wiggling beneath it like small hermits.

Feeling like a pair of eyes are on you, you tilt your head to Taehyung with a witty comment ready to be released. Though, just like him, it eradicates after you lock eyes.

“I—” Taehyung gulps— “nice sunrise,” he tries to cover, pointing at the scene.

You nod, instantly agreeing. Your gaze flies to the ocean, taking notice of how the tide has kicked itself up. “N-nice waves! Funny, they’re usually not like this in the morning,” you comment. You shoot yourself up from your stance, no longer able to spend another second by Taehyung, awkward. “I’m going out to surf now.”

“But the water’s going to be freezing,” he points out. “You might get sick.”

“Nothing can stop me from dawn patrol,” you reply, risible and tossing your shawl off.

“Well then,” Taehyung lifts himself up as well, taking his board in hand, “mind if I join you?”

With your surfboard in hand, ready to take a step to the damp sand, you raise an eyebrow. “You? Taehyung, the champion, wants to join me for a morning surf?”

Taehyung shrugs, feigning modesty. “Maybe.”

“Do you have a crush on me?” you joke, laughter following the inquiry immediately.

But Taehyung remains silent for a few seconds, and your smile begins to dwindle. “Well,” Taehyung initiates his plan, “you can say that I’m interested.”

“Are you?”

“Interested in this gnarly surf,” he adds, rapid. Taehyung dashes past you, kicking sand with every step until his feet meets the white water of the sea. He stops himself, smile turning over his shoulder to check if you are right behind him; and after a few seconds of drowning in your own confusion, you shadow him.

You and Taehyung both paddle far out on the cold body of water, droplets landing on each others skin as it becomes a race to the deep end. A smile paints on your face as you try to get your nose past his own board’s, and it doesn’t sink to you how much distance you have travelled just to beat him.

You duckdive under a small dawn, water engulfing your being for a split second, and you pop out with a deep breath for air.

Taehyung mimics your action, and when he rises his eyes meet a wave that has potential of morphing into a gargantuan ripple.

You look at the other surfer from the corner of your eye, sharing the same thought and a bright grin blossoms on each other’s face. It’s time to own the first session of the day.

You and Taehyung both paddle farther out, eyes squinting as you both drive past the salty mist of the ocean, and within seconds the wave begins its pursuit into something grand. You watch as the feet stacks upon one another, height gaining quicker than you thought; and impulsively, you pop up.

Taehyung jumps to his feet on his freshly waxed board, gaining a steady balance in time with yours, and starts to find his perfect spot on the smooth face. The wave is barely overhead, the arc perfectly cascading down its aegean ridges in perfect sync. Taehyung sticks his hand in the face of the wave, commencing the ultimate surfing trick: a simple tube ride.

It is the queen of surfing operations, the most fulfilling experience a rider can have. It truly is simple, plain, but the occurrence is monumental. To ride on the hollow part of the wave is surreal and it feels like you own the barrel. A smile graces Taehyung’s face as he carves down the tube, the beautiful white lip curling over his body, and yours.

You appear in his field of vision, just at the tail of his board while you are carving, shifting your line and direction into the open section; then, you do a cutback. The white water you create splashes onto Taehyung, saltiness entering his two orbs and stinging them just a tad. He loses his focus, weight shifting to the rail of the board when he moves to the pocket of the ripple. Then, balance is lost.

Taehyung wipes out right on the face of the wave, the water engulfing his body easily before the drag draws him up. He takes a deep breath once he meets the air, paddling to his board and sitting steady on it while he watches you intentionally wipe out.

You repeat the same move he does prior to making your way towards him. “Sick wipeout,” you say as you straddle your short-board.

“Some wicked work yourself,” he responds with a quirk of his lips. “Ready for another small sess?”

“You won’t get distracted this time, will you?”

Taehyung laughs. “Can’t help it.”

“Well if you can’t focus on the surf, then get off my waves,” you jest, hands digging into the water to drag you back out.

“You talk big for a betty,” he bites back, shadowing your surfboard’s tail. “Ready to get shacked out of your mind?”

“Totally.”

Another wave kicks itself back up again, only a simple five-footer. Glassy as it is, the wind starts to break through the saltine surface, screwing up Taehyung’s ride. Within seconds, risibly, he falls into the face of the water.

“Nice wipeout!” you exclaim as you kick to the shoulder of the wave.

Taehyung’s head pops up right behind the comber, grasp tight on the rim of his board as his eyes don’t leave your body. You are riding on the tip of the wave, right at the miniature lip, and the white water proceeds to splatter its thin mist all over your skin. Frankly, it cools the scorching rays of the sun as it starts to reach its peak; that is, until you topple from a quick glide down the face.

Taehyung bursts out in laughter from your whack wipe out, dog-kicking his way to your fretting self. Your arms drape over your surfboard as the waves carry you guys inches closer to the shore, both of you catching your breath amidst.

“Something wrong with your board?” Taehyung yells over the sound of crashing combers.

You chuckle. “Something’s wrong with the waves—they’re choppy.”

“Maybe it’s the way you carve,” he suggests, petulant.

You shrug. “Funny, you knock out ‘cause of the waves too? Or was it your—” you notion to his elongated board, far too waxed— “excuse of a stick.”

“Hey, Crimson is not an excuse of a stick. Be happy I don’t ride a toothpick board! What if I only rode with a tri-fin.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Crimson?”

“The name of my board,” he laughs, “what else?”

You press a palm to your face, disappointment sketching all over it. “You name your stupid boards?”

“And you don’t?” he spits back.

“No,” you smile, “that sounds childish.”

Taehyung grins, voicing his thoughts but they are quickly muted by a crash of boomers. “I feel like a child for chasing you.”

Your grin dwindles, eyebrows crossing together as you attempt to study his recent words. “What did you say?” you ask for clarification. “I couldn’t hear you over the water.”

He shrugs, modest. “Not sure, guess I’m leaving you on suspense. The ocean didn’t want you to listen, haha.”

“God,” you roll your eyes, “you sound like a crazy kahuna.”

“Kahuna?” He starts to swim to you, a firm grip on his board while he uses his other arm to latch onto yours. “Starting to familiarize yourself with our slang?”

“Yeah!” you exclaim. “Hakuna matata, broski!”

“Uh,” Taehyung pauses. Coral hues paint on his face, drawing admiration from your insane jest. “I take it back.”

Taehyung tugs you closer to him by pulling your shorty. “Can I try to ride this?”

“Why?” you question back, immediate and bitter. “Do you expect me to ride on your own stick? You do realize I suck at maintaining control with longboards, right?”

Taehyung blushes, finding a different meaning behind your easy words. “R-right. Yeah, let me just do one tube ride, maybe even a cutback!”

“No!” you yell with a laugh. You straddle your board again, making your way west to another small comber.

“Fine,” he hops on the surface, kicking his way closer to the shore, “I’ll watch you cruise from afar!”

“Does this mean I have to try to look good?” you question.

“You always look good,” Taehyung comments.

Well, he isn’t lying.

As Taehyung rests on the center of his board, legs sinking into the cool water he has adjusted too, he gawks at you; unable to take his eyes off of you like a perfect cinema. God, it’s the way your body looks in that swim piece — or perhaps it is how flawlessly you carve barrels. Taehyung just admires it all, especially the smile on your face that remains there as you glide on the aegean comber’s glass.

From the distance, he watches. Every diminutive particular you pull, he catches it. He is absolutely mesmerized from the way you glide on a plethora of water, smooth and making it so painfully easy. No one would be able to guess that you have only been surfing for two summers; yet you hold so much talent.

Unlike Taehyung and his pyrrhic accomplishments, you are raveled of nothing but reckless decisions and raw skill.

Which is why he is so captivated by you going off the lip on the next wave; a vertical top turn that took Taehyung a week to master. He marvels at how fluid your movements are, splashing the white water as you drive down to the shoulder of the wave, momentum never faltering.

As you shift your weight from foot to foot, guiding your glider down the roaring flat of the water, you turn your head to Taehyung’s direction to make sure he is watching you before you enter the whirling barrel.

And of course, he is. You pull a tail slide the moment you peep out from the blue barrel, peeping the tri-fins of your board free from the wave, dragging your weight to your front foot. You gain speed as you pull down the water, but you kick back up the comber — and with enough momentum to whirl in the air, surface off the lip, and rotating a three-sixty upside down.

“Another rodeo,” Taehyung shakes his head, “I’m not even impressed anymore.”

But Taehyung eats those words back when he notices the wave still rumbling, fifteen seconds in and you are preparing for another trick. He raises his eyebrows, leaning in like it will drag him into the scene as well, and becomes completely engrossed in the raw glory that is your skill.

The ripple still remains strong, refusing to break towards the shore, and it gives you the perfect chance to score another trick — one he has not seen before, one that can bring you to the top of the grand surf sphere.

You maneuver down the leveled face of the cerulean comber, the glassiness of the wave being disrupted by its capillaries from the incoming breeze. Quickly, and avoiding the closeouts, you abruptly commit cutback to the lip, placing enough force and turning your body perfectly until you are off edge of white water.

You stick your hand into the face of the rolling breaker and hop the lip. You bring your front foot near your torso, creating a perfect angle as your arms fly into the open air. Proceeding your three-sixty air, hands waving in a flawless motion to those on the shore who are gawking at the situation. The foot near the tail raises to your torso, and you place the other one down, pressing it until it kisses the edge of the water.

The two seconds of your aerial is insane. Your hair is flying in all sorts of directions, salty mist latching onto the locks while the thin mist coats your skin. Salt lingers on the thin of your lashes, and only thickens as you ride down to the shore. Momentarily, you owned the world.

Taehyung’s jaw drops, another look of aghast overtaking his expression. You just did it — another one of the hardest tricks in surfer’s time. The three-sixty air reverse, no grab. An alley-oop is simple, plain and can be mastered within a few days; but to do such an intricate movement, taking into account all the minor details and the balance of equanimity that fleets, it is on the brim of impossible.

Or so he thought, because there you are, commencing one tricky set after another; doing what surfers thought have always been carved into the stone of impossibilities.

Just as the fire blazes through the ocean’s deep blue, every fraction of you strikes through Taehyung.

When you near the shore — near him — you hop off your board and take a dip in the sea. The wave has officially died down, stretching itself on the damp sand. It appears elastic, running from one end of the world to the other — absolutely mesmerizing, and you are able to ride one of the wonders.

“How was the show, surf champ?” you ask him, somewhat cocky. The look of surprise that rippled onto his face causes a surge of pride to wash upon your being; it is absolutely hilarious, a look you would live for. It is not only within the competition that he’s surprised by you, but with every instance like this.

Maybe you can keep it up for a good while.

“A reverse aerial,” he names. “You just did a reverse aerial with no hands on the rim!”

You laugh; he appears like a small dog dashing out into an open field, excited from the view at hand. “Like it? I plan on doing that for round two,” you inform.

Round two? A lightbulb flickers on in Taehyung’s mind at those words, and this is his chance. Taehyung beams, evocative images of the second round of Stoked running through his mind. “Damn.” He laughs. “My set is nothing compared to yours. Mind teaching me that trick? I’d love to be able to pull it off one day.”

A smirk blossoms on your expression. “Mind showing me how you surf? I just want to catch a general idea of your style so I don’t nag you for the wrong actions.”

Taehyung nods. “Will do, but you gotta teach me that trick afterwards! For sure?”

“For sure, broski,” you promise, immediate. For some reason, despite Taehyung being your competitor, there is no fear or thick air shared between you two. It feels like two complete surf bums sharing a love out on the sea, heart deep within the ocean blue.

Not only is it a refreshing feeling for you, but for Taehyung as well. When is the last time Taehyung has ever held a normal conversation with somebody; let alone, go on dawn patrol with someone completely new? On your side you have been surfing alone for two summers, self teaching all of the minor particulars to not perfect your surf, but to make the most out of it.

You eye Taehyung heading to the arching breakers, hands cupping the cerulean stretch to aid his speed. You are sitting comfortably on your board, fingers drumming on the poorly waxed surface while you leisurely watch his actions.

The second Taehyung pops onto his two feet on the board his smile disappears, focus shot into a perfect surf; after all, he is trying to impress you — to top you.

There is something about him weaving his way past the tiny dawns of the water; perhaps it is the natural electric glow of the sun that spreads behind him, the scattering of the waves and how he is riding them, or maybe it is him as a whole.

His complex is godly, a beautiful golden radiance emitting off him. He surfs fiercer than most, wild as if he is on an excursion to own the entire sea — and his only companion being his trusty longboard. It’s that feeling again: the feeling of hunger present in his blood. It morphs with anticipation, pushing his excitement to the brim until his mind clouds with nothing but perfection.

Exulting in the glory that is the wide sea, marking it as his own with every abrupt cutback, he gains the speed to travel down the barrel, finding solace underneath the azure arc. A heavenly blue splays out above him, closing in with a perfect harmony to the sun. Its beams become spread out like pristine sequins, and Taehyung just happens to shine just as bright.

Passerbys on the sand halt their gail to marvel at the beauty that is Kim Taehyung, the surf champion. He surfs with so much precision — a plethora of skill like he has been gifted by the gods — that it would be hard to not stop and stare.

It is a given to why he has been the champion for five years in a row; it is because of the hard work he pours into becoming a professional surfer.

Taehyung makes haste the moment the nose of his surfboard peeps from the arch, and with a practiced action he drives himself to the edge of the whitewater, kicking the board a three-sixty along its axis. You chuckle to yourself, finding joy in Taehyung doing a…

“Kickflip,” you mumble. “Of course he’d take a skater trick and transform it to a surfer’s.”

He ends his session with a cutback, chopping off half the speed as he makes his way back to you on the sea. Distant cheers flood your ears, men and women cheering for him. The only words you hear past the lulls of the sea are “Gnarly surf!” and “what a mean trick!”

Once Taehyung glides past you, he jerks his head that tells you to situate yourself on the shore. “Let’s talk on dryland,” he comments. “Tide’s kickin’ itself up.”

And he leaves no room for you to protest.

You watch Taehyung paddle to the sand, hips taut. It doesn’t take long for you to follow him, almost like his penumbra. Your mind is a whirlwind from watching his trick — his surf. How can a man glide on the hollow with so much precision — so much perfection?

Then when he is off the gargantuan breaker Taehyung is back to himself: the quirky, jesting, champion. You can conclude that the Taehyung at competitions is not the same as the Taehyung during free surf sessions.

Taehyung and you walk back to the dry sand, intentions on engaging in a detailed conversation about the paradise of the surfing sphere; that is, until a swarm of locals and tourists circle around Taehyung. There is hope in their eyes, each one gleaming with aspirations and hope, and all Taehyung can do is grin.

Compliments flood him endlessly, and it almost intoxicates his mind, inflating his ego to beyond. You are standing by his side, surfboard under your arm as you wait for his “fans” to finish parading his successes.

He takes a moment to glance at you, catching your disposition and for a split second his smile falters. “Are you okay?” he questions.

“Yeah,” you assure. “Just go finish drowning in your compliments.”

Taehyung chuckles, doing as you say and consumes more ego-boosters. Well, until a few of them soar to you, equally impressed with your trick as they are with Taehyung’s. “Y/N, right?” says one of the watchers.

You nod your head, confirming. “Yes…?”

“That was gnarly!” exclaims the man. “The way you carved through that gnar was ill!”

His words are amplified by the boom of his voice, obnoxious and loud like it will get the point across to you further.

“W-what?” you stutter, surprised. Someone is polishing on your ego, and not Taehyung’s? A surprise to you; oh, and him.

“You’re a total beach babe, and that mean wave your surfed was totally owned by you!” he continues.

Taehyung cuts in, risible, “Saying it louder won’t make it any more true.”

You laugh. “Interrupting my mojo won’t make you any more important.”

“Hey!” Taehyung exclaims. “You should have just taken the breath out there.”

“The… what?” You raise an eyebrow.

“The—”

“—that was sick!” adds another watcher, interrupting Taehyung’s phase of wit. She smiles at you and Taehyung, limpidly impressed. “You two owned that wave—owned the sea.”

You chuckle. “I’m sure I did.”

“She’s referring to both of us,” Taehyung spits out.

You shrug. “Yeah…” you trail off, pitch raising. “But let’s be real, I shredded that breaker way better than you.”

Taehyung raises his hands in the air, false defeat drawing from his motions. “If that makes you happy, then sure. Say, rather than lingering around these barneys and haoles, would you like to head elsewhere? Then catch another surf after our talk.”

You hum, steepling your fingers on your chin as you take his words into consideration. “I could catch some grub right now.”

“Grub?” Taehyung says again. “Someone’s been sharpening up on their west beach lingo.” His tone is laced with something intentive, almost like he enjoys it far too much.

“You bet,” you confirm. “Ready to roll, my dude?”

“I—” Taehyung chuckles, finding no reason to make a petty comment to your inquiry— “sure.”

–

Within the miniature pop-up restaurant just south from the west beach rests bijou surroundings. There is a dull melody emitting off the dingy radio, playing perfect beachside tunes to set the mood for a perfect brunch.

You are sitting across Taehyung on one of the high tables and chairs, ankles crossed as the sand from earlier sticks onto your skin. Taehyung is drumming in fingertips on the edge of the table, seemingly impatient, and you tilt your head in wonder.

The surrounding patrons situated at other seats attempt discreet glances your and Taehyung’s way, susurrous voices leaving their mouth as nosy questions and surprised comments. Typically, surfers that compete in Stoked do not cross paths with one another out of the water; the high stakes flood the competitors’ minds, intoxicating with the thought of victory. Yet, there you are sitting across Taehyung while fighting a smile.

“So,” Taehyung breaks the silence after the two glasses of water arrive, “what did you think about my style?”

You shrug, watching the miniature icebergs bob up and down the glass. “It was… interesting. You’re very different compared to most professionals.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re calling me a professional?”

You roll your eyes, disregarding his rhetorical question. “You’re very rowdy on the waves—reckless, and intricate with your tricks,” you comment. “I can tell that you practice a lot.”

Taehyung chuckles, circling the straw around his finger. “Of course I do, I always have to look premo.”

“Premo?” you question; once again dumbfounded at their language.

“Good, you know?” Taehyung informs, “Amazing and such. I can’t go out on the water lookin’ like a barney, so I practice everyday. I’ve been surfing for years—longer than what you’d expect.”

You chuckle. “Yet I scored higher than you in the first round,” you poke.

“Too early,” he comments, jesting.

“Anyway,” you shift back on topic, “your work for ‘premo’ pays off. Like your movements are sharp, way different from me.”

Taehyung scratches the back of his neck, showering in that easy compliment. “Thanks, and I can tell. When I watched you out there you were insane. Like you didn’t even bother trying to own the wave, you went with it’s flow. Your style is nice though, it really isn’t bad. It’s diff ‘cause you’re so laid back.

“And when you messed up, you laughed. I don’t get it—I can never get myself to do that. I’d probably beat myself up for not scoring a move I spent so much time on.”

You blink a couple of times and sip your water, attempting to draw out the right words to say. The moment of silence shared between you and Taehyung raises his nerves; he wonders if he has said anything wrong and becomes an internal nervous wreck.

“I don’t mind messing up,” you tell him, direct.

Taehyung tilts his head. “Why? Just keep pushing yourself and you won’t.”

“I said I don’t mind; besides, it happens. I surf to have fun, not for the purpose of learning tricks and winning competitions—I’m not you. Competitions, to me, take the fun out of everything. It’s unnecessarily problematic, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Then why are you competing in Stoked?”

You hum. “I wanted to try something different this summer. I didn’t want another staycation over on the water again, haha. Let me go ham for once.”

“You know,” Taehyung starts. “For someone who doesn’t take surfing that seriously, you sure got a whole lotta skill within you.”

You grin. “What can I say? Perhaps I’m just a natural. I don’t really know how I can teach you that reverse aerial. You seem to lack the control needed for it.”

“I can try,” Taehyung tells you.

“You’re gonna have to try real hard then,” you say with a bright smile.

And with the way a grin quite similar to your own sprouts on Taehyung’s face, you know you have your answer. The worker comes to your table, questioning you and Taehyung on what you would like to eat, and after a few short conversations the worker leaves. You and Taehyung are left firing mindful words towards one another, each one a key to opening up a gate to each other’s life.

You learn more about him: where he is from, why he loves surfing, and why he remains in Stoked. Him, as a man who has grown up on the west beach, ached to find excitement within the shore; frankly, the only episode of excitement is when Stoked rolls around. You learn that it has given him the chance to, not only meet new people, but catch onto new surf tricks. Oh, and spread his name around the globe as the best, and youngest, surfer up to time.

You tell him a few minor particulars about yourself: How you are from the east side of the country, living it up in the city and that you only travel to west beach as a short vacation. When you tell him that he immediately laughs, commenting that its no wonder you are the way you are, for you’re from the city. You are what he defines as “city chum.”

It is quite risible if one puts their mind to it, a city chum hanging around a surf bum that those would expect to clash.

Coming to think of it, when is the last time you ever met someone new; sat down with a stranger, and conversed? You are on the same boat as Taehyung — gaining a new experience and whatnot. And this one is quite preferable; after all, the last person this has occurred with is Seokjin.

But Taehyung wouldn’t do you dirty, would he?

After two hours of eating and lingering at the dingy area you conclude it, saying that it is time for you to head out.

“So,” Taehyung chimes, “back to the water?”

You giggle, hopping out of your seat with energy. “I spent way too much time with you already; and frankly, I have better things to do.” You start to amble away from the pop-up restaurant, quickly and puzzling Taehyung with your haste. “Thanks for the grub, champ. See you tomorrow morning.” It isn’t until he is about to leave as well for him to realize what you just did.

The waiter rushes over to stop Taehyung, shoving the check into Taehyung’s chest and saying, “You need to pay first.”

Taehyung raises his eyebrows, surprised. “That darn city chum…” he says under his breath.

Taehyung, for some reason, expects to not run into you the following morning. He drags himself out of bed earlier than usual once more, skipping his morning run to catch you at the beach, and there you are. Dressed in the same shawl but a different bathing suit on the beach, your attention is locking on the distance, waiting for the familiar sunrise to peep out.

Then you, for no reason, already expected Taehyung’s company. When he joins you without a word leaving his mouth you are not surprised; rather, content. The two of you sit amidst the quietude, basking in the monochrome morphing into warm hues. The ocean no longer remains still and it awakens from its slumber, stirring up its tempestuous tumults that only crash onto the sand.

“This is nice,” you tell him, breaking the peaceful silence. You smile, finding joy once the first light of dawn peers from the horizon. “It’s like you can hear the heartbeat of the entire beach.”

Taehyung looks at you, unchecked, and thinks about your words before drafting his attention to the lull of the sea. “All I hear is the ocean,” he tells you.

You glance at him, laughter sustained. You take a deep breath of the salty air, digging your hands into the sand as you hold yourself up. Behind you is your board, resting snug on the dry gains next to Taehyung’s.

“You know what isn’t nice?” Taehyung adds, questionable.

“What?” You tilt your head.

“How you left me to pay for that meal yesterday,” he says, laughing but there is no joke limpid behind his words.

You smile. “It wasn’t that expensive, was it? For a place that’s a pop-up restaurant, umbrellas staked into the sand, it doesn’t look like the food costs much.”

“It doesn’t,” Taehyung says. “Individually. But with the amount of grub we ordered it all stacked up.”

You laugh. “Sorry. I can make it up to you some time.”

Taehyung traces a pattern on the dry sand and it is immediately filled in with a small breeze. “You can make it up by teaching me that trick you did yesterday.”

The sun is now half-risen, hues of orange and pink spreading throughout the canvas of a sky. “Sure,” you tell him. “I don’t mind.”

Taehyung beams, a face just as bright as the first light of dawn alone. “Great.”

And this time, just as every other moment before, silence chases the situation.

You and Taehyung do not bother making way towards the water until it slips to its peak, mindless chatter pervading each other’s presence.

Taehyung lifts himself up first, extending his arm out for you to grab onto and when you do, he does not make the effort to pull you up. You are ready to question him on what he is doing; that is, until you become aware of the crossed look that is sketching on his face.

“Taehyung?” you call out to him, grip still strong around his palm.

He sighs, shaking his head and tugging you up.

“Are you okay?” you ask him.

Taehyung ignores your question and reaches for his board, lifting it from the sand. “Tae!” exclaims one of his friends.

You turn your head over your shoulder, recalling the familiar voice. “Tae!” he continues.

“Jimin!” Taehyung replies, enthusiasm artificial and easy to catch. “W-what are you doing up so early?”

“Jin dragged me out,” he announces. Jimin steps to the side, only to reveal Seokjin’s toddling self nearing both you and Taehyung.

You roll your eyes, sticking your board underneath your arms. “I’ll be out on the water,” you tell Taehyung. “Don’t want to deal with that piece of work this early in the morning,” you joke.

Taehyung laughs, waving you away. Jimin remains quiet at the way Taehyung watches you enter the cold sea, a lovesick expression written all over Taehyung’s face.

“So,” he clears his throat, “how’s your plan coming along?”

“Plan?” Taehyung queries as well, quick before his thoughts catch up to him. “Ah, t-that plan.”

Seokjin pats Taehyung’s back the moment he steps into the picture. “Y/N avoiding me?” he asks with a pout. “No surprise.”

“You avoided her at the party,” Jimin calls out with a smirk.

“Hey, that’s different, broski.” Seokjin grips onto Taehyung’s shoulder. “How’s the practice coming along for round two? We haven’t seen you out on the beach that much lately.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m always out on the water early in the morning now,” Taehyung discloses.

Seokjin becomes puzzled, digging through his thoughts to find his friend’s reasoning. “Why?”

Taehyung bites the outline of his lip, not wanting to listen to Seokjin’s bickers when he breaks out the truth. “Just because, you know.”

“Are you macking on Y/N?”

“N-no!” Taehyung waves his hand, shooing away Seokjin’s suggestive proposition. “She’s a competitor—I have to win. We’ve just been practicing together and such. Ya know, the times we do cross paths.”

Seokjin hesitates. “You should be careful. Y/N knows how to do people dirty.”

Jimin chuckles, catching both sides of the spectrum. “So does Taehyung.”

“What is he talking about?”

“Nothing,” Taehyung blurts out, immediate. It gives Seokjin is answer on the spot, and his cautions raise the longer the situation is being dragged out and away from the truth.

“Remember,” Jimin tells Taehyung, shoving his fists into his pockets, “you have to win the second round. Score the killer move, hop onto the third round with ease, then score first in the bag. Keep up the plan Hoseok formed.”

Taehyung groans, rubbing a palm on his face from recalling the details about Hoseok’s plan. “Right, I have that in check. Don’t worry, my dude. And you, Jin—” he steps away— “I don’t got the hots for your ex-girl. Remember the whole… bro-code thing? I won’t chase your ex-girl out back.”

Seokjin chuckles, already falling in the belief of his companion’s words. “Sure, whatever. I have to go on babe wa– I mean, beach watch in a bit. But first I have another whack lifeguard meeting at the shack,” he complains. “Wish me luck, dudes.”

“May the bummer not rain down on you,” lets out Jimin.

“I’ll try my best.” Seokjin implores. “Later, broskis. Catch a good shred, Tae.”

Jimin stretches his arms to the sky once Seokjin makes a departure. “I’ll be ready for the second round,” he acknowledges.

“So will I…” he trails off. “I hope I can top her on the charts. What if her move isn’t all that?”

Though, even Taehyung knows that is a lie. From watching you yesterday, he possess more skill than the greatest of kahunas; in fact, you might even make your way to the top if you bothered to make a living on west beach. A smooth, fluid surf — a surfer that knows how to have fun — is a surfer that everyone secretly craves to be.

Taehyung is not really sure on why he is putting up a front towards his friends now, he lost interest to top you in the competition a long time ago — well, until Jimin snaps him back to his senses.

Jimin laughs. “Can you just believe her face when you use her own move against her? It would be so ham! You have the golden opportunity right now—the window is open for you, all you have to do is jump out. Shred the waves better than her, score higher than her. Impress the judges.”

Taehyung has a look of discomfort washing on his face, guilt soaring to him in miniature waftures. He looks out on the ocean to see where you are: snug on the board and drifting, waiting for him to catch up. He sighs. “I guess, but what if I just don’t pull off the mean wave on her? Like no can do, bro. Maybe I should try being fair.”

His friend hesitates, a smile that once screamed pride now faltering. “What’s into you lately? Do you have the hots for her?”

“I don’t.”

“You were so set on this plan. You can’t just drop it.”

“I—”

“—oh shit, I heard that New School is heading over for the second round,” Jimin informs. Taehyung’s eyes glint, but out of fear or excitement? Everyone knows it: that New School is the largest surfing magazine out there. All time surfers like Mickey Dora and Tom Blake set their foot on that magazine, sparking a new page for surfer’s time. Shit, if Taehyung can get his name, somehow, on that flimsy bind of paper then he would be the start of another.

Taehyung gulps, eyes widening from the newfound information. His mind feels rooted at a crossroads and never has he ever felt so torn before, almost like he is remain in the middle of an A-line wave, given no time to prepare for impact. “New school?” Taehyung repeats, voice low.

Jimin nods his head, almost cocky. “Yep. So broski, you gotta beat her out on the water—gotta top that betty!”

Taehyung lets out an exasperated groan.

“Tae!”

He sighs. “Fine. Just have faith in me, will ya? Let’s link later, there’s no bonfire but we can hang, right?”

Jimin smirks. “Of course, have fun out back, champ.”

“Have fun yourself, my dude.”

–

Taehyung takes a handful of time to join you on the water. Goosebumps rise on your skin, racing up your spine as you attempt to remain fixated in a small section; though, the current is carrying you out. You rub your hands on your board that clearly needs to be waxed again and you hum. “You’re so battered…” you trail off, thinking about your surfboard. “Survive until the end of vacation at least,” you wish, hopeful.

The sun is still muted, a strange contrast compared to the golden glow that is coming with the hour. Its heat is beating down on your skin, creating a balance from the cool water and warm air. You take two small breaths, allowing the salt to exhilarate you and snap you back to the surfer’s state of mind. Alright, this is just another dawn patrol surf session just as everything else. The only thing that is different is that Taehyung is by your side again, but why is that pricking at your mind?

You hang your head low, eyes fluttering closed as you attempt to sort out your thoughts. The second round of Stoked is almost a week away and you are lounging out — a laze that no competitor would commit. Perhaps it hasn’t hit you yet: the fact that if you score big in the competition, topping the all-time champion that enjoys lingering by your side, you would own the grand surf sphere.

Thing is, can you handle that? Surfing has always been a leisure activity for you — a hobby and talent you only dived into because there has never been any other activity for you to do. The thought of your name, fresh like a guppy, extending past the pocket of the ocean is an event your mind cannot fathom. And it causes you a momentary period of discomfort.

You feel a hand gently hit your thigh, catching your attention, and you shoot your head up, snapping yourself out of your reverie. You find Taehyung smiling at you, bright and assuring even though no words leave his mouth.

You mirror that expression back to him, silently grateful. “What took you so long? Was Jin complaining again?” you question, jesting. “Complaining ‘bout his hair, or how his shirt doesn’t bring out the best of his body?”

Taehyung bubbles, ebullient; his laugh sounds like a thousand bijou bubbles rising to the surface. “Nope, but they do think you’re crazy,” he replies.

You roll your eyes, amused “Seriously?”

“And so do I,” he adds.

“Okay, screw you.” You laugh, pushing his body. He loses his balance and almost falls off the board, but he grabs onto the rim right on time. “Ready to shred the swell?”

Taehyung chuckles, fixing his position so that he is prone on his board. “Are you ready to get shacked?”

“Bring it.”

The wide ocean beckons you and Taehyung, drawing you farther out than usual. The tides are shifting to perfection, tiny dawns of waves rich as the range carries onto flawless overheads. You and Taehyung exchange quick peers at one another, the same excited expression glued on each other’s face. Heat carries from the slip of your neck and down your body, heart pumping faster with every paddle.

Within moments, a wave takes shape right before your eyes. It climbs to a simple five-footer, nothing too grand or diminutive for the situation. You squint your eyes past the salty mist, eyes locking to the distance once you pop up on the breaker. “You gotta widen your stance, and don’t forget to crouch low!” you yell to Taehyung, advising him as he mimics your movements. He follows the path you create on the water with every maneuver, trying to do the exact same action as you draw speed. “You need to be quick. Keep an eye on your section and make sure the lip is perfect. If it’s soft then do a deep bottom turn; if not, then do a mid-face!”

Taehyung nods his head, shifting his balance. “What about the rotation?” he questions.

“Just do you,” you tell him. “It’s a normal rotation, just do what you feel comfortable with!”

“But I—”

“—Follow me!” you interrupt.

You curve at the shoulder, popping yourself off the froth of the wave: an imperfect lip that aids with perfecting your scene. You pivot your head over your shoulder as you open up the stance, letting loose while you move every ounce of your weight to your hips. Your hands fly free into the air, the cold wind seeping through the gaps of your fingertips, making you feel as if you are on top of the world. A bright smile sheens your face, a wondrous glint in your eyes as you embrace the quick two seconds.

Taehyung watches, taking mental notes of how your back foot kicks with great force to get your short-board to move around. Shit, did you bend your knees? You land so quickly — smoothly — to the point Taehyung missed it.

You hit the face of the comber flat, smooth as you trail down its glory.

Turning your head back, you gawk at the champion. “Go!” you order.

Taehyung gulps and crouches down on his trusty board a little more. He kicks up the aegean wonder, hopping off the lip but, to no surprise, he lacks the force by a fraction; though, a fraction of absence is all that is needed to falter the entire move. His rotation is screwed, not a trace of comfort as he flies throughout the air, landing head first into the face of the wave.

Your jaw drops, a fit of laughter rising from your chest as you watch him wipe out. But it does not take long for the same to occur to you. Far too distracted with Taehyung’s falter, you lose your balance and fall straight into the miniature barrel.

Your board kicks from your feet, flipping itself upside down as you swim your way to the top. The salt water stings your eyes, muted light not kissing your skin into your surface. “Shit,” you spit out. “That was great!” you call out to him.

Taehyung gasps for air as he wrestles onto his board, supporting his body. “Not for me,” he responds with a forced chuckle.

“Well,” you tilt your head to the wave you rode, loving how quickly it settles itself onshore, “it takes time. You’re gonna struggle a lot to learn it, but that’s fine.”

“I think it’s ‘cause we had a party wave.”

You raise an eyebrow while flipping your board, straddling it to get back into position. “Party wave?”

“A wave rode by more than one surfer,” he defines.

“No,” you laugh, “you’re just lacking skill.”

“Seriously?” Taehyung cocks up an eyebrow. “I demand a round two for this.”

You paddle west, gripping onto the rim of the surface with every ripple. “You’re going to need more than another round, champ.”

Taehyung groans; every second that is spent with you is a mixture of pain and pleasure. Minutes grow into hours, which stacks upon each other of spending the day out onto the water. Occasional breaks are not enough for him to rejuvenate his energy, and Taehyung starts to believe that his sunblock is losing its effect. He cries internally; oh, how his perfect, golden tan will be ruined.

Though you, on the other hand, are having the time of your life on the water. You truly feel at home again, just riding the ocean and falling into the surface of its depth. The stretching sea welcomes you with every wipe out like open arms, and it is a refreshing feeling once your whole body dips back into its splendor.

The seagulls have been circling the sky for what seems like eons, diving into the water briefly and popping back out. As locals and tourists come and go, you and Taehyung are the only ones that remain throughout the entire day. And it feels like the whole entire world on shore has slipped away.

There is only you, Taehyung, and the home of the wave. Oh, and that darn sea breeze that whips your hair into your face to mess up your trick.

With every hinder you burst out laughing, causing a warm sentiment to erupt from Taehyung’s chest. He questions if it is the way you look like when you are laughing your mistakes away, or just how you appear in general. Your body flaunts one of your favorite swimsuits, and Taehyung adores every bit.

Though, he does not enjoy the poking jokes you voice towards him every time he messes up the reverse aerial — and that is every time he attempts.

It does not occur to you how much time has passed until the sun starts to sink back into the distance, coloring the entire world with hues of orange to rosy pinks. The water turns to honey, its tempest ways withering into serenity.

The scattered sunlight gives the appearance of the world looking like its own treasure, a special present to the world. Taehyung and you stop the surf session to hold a proper conversation, not addressing what he needs to work on and the details of his mistakes, but to discuss simple matters: the view, weather — everything.

You two are drifting on surfboards, barely at the outskirts of the bay and laughing the dusk away. "How was my improvement?" he asks with a grin, tired and out of breath.

You hum, recalling the episodes of his countless wipeouts. "No improvement," you comment, joking.

"Ah," he chuckles, "I'll get there."

You cast your gaze downwards to your board, little to no wax spread upon it; you are trying to search for a distraction away from him, away from his eyes. "Thanks," you say, voice clear from the muted moment of the sea.

Taehyung tilts his head, lashes fluttering like butterflies that pirouette. "For what?"

You swallow your breath, unsure of why the air is unsteady for you. "For today. I had fun," you tell him. "I haven't had this much fun since when I started to surf."

You are expecting Taehyung to burst out laughing, to ridicule you, but instead he commits the opposite. He smiles, lovingly and full of silent admiration, and there is a certain glint of hope shining in his eyes amidst the reflection of the sea. "I'm glad," he responds. "But I should be the one thanking you."

"Why?" you question, feet swinging within and against the force of the water.

"For putting up with my complaints and for taking time to teach me that sick reverse aerial—without hands."

"It's no problem," you mumble. There is a foreign sentiment constructing within your chest; it is warm, welcoming, but you have a sense of danger and fear intertwining with such emotions. For a second you feel your thoughts cut off, only to be overtaken with the realization that you possibly like this champion, Kim Taehyung.

You shake your head, pondering what you are thinking. You just met him, spent one whole day with him out on the water, there is /no/ way you can develop feelings that quickly; after all, your love is with the sea.

But perhaps that is what brought you and Taehyung together: the common ground of adoring beauty exulted from the wide ocean.

"What are you thinking about?" Taehyung breaks your reverie.

His inquiry catches you by surprise. "N-nothing," you fib. "Well, just about the competition." Of course, the competition. You and Taehyung can buddy all you want after Stoked. You made it into the second round, might as well keep going, right?

"Ah," Taehyung lets out with a breath, disappointment limpid within a simple complaint. "No surprise. Stoked is on my mind twenty-four-seven as well."

You dip your fingertips into the cool water as you grip onto the rim of your board. "Why?"

Taehyung slouches and looks into the distance of the sunset, finding solace from its golden glow. "'Cause of the wins."

You raise an eyebrow. "Wins? Why does that matter so much?"

He rubs a palm on his face, saltwater meeting the soft of his skin. "I don't know how to really explain," he comments, hesitant. "You're going to think I'm dumb."

"As if I don't think you're dumb right now," you inform, risible.

Taehyung swallows his breath, still reluctant. "When I first entered Stoked I was just a grom, a mere guppy entering the wide surf sphere. It was... scary, but also really thrilling. Growing up on west beach I always watched Stoked from the shore, cheering on my favorite surfers that are now ancient and golden Kahunas. But when I first competed in Stoked the thought of being alongside those pros scared me—terrified me.

"I made a mistake on my first trick, but that mistake led me into a move of perfection. It was my stupid fear that made me land that silly trick, but it was perfect. A simple fuck-up was all I needed to score a golden move, and my name was instantly bumped to the top. Shit, and I remember everything perfectly.

"The sun, the salt, the lull of the sea, and my foes at the time. It is all fresh in my memory, and it always will be.

"But I need to win. I have to. I feel like I have set the bar for, not only other surfers but, myself, extremely. I have to do better—to keep topping myself—so that I can be a legendary kahuna. Haha, it sounds dumb, but that's what I think.

"The pressure eats me alive, and I don't want to imagine the swarm of reporters what will come to me if I ever did lose Stoked. I already had so many on round one, but imagine me losing the competition. I need to keep winning—I need to meet my own goals. Which is why you're my enemy on the water, haha."

You remain silent, unable to find a response or formulate the most diminutive of a reply. A foe, are you just a relentless foe to Taehyung? With his obsession with winning, is there even a genuine, raw friendship? He appears relentless, merciless to gain the imaginative throne. Of course, there are people like Taehyung.

And there are people like you.

"I can't relate," you blurt. "Sorry. To me, surfing is nothing but fun. Competitions take the fun out of everything, and the pressure will build on—just like you said. I'm in Stoked to try something new, not to win. I don't think you should let the weight of the world run your life—that will ruin the fun out of everything. Surfing is amazing, an incredible hobby that makes me forget about the negatives in my life. It is dashed the moment you surf for the 'cause of the negatives.

"There's almost something spiritual about owning a wave; it is a thrilling feeling once you do, and incredibly fulfilling once you perfectly land a trick. For yourself, that is. Not for any other person, competition—nothing."

Taehyung presses his lips into a thin line, looking past the lines of your statements. "It's... a really fun sport, haha."

"It's more than just a sport, champ." You call out, "You've been living on the beach all your life and you view surfing as a sport? I've been here twice, my third time being this and I acknowledge it as an incredible lifestyle. Maneuvers and tricks are an art—everything is refreshing: from the sea to the air."

"Wow," Taehyung breathes.

"You're so weird," you two say in unison.

Laughter rises from each other's chests like lurching tides, breaking the stagnant of the situation in a heartfelt way.

“So,” he takes a deep breath, “I have a question for you—not about the competition.”

“What is it?”

Taehyung appears surreptitious, body wiggling like he has something to hide. “Want to head to the bonfire tonight?”

Your eyebrows cross together. “Bonfire?”

“Ah.” He clarifies, “The bonfire is something my bros and I do every Wednesday night. We’re close, but we become even closer every gathering.”

You kick back on your board, the sun now beating at your skin. “No thanks,” you shrug off. “I don’t want to get in the middle of you and your ‘bros.’”

“You won’t be getting in the middle of us,” he clarifies. “Besides, I want you there.”

“And I don’t want to go.” You lay prone on your board and start to paddle to the shore, the sight of the sunset no longer in your field of view. “I spent an entire day with you, do I have to waste my night as well?”

Taehyung raises his hands in the air, feigning defeat. “Your loss.”

As you paddle back to the shore you end up passing by a familiar face — Hoseok, to be exact. He is paddling far out, probably to Taehyung, with a smile pressed onto his face. “Afternoon, fine betty.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll never understand that slang.”

Hoseok lifts his body upright when he rests next to Taehyung, his longboard snug beneath his body. “How’s you and the kook?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Fine, I suppose.”

“Fine?” Hoseok repeats, palms splaying onto the waxed board. “You seem like you had fun the entire day. How long were you two even out on the water? I went on a morning run and saw you, and here I am for my afternoon session—you’re still on the ocean!”

Taehyung grunts. “It has only been a day, my dude. A day of me pestering her to teach me her god-almighty surf trick.”

“Seems like something more,” Hoseok comments, flicking water to his friend’s face.

“There’s nothing more.” Taehyung flicks back. “I don’t got the hots for a chum.”

Hoseok chuckles, not a trace of belief present. “I’ll take your word. Don’t get too caught up with this. That’s Jin’s ex-girl.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Taehyung stretches, arms reaching for the sun. “He’d bite my ass about the bro-code if I even tried to make a move on her.”

“Like he’s off any off our asses,” Hoseok jokes. “I swear he changed when he became a lifeguard.”

“You’re probably right,” Taehyung agrees. He turns his head back to the shore, losing sight of where you are. “I’m gonna head back to my place, gotta freshen up before the bonfire.”

Hoseok waves him goodbye. “You’ll know where I’ll be.”

“Under the sea?”

“Catching a wave, bro! It’s been awhile since I landed a bombin’ trick!” he exclaims. “Steal-worthy.” He winks.

Taehyung laughs and starts to paddle back to the shore. “Whatever, dude. Have fun, don’t wipeout too much.”

“Will do, broski.”

At the shore, Taehyung is not able to find you again and there is a brief feeling of voidness in his chest. He ruffles his hair, droplets of salt water shaking off like rapid rivulets, and rinses himself under the nearby showers before making way to his place, awaiting the next day.

Intentionally, it becomes a part of Taehyung's routine to drag himself out of bed early in the morning, right before the crack of dawn, just to jog down the boardwalk to see you waiting for him on the sand. Though, you would never admit that you are. You attempt to pass it off as a discreet method, a hidden tactic.

Though, just as rising earlier than usual to rest upon the board among the small, gentle tides enter his routine, so does getting eaten by the faces of the waves. No matter how hard Taehyung tries, he just cannot pull off your golden surf trick. As close as he believes, he always falters somehow: lifting his foot up too early, messing up the landing or screwing with the momentum, or even having his mind drift off like the salty mist that flies in the air.

This is a thousand times more strenuous than what Taehyung has ever expected. A simple aerial, forward and bijou, can be learned within at least two days; five more days have passed, and that is hours after hours of him practicing on the ocean by your side, failing with every pop-up.

You find it amusing, his desperate attempts to score the trick — it is almost as if your words of "it will take around a few weeks to learn" do not sink into his mind; you wonder why he is in a rush. Why would he be so desperate to learn one of the hardest tricks in surfer's time?

There is one upside to this entire situation — just one to Taehyung, and that is the fact that he is able to remain by your side from dawn to dusk, catching some delicious grub later on in the day as well. Being by your side shifts his views on the city chums, or maybe it is with you — and the fractions of adoration he feels around your restless body.

Refreshing. To put it simply, that is what Taehyung would describe every moment with you. Almost like a splash of freezing water to the face, or the cool mist that kisses the skin with every ride within a barrel. You existence crashed waves with his own, engulfing his being like a barrel breaker in the most flawless of ways. Throughout his life on living on the west beach he has never met someone like you — someone who has snapped him into his senses as a local.

Since the first practice your words have lingered in his mind, pricking at the back of his brain as if it is a warning. A lifestyle, and not a sport — that is what surfing should be. A darn grommet — a tourist — sees it the way it should be.

To surf for fun is one thing he now aspires to do. Perhaps Taehyung is not the best surfer out on the water; despite the amount of pristine tricks and beautiful maneuvers he can do, he feels off par compared to you, a simple surfer.

And the gap will only continue to grow.

When Monday morning comes around Taehyung arrives to the beach a little later than usual. Without high hopes to see you there, for he has already become accustomed to meeting with you near the wash zone, he feels a strike of confusion cross him when you are nowhere to be found. You are not sitting in your normal spot, knees tucked under your chin as you wait for the sun to rise. Your board has no presence, no trace that it has been speared into the sand.

Taehyung scratches the back of his neck, the untimely breeze hitting the slip of his nape and sending chills down his body. The world is still in its charcoaled appearance; no scintilla of the first light peers from the distance. He walks a couple more steps to the edge of the wash zone, rooting his surfboard into the sand before he situates himself on the dry land. He stretches his legs out, allowing his toes to dig under the freezing grains and wiggling them to bide time until your arrival.

Taehyung is usually the late one, so it is quite strange to not see you up and early at the beach first.

Times rolls by like a quick tide, tourists and such flooding the beach in no time, excited to have their own moments of lounge on the side; but, none of them are you. Umbrellas pop up, towels become spreaded, and Taehyung groans, allowing himself to splay on the sand as he stares at the sky that is now freshly blue. The sun has risen, seagulls have flown into the air — you should be here by now.

Grumbling, he raises himself, finally noticing the amount of people on the choppy water. "These waves are so weak," he mumbles, a limpid complaint. "And they're all party waves... and where's Y/N?"

Taehyung stretches his legs out, ready to quit basking under the sun and rocket towards the sea. Well, until he feels a couple of light taps on his shoulder. He turns quickly, aspirations through the roof easily dashed when he sees Jimin and not you.

"Seriously?" Taehyung grunts.

Jimin pouts. "What? Not happy to see me, why are you so worked up? Oh, because I'm not—"

"—no," Taehyung cuts off. "Not because of whatever you are thinkin', bro."

Jimin grins and holds his surfboard tighter under his grasp; a fresh purchase, it appears to be. "New board?" Taehyung questions.

The older boy nods, excited. His head fleets from his new treasure and to the sea, love filling his eyes. "You know it, I picked this beauty up back in the city."

Taehyung crosses his arms, shifting his weight. "The city has beauties like this?" He runs a finger on the rim, feeling its exquisite wood. This isn't a pop-out, is it?"

"I would never purchase a board made by machine, leave me alone." He takes a breath. "So, since you're not here with Y/N, where is she?"

"God, her name makes me feel pearled," Taehyung lets out.

Jimin bubbles, adoring his new piece. "She's that bad? To the point you would compare her to a face plant over the nose?"

He clenches his teeth, biting away his lie. Just when he is about to voice another statement, it dissolves on the tip of his tongue once he sees a familiar figure prodding to him and Jimin, a beam gracing your face brighter than the largest star. "Here she is," Taehyung says to Jimin, tapping Jimin's arm with the back of his hand.

Jimin tosses a short stare over his shoulder, waving to you.

"Here you are," Taehyung greets when you stand by his side, breathy.

You greet the two men hello. "Here I am,” you say, scripted. “Sorry, did you wait long?"

"No," Taehyung responds, far too immediate for his words to be reliable. "I got here not that long ago. You know, to check the tide."

You get on your tip-toes, digits digging into the sand as you engross in the view of the crowded ocean. "There's a lot of party waves and three-footers." You pout. "How weak."

"That's what I'm saying!" Taehyung agrees, an arm flying in the air.

You giggle at Taehyung's moment of petulance and blush, the pink hues that paint your face ephemeral.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, head turning from you and Taehyung rapidly like it will aid him to assess the redamancy of the situation. His curiosity raises; maybe there is more that meets the eye — far more than what Taehyung discusses with the others. Beleaguered, Jimin takes a step towards the water to sneak out of the moment, and away from the electricity.

Taehyung shakes his head, catching Jimin's fail act of being furtive. "Headin' out?"

Surprise washes upon Jimin's face like a rocketing wave. "Ah, yeah. I want to get in a surf session before I head off and meet with Hobi. Plus—" he leans back in— "I want to take Jennie out for her first ride.

"Jennie?" Taehyung questions, puzzled. He appears offended that his dear friend did not inform him of having a woman in his life, for the first time in... how long? "Two months, it has been two months. And you got a new girl?"

Jimin bursts out laughing, a dulcet, soothing harmony that can be passed off as an unimpaired aubade. "Nah, dude. It's my new board." Jimin motions to the footer under his arm that craves to kiss the water; his eyes gleam with love from the sight of its freshly waxed surface, and intricately carved designs. "She's a nine-foot-six, has a sixteen inch nose, and is pure beauty..."

The older boy is practically drooling over a piece of wood, to put it simply. You cringe, silently hoping that Jimin would leave and hit the undulations of the sea already. Leaning closer to Taehyung, you nudge him with an elbow while saying, "Please don't tell me he is in love with a surfboard."

Taehyung laughs. "Welcome to the west beach, where men like Jimin find our sticks as the true beach babes."

Jimin shrugs, not even bothering with the truth of Taehyung's words. Surfboards have always been an alluring vision to his eyes; in fact, it is no surprise that he has a whole array of longboards in his own shack. "I'll see you out on the water," he bids.

"Maybe." Taehyung winks.

With that, Jimin's off to shred on the sea.

"So," Taehyung takes a deep breath, "you're quite late."

"Ah, so you were waiting?" you tease.

"Possibly," he brushes off. He opens his mouth to speak again but quickly shuts it, becoming aware of the bruises on your thigh and your disheveled appearance. You look absolutely tired, drained — and as if you haven’t slept a wink.

"Something wrong, champ?" you ask, board resting on your head as it is supported by your two hands.

Taehyung picks his own surfboard up, sticking it underneath his arm. "You good? You look like you had the largest wipeout of the century."

You laugh, uneasy while fixing your tangled locks. "Yesterday I had a couple of hard wipeouts—my leg rammed into the nose of my board. Then my arm hit the tail, remind me to always re-wax my baby."

Taehyung chuckles. "You're not supposed to wax it that often."

"Well I know that now," you laugh, "Hey, you sure you weren't here waiting for me?"

Taehyung's grin runs niche; he struggles to maintain his innocent aspects. "Y-yeah," he assures. Besides, how can you know that he has been waiting for you for a couple of hours by now?

"You sure? It seems like you were here for a while," you press, giddy. "Quit lying to my face, I saw you from my room from the resort I'm staying in," you inform, victorious.

Taehyung feels as if he has hit a deadlock, coral hues tinging on his features. Heat rises in his chest from sheer embarrassment; seriously? "R-really? What resort? Ah, right. You don't live around here."

"Yeah," you confirm. "I'm a kook."

He chuckles. "That isn't something to be proud of. But if you're lodging at the resort then that explains how you met Jin," he chides, halfhearted with that same forced smile.

You, though, don't find it as funny. To be reminded of someone like Seokjin is absolutely rebarbative to your mind. "Excuse me?" you ask with a fire, cautioning.

"I- sorry," he breathes, not ready for a hint of your fury. "I sort of just thought aloud."

You roll your eyes, kicking sand in his direction. "I'll forgive you if we finally hit the water."

"I'll head to the ocean if you forget the fact that I was waiting for you since dawn."

"Dawn?" you recite. "I thought you were only here for an hour, but now I'm flattered. Let's go shred the gnar, champ."

And so you two do.

Sun beats down on your skin as you and Taehyung carve up and down the hollows, frequent yells and words of motivation and jests being tossed to one another. Still, Taehyung cannot land the almighty surfer trick. His mistakes are still bijou, but bijou is enough to falter the whole entire momentum.

Taehyung refuses to feel discouraged; but then again, his drive to learn the trick shifted from wanting to use it against you, to aching to impress you. He feels his pride dash with every petty comment you voice towards him after his frequent failures, but immediately picks himself back up again when you laugh at his mistakes.

Somehow, there is something about him being the cause of your happiness that dangerously tugs on his heartstrings, and he cannot help but adore it.

Taehyung curses to himself — what is he thinking, catching feels for someone like you, someone that is his premier competitor?

Little does he know, you are facing the same war-like thoughts.

As the sun proceeds to dip and rise, an indication of the days passing to the second round of Stoked, Taehyung makes little to no progress in scoring that surf trick. You are both on the water again, commencing the same routine of guiding his body. And quickly, once the sun starts to set, he calls it a day.

“Do you think I can’t land this trick because you’re a distraction?” he asks with a quirk of his lips. He drifts on his board closer to you, letting the pull of the tides to tug him back far out.

“Now why would I be a distraction?” you question, paddling closer to him.

Taehyung shrugs, letting his legs dangle off the board. “Why wouldn’t you be? You look good all the time.”

Your eyes flare wide at his compliment — how easy it has flown from his lips. “What?”

“I-I mean…” Taehyung gulps, trying to pick himself back up. “I look good too,” he attempts to fix, a clear failure.

You roll your eyes, artificial annoyance painting on your face. “Of course. I gotta say that for a surf bum, you look pretty good.”

“And for city chum, you’re fine yourself.”

“Hey,” you call. “This city chum kicks your ass on the water!”

Taehyung splashes water in your direction, the coolness pressing onto your skin. “Not at the competition! I plan on building my way back up.”

“You can try,” you bite back, easy. “I won’t be trying too hard, just to let you know.”

“You’re gonna end up swindling!” he points out, confidence soaring high. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he comments, his mind not catching onto the words as they pour from his lips.

You sit upright, facing Taehyung’s direction. “What ‘tricks’? The ones you can’t land?”

“I—” Taehyung gulps, taking a few moments to step off his high-horse. Shit, the reverse aerial. He then faces a war in his mind on what to do; if he should still go behind your back— “They’re surprises.”

You chuckle, scooping the salt-water so that the nose of your surfboard faces the shore. “You can try to surprise me,” you tell him. “Probably won’t be anything gnarly.”

“You can wait and see!” he yells to you, watching you paddle away from him. “I’ll shred that gnar, and you’d be the one wanting to top me!”

A hopeful smile sprouts on your face, coral shades rising along with the heat. Thank god you are heading back to the shore without him; Taehyung would totally call you out for blushing, for everything in fact.

Then again, what can you say about catching feelings for that darn surf bum.

Wednesday comes rapidly like a rocketing tide, and the fact that the second round of the competition is only three days away does not sink into your mind. Rather than sharpening up on your moves you have been spending time with Taehyung, calling out how he cannot land the strenuous surf trick. You pondered on the bed of your room in the resort every night, sorting out your thoughts on whether or not you should pour every ounce of your effort into the second round. After all, you passed the first without trying and twenty-five thousand dollars is two rounds away.

Rather than resting niche on your board upon the glassy water, you are laying on the sand, back meeting the heat of the miniature grains as you eye the circling, overhead seagulls. Oh, and Taehyung is next to you, comfortably sitting with his arm resting on his propped up knee.

“How was I today?” he asks, curious. His gaze is locking on those who pass by, taking notice of the details in their movements as a distraction. Of course, the more days that pass by with you the more his admiration grows; it practically drowns him.

You hum, thinking impartially. “Not bad,” you smile, soft and closing your eyes, “I think you need more power in your kick.” You aren’t lying; Taehyung has been improving by the day. It is little, coming in fractions, but it is still an improvement that he can be ecstatic about.

“It’s either more power or not enough!” he exclaims, shaking his head. The droplets that lingered on his damp hair hit your dry skin, brief spots of a cooling sensation lasting ephemerally.

You laugh, fleet. “That sounds like something you should focus on more then. At least you can lift your hands off the rim now, like a true kahuna.”

“Kahuna?” he repeats, trying to avoid basking in the artificial compliment. “I wish I was a kahuna. It took me so long to figure out how to noseride, and when I did that trick wasn’t even legendary anymore! And I spent a good two days learning how to switch stance.”

You flutter your eyelids, tilting your head to look at the back of Taehyung. “You do realize it isn’t about how long it takes you to learn, what matters is that you score it in the end.”

Taehyung remains silent for a few seconds, sorting out the dissimilarities between you and him. “Do all city chums think like you?”

“Are all surf bums like you?”

Taehyung chuckles, senses keen. “You wouldn’t complain about being a surf bum if you lived like one.”

“Good thing I don’t, I wouldn’t want to go around parading a huge ego,” you bite back.

“Well there’s a first for everything,” he comments, ready to pop the next question.

You raise an eyebrow, sitting upright and digging your palms into the sand. “Is there?”

“Yeah.” He tells, “and yours can be the bonfire tonight.”

“The bonfire I reject every time you ask me?” you correct, putting an end to his question. “Why are you so persistent to drag me to a bonfire with your friends that I don’t know?”

He shrugs. “You know Jin.”

“Well he isn’t a friend.”

“You know Jimin?” he says, unsure. By now Taehyung is spitting out words that can possibly drag you to the night of your life, but everything he voices comes out as a flimsy bid.

You laugh. “I know that he’s in love with a surfboard. What was her name again… Jennie?” You pause. “Give it a rest, champ. I really do have better things to do.”

You raise yourself from your seat, wiping the sand that sticks to your damp skin off. Taehyung shakes his head once more when a couple of grains fall on his head. “It’ll be fun,” he says, latching onto your hand to prevent you from leaving.

Your body freezes up at the contact; his hand is cold, somewhat damp from the recent surf session, yet a plethora of warmth rises within your being. You gulp, slipping your way out of his grasp to carrying your surfboard. “Try asking me later.”

And with that, you are off.

Taehyung watches you amble away from him, catching the smile you toss over your shoulder in his direction with hopes of him not noticing. He waves small and gentle, and you start to prod to the resort.

It isn’t like you despise the people who orbit around Taehyung — finding the ocean of strangers rebarbative to your being. In fact, tonight would have been a perfect night to spend under the sea of stars, meeting others and making ties. But with the competition closing in three days you realize something: you have never thought about your lineup of tricks to display during Stoked.

Well, since you have intentions on winning first place now.

–

Later that night Taehyung arrived late to the scheduled bonfire. His friends are already wreathing around the raging orange, finding warmth and solace from it and each other. The smoke buffets into the aegean sky, rising and disappearing ephemerally. He takes a seat in the circle, a bright smile etching on his face as the light of the fire paints on his skin; beautiful, golden hues flutter on everyone's bodies.

Intoxicated hello's and welcome him one after another, and he waves to each of his friends as he dives into the conversation, becoming just as talkative as the rest within a second.

"How's the surf going for you?" asks Hoseok, a cold bottle of beer snug in his hand.

Taehyung smiles, thinking of you and those pesky surf tricks. "The surf's been great, I've been sharpening up my moves for the competition."

"Is it just me," Jimin adds, "or has the tides been insane lately?"

Seokjin laughs. "You shouldn't complain if you're constantly shredding the gnar—with a new board almost every time."

"Hey," Jimin bites back, offended. "I am very loyal to Jennie, okay? She's the one, my true board—my only love."

Taehyung rolls his eyes. "Y/N is right, you truly are in love with a surfboard."

"She said what?" Jimin asks, disbelieved. "Speaking of her, how are things? You guys have been hanging out a lot lately."

Hoseok raises an eyebrow at the newfound information. He is not that sure why he is taken back, he did prompt the demise after all. "Really?"

"Yeah," Jimin confirms for Taehyung. "That's why he has been blowing off on our plans. They were out on the water from when I was, and remained there when I left—at six."

The older boy groans before taking a sip of his beer. "Is this... the hots?" he questions. "Tell me you're mind is in the right place bro."

"I will," he says. "After I tell you about this gnarly thing that happened today."

The boys look at each other, a look on their faces that urge Taehyung to continue on with telling his story. And so he does.

Words pour from his lips from the events of what happened today — and to their surprise, they all involve you. Taehyung speaks with a smile on his face, the slightest recollection of your happiness, your being, enlivening him. There is a spark in his eyes, not a reflection off the fire, but a glint of ecstaticism that the boys have not seen on Taehyung before.

To them, they would call it a puppy love.

“...so then after that wipeout I completely hit the lip!” Taehyung exclaims, exaggerating. “Y/N just kept on laughing at me on her board until I asked her to go out back on the water. God, it’s so hard to learn that darn reverse aerial. She thinks I’m a total whack and I’m not really sure what to do.”

Taehyung continues to ramble, diving into his own tangent and all his friends can do is stare and exchange similar glances. They each share the look of disbelief, unable to consider that the competition is lingering in their friend’s thoughts at all. Seokjin appears crossed, confused from the situation, and he remains silent until Taehyung finishes off his story with, “and she looked like a total beach babe as she finished that mean wave.”

Hoseok leans back in the copa chair, bottle of beer snug in his hand. The men remain silent amidst the beachy tunes, thick air miraculously visible.

“What?” Taehyung asks, observing the silence. His head turns to each of the men, studying their expressions to the core. “Did I say something wrong?”

Jimin clears his throat and twists his beer bottle into the sand, the rising fire reflecting of the glass. “You sound like you’ve been having fun,” he comments, a shy smile blooming.

Taehyung nods, kicking back on the sand. “Yeah! She’s totally worth the swindle.”

“You seem like you’re chasing after her like how you chase the section,” Hoseok adds, bitterness lacing his tone.

“Going after the white water is nothing compared to her,” Taehyung corrects. “She’s so dope, you guys gotta go out for a surf session with us.”

“Dawn patrol?” inquires Jimin, suggestive.

Taehyung laughs. “Not dawn patrol, that’s when I spend time with her.”

Seokjin mumbles, “It seems like you totally got the hots for Y/N.”

“What?” Taehyung sits up. “I don’t. Guys, she’s just really cool to be around.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, raising a brow from annoyance. For the first time in forever he has just witnessed his friend straying completely off the path of the competition. Never has he seen Taehyung so caught up in his mind — lodged in the middle between a girl and the sea. “Cool to be around because you dig her? Or because she’s teaching you that move.”

“What mo—” Taehyung ceases his trail of words, mind finally recollecting the bits and pieces, placing together two and two. From his friends’ disappointed and crossed expressions to where the conversation is leading to, he remembers it— “oh, why I approached her in the first place…”

The disappointment is clear in his tone; not due to the weight his friends is causing him, but the disappointment towards himself. He cannot believe the way victory has blighted his mind, causing him to prompt something as low as approaching you for selfish purposes. It completely slipped from his mind: the competition. His mind has been clouded by you, intoxicated by your being.

“You gotta learn that move,” Hoseok urges. “You have to win Stoked again. Let your streak live on, bro. Be one of the best young surfers out there.”

Taehyung sighs. “That really does sound nice. And New School is coming to the second round so maybe I can impress them on my own,” he hesitates, “Do I really have to use her own move against her? I think I can win the second round if I try.”

“Wait,” Seokjin waves a hand, adding himself into the conversation. “Was that your surprise for me? To use her own surf trick against her in Stoked? As much as I’d love to see that, that’s kinda’ low.”

Hoseok shrugs. “You gotta do what you gotta do to win—” he directs his attention back to Taehyung— “for us, bro. We’re all counting on you. Think of all the groms and grommets that look up to you. If you lose then what’s going to happen? Your light’s totally going to die, bro.”

Taehyung presses his lips into a thin line; shit, Hoseok does have a point. Taehyung cannot let the fame he has built so far to crumble down to ruins. “Well… I haven’t been practicing my lineup for the second round anyway,” he admits, hoping that Hoseok catches his drift.

Hoseok smiles. “Then the plan’s still on.”

“And we’re looking forward to it,” Jimin adds, contributing to the pressure on Taehyung’s being.

Taehyung forces a grin and intertwines his own fingers together, fighting the nervous wrecks. “Yeah bros, just watch me on the bigset.”

The following days before the Saturday of Stoked are spent without you. Taehyung skips waking up early to catch a surf session with you and runs up the hill again. Those two mornings, he sees you on the shore and not drifting into the sea, waiting for him. Taehyung bites the outline of his lip, not allowing guilt to shift him away from the victory that is only a few steps away.

He travels down to the south beach for a surf session, where the water is more choppy but waves are two times grand — all to avoid you. He needs to clear his head, rid the image of you from his mind so he can finally focus on Stoked. He has never been one to get distracted — never been one to care about pouring effort into the competition. Every year the competition, he would say, has practically been made for him, for he always scores the top without trying.

But that is not the case this time.

It takes him those two days away from you for him to snap back into the vibe of the competition. Oh, and those two days for him to finally land your trick: the three-sixty reverse aerial without a grab.

The second he perfected the landing on the glassy face he had a surge of pride, excitement drawing from his being. Taehyung has went back to the way he was before: surfing for others, not himself. It is as if your words never had a place in his mind to begin with.

Amidst Taehyung keeping a distance from you, you have not been aware of why. So those two days of waiting for him to show up are wasted, nothing but high hopes being cut short. You surf to clear your mind, to rid your thoughts of Taehyung; what have you been expecting?

To date the all time champion of the grand surf sphere? You are not sure what has clouded your mind to think of such things; now, the water is all you need.

You sort out your lineup for round two, testing certain moves and maneuvers under the barrel. It takes those two good days for you to finally sort out your array of tricks, your finale being the reverse aerial, and all you ache to do is show it off during Stoked. Laying on the sandy beach you stare at the clear sky, wondering if Taehyung will show up at least to round two. He has to, right? There is no way someone like him would score out on a competition as large as Stoked. He said it himself: he has to win.

With those words of his in mind, perhaps you will be the one to prevent it from happening.

Soon enough, the competition arrives.

It is already a norm in your routine to rise early, preparing for a morning surf. But with round two of the competition finally arriving, everything feels different. There is a sudden rush in your bodies, anticipation pulsing through your veins when you walk down the beach — on time, of course. You should win — there is no reason not to. You already made it this far into the competition without trying, so you only have to go with the flow, maybe then those twenty-five thousand dollars will be yours.

The moment your feet hop off the boardwalk, bottoms kissing the sinking sand, heads turn your way like you are the perfect cynosure of attention. You feel like a local, a well-known face amidst the surfing universe. Tourists and natives to the shore greet you with a large beam, clearing the path for you to walk through. Pictures are being snapped, phones are slipping out, and reporters are bombarding you with introductory questions, each inquiring how you are feeling for round two.

"Great," you would respond with a smile. "A little nervous since I want to win now, but I'm feeling good."

You brush by Jimin as you answer the questions, whose eyebrows cross together. "She wants to win?" he whispers to himself. "Ugh, Taehyung's plan better work."

After checking into the second round at the table, you head and mark your designated spot off to the side of the ocean of strangers. Dressed up in a new wetsuit, the heat of dawn does not escape your being. God, all you want to do is hit the waves.

You look at the lineup paper in your hand, perusing the schedule until you see it: Taehyung and you are in the same heat, surfing at the same time. You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head up and looking out in the distance to see a familiar face stand out, but there is no one. "Where is he?" you ask yourself, dumbfounded. Taehyung usually takes competitions seriously, or so he exaggerates, and it is absolutely outlandish to not have his presence around — to not see a flock of surfers surround the almighty champion.

You look at the paper again, reading the time: your and Taehyung's heat is the second of the day, and that is quite early for him.

For some reason you are worried, and parts of you hope that he will make it on time; he would be absolutely crushed if he is late to Stoked, not being able to even surf a heat — to compete.

In the meantime, you stretch and exchange the salty air with your lungs, calming your nerves before your heat. You prepare yourself, pacing the invisible lines of your designated area and watch the surfers within the first heat once it starts.

‘Heat two is up! Y/N is one of our competitors for this one, what can we expect to top that gnarly trick two weeks ago?

‘Though, the five-year champion, Kim Taehyung, himself is also out on the water. This will be some intense shredding…’

The announcer's voice is different than the first when the contestants are called him; you notice the bijou differences. Especially how the breakers out on the sea right now are absolutely raging. You gulp; they look like some mean waves to be carving on, perhaps you can earn some extra points if you land smoothly on the choppy surface.

You eye the first contestants, the ones who have made it into the second round along with you. They appear just as nervous as you are, if not then more. Though, those nervous wrecks get to them once they start to maneuver within the barrel. Some do not make it out of the pipeline, and they rise as soon as the wave carries its way into the shore, disappearing into froth. You cringe, unable to watch the sight of their wipeouts, and start to prepare for your heat. You rest your palm on your surfboard and take a few more deep breaths, but your reverie is quickly disturbed by a sudden sound of shrill screams.

It takes a while, but you can make out what the fans are screaming at any time. "Taehyung!" everyone says. "Tae is here!"

You snap your head to the direction of the sound, taking count of the time: your heat has arrived, Taehyung's as well.

Exhilarated, you walk to the edge of the shore, ankles being tugged by the cold water as you wait for the first set of contestants to clear you, each yelling words of good luck your way. You smile, thanking them prior to moving past the force of the water.

"Taehyung!" you call in the distance. "It's been a while!"

Taehyung looks in your direction, merely waving and not voicing a single sound.

Your smile dwindles, eyebrows furrowing together. Perhaps he is focusing on the competition.

The announcer announces the commencement of the second heat, introducing the competitor's names. Within seconds, you are paddling out into the sea, duckdiving past every miniature dawn. Shit, the water is thick, more choppy than usual. They appeared more bonny as you stood patiently on the sand; but heck, you are struggling to even paddle.

You begin to fret, the tempest ways of the combers getting to your mind. Your gaze is too fixated on the nose of your board, thoughts pouring into finding balance on your board as you lay prone, to the point that you do not notice the five-footer coming your way. Panic-stricken, you dip the nose of your board into the water and raise once it passes you.

It does not occur to you how slow you have been moving compared to the rest, for Taehyung is already carving diversely through the hollow of his breaker, owning the wave entirely.

A look of extreme focus is etched on his face, every move and sharp turn prompted with a kick of power. The salty mist that meets his two squinting orbs do not bother him; he fights past the sting and iciness of the water and pulls a switch stance. With a flip on his board off the white-water lip of the boomer, he starts to force his way down the face in the opposite of his stance, no longer goofy-footed.

The screams of his fans can be heard behind you as you watch the scene; how gorgeous he looks fighting his way for the top. He wastes no time within the wave, which is beginning to die down, to act a tail slide. Contemporarily, he forces the nose of his board up, shifting his weight to the back foot that is glueing to the wax, and to the thin thread of white-water. The tail of his trusty surfboard slides down the face of the breaker, freeing its fins of the wave as he transports his body's weight back to the front foot.

Your jaw drops: he has done two tricks within the span of twenty-three seconds, and the crowd has probably lost their mind from surprise, excitement — everything.

Taehyung breaks a smile, already basking in the glory of his victory; though, his ride is not done yet.

He sails down the wave, allowing it to die down before he lies prone again, ignoring the aghast expression on your face when he passes you like nothing.

"Just one more," he whispers to himself. "You can do it. This is the one."

Taehyung does not bother waiting for the perfect wave and he goes straight to the next. Coldness is spraying in every direction, the incoming comber hurtling to him as if Taehyung is an enemy to the water. He paddles to it, determined and ready, and when the water climbs to a perfect six-footer, he allows his adrenaline to take over.

He pops up goofy-footed, adjusting his stance and fixing the minor mistakes as he consumes the moment.

Nothing else matters, and nothing will, once he scores this trick — once he wins Stoked.

You watch his acute intent. Taehyung is a ball of fire on the water that fights to not be put out, and every move he creates is intriguing. From the span of when you first surfed with him to now, you never noticed his true skill. His moves are sharper than normal, committed with more fractions of force as if there is something in his mind that is driving him to the brink of madness.

Then, you realize it.

You recognize that stance, the placement of his feet on the board and how low he is crouching. He is going to attempt to do it — the reverse aerial.

There is no way though, you haven't seen him score that trick perfectly once. But there is something welling inside your being that convinces you otherwise, and that is exactly what Taehyung is doing.

He starts with a foam climb, moving past the breaking lip to gain speed and move up the ramp of the wave, launching himself into the air. His back foot pushes onto the board, bringing his front knee to his torso as his arms fly into the air. He twists his body, flawless and beautifully, and has the largest smile on his face for the three seconds he remains soaring in the air.

You lean closer, anticipation on the edge just as everyone else's.

Perfectly, he lands it.

Smooth and flawless, he moves down the glassy hollow and brings him and his board into the flats of the water.

Your eyes widen, jaw to the depths of the ocean.

‘Oh! And Taehyung lands it!’

Every being behind you is silent for a moment or two before their screams rile up, fueling the fire of Taehyung's ego.

‘That is it everybody. Taehyung has made surfer history, good thing we all caught that on television. He has just done a reverse aerial without a grab—maybe those two weeks of not seeing him out on the beach paid off!

‘Now, what does Y/N have in store for us? It would be hard to top that perfect nineteen.’

There is something inside of you that heats up as well; scorn, regret, a passionate sentiment along those lines that has been sculpted by Taehyung's betrayal. It all makes sense now: why he has lingered around you, avoided you for the past two days, and insisted to have you teach him that move.

Your eyebrows furrow together out fury, fire blazing in your eyes as your begin to paddle in the water.

Taehyung cannot pull himself to even look at you; heck, you aren't even crossing his mind at this point. He is far too intoxicated with the victory he has obtained, the cheers for him from the shore, and his name flying out of everyone's mouth.

You won't stand for it.

As you start to paddle your way to a breaker, overhead or dawned, Taehyung waves to his friends, proud of his "achievement." His friends are smiling, surprised that he even pulled off his original plan, for they lost faith in him the moment they assumed he had diminutive feelings for you. His friends huddle in a circle, engaging in a group hug for his friend as he remains fixated on his board, attention now averting to your figure on the wave.

You have seven minutes to score ten and ten; a perfect twenty to top him, but that is impossible at this point.

Taehyung has set the bar, unforthcoming.

It is too late for you to create a new lineup of tricks; it would be a mess if you decided to commit otherwise, so you need to do it: the same trick Taehyung has.

As you watch the breaker mountain into a perfect five-footer, the surface becomes choppy, uneven when you pop up onto its face. The lip starts to curl and you start to shift your way up and down the creation of its hollow, always keeping the tail a few feet from the white curvature. Parallel to the raging sea, you move you and your board up the face, and back down to its shoulder, gaining the maximum speed in your curl.

'Beautiful! It seems like Y/N is ready to do a roundhouse cutback, let's see if this new wahine can score it.'

You squint your eyes, fighting the sprays of water you create with every complex shift, and snap off a radical shift in trajectory. A beautiful white bucket sprays above you, trickling down on your physique like sprinkles of rain.

'Oh, and the tables have turned! She transformed her roundhouse into a snap, a new, unique set that is now adding to the score of the judges.

'Despite the waves looking choppy, Y/N still manages to maintain perfection.'

You ride down the wave, allowing it to die down before you start your last set of tricks. With only a few more minutes left on the clock, it feels like a race against time — a rivalry with your own skill. When your second wave comes you repeat the same moves, each action being smooth, carefree. You have a smile in your face as you are getting in a session; it is nothing but dawn patrol all over again, and you have a warm sentiment of contentment rising inside of you.

With a beam, you close your mind, all thoughts in your mind slipping away with this pop off the breaker's bijou shoulder. It feels absolutely refreshing: the spray of cold, salty mist that equals the heat from the sun, and the sense of freedom you have from being out on the water. Within this short moment you remember it: why you started surfing to begin with. And it is not due to competition, money — but for yourself, because it makes you happy.

Right, why should you care that Taehyung has used his own move against you to win? That should not be a priority to you at all.

Exhilaration, glory, effort — you pour it all into your closing trick.

Proceeding Taehyung's re-owned trick, you snap up the wave, heading off the thread of white-water and allow your arms to roam free. Your weight shifts perfectly, timing spot on as you take a moment to gawk at the open blue. Hues of yellow are being reflected off its transparent greatness, a picturesque scene that you can live for.

But it ends all too quickly, for you smoothly land on the hollow and head straight to the shore.

Applause ripples throughout the crowd along with confused expressions, each person in wonder at how you and Taehyung landed the same move, but with completely different styles.

'Y/N has done it! She has also completed a perfect reverse aerial without a single hand on the rim! Amazing... a newbie on choppy water has just acted one of the hardest tricks in surfer's time, and her style is completely different to Taehyung's. Let's see what the judges have to say about this.'

Heated, you and the other competitors make each other's way to the dry land.

There is no way you are letting Taehyung get away with something like this, for doing you dirty. You did not waste two weeks of your life teaching him that move under the belief that he will not score, just to have it used against you.

Now, it is your turn to top him.

Taehyung does all he can to avoid you, fearing your lashes of anger, but you catch up to him, sand being kicked into the air as your damp board rests over your head, grasped by your hands. "Hey, champ!" you call, artificially excited.

Taehyung freezes, electricity jolting within his body. "Y-yes?"

He remains rooted in the sand as you smile at him, fooling him with a grin. "That was a smart move for using the trick I taught you," you tell him, and he remains quiet, uneasy. "But I did it better."

"Y-you what?" Taehyung asks for clarification, puzzled to why you are not raging at him. "Wait... you—"

"—I'm not angry about whatever happened out there," you fib along a grin. Honestly, you are fuming — internally, but he does not need to be aware of that. "I told you, I don't care about competitions like these, they're all for fun."

"But that isn't what you said during our morning surf sess."

You blink twice before forcing a fit of heavy laughter out, wiping the droplets of water that trickle down your face. "That's funny. Tae, I'm here for only a few weeks of summer. I have other things to worry about."

Taehyung takes a step back, confusion still overtaking his body.

"Say, let's finish up our remaining heats then link later at the afterwards," you propose, a hidden demise resting on your tongue.

Taehyung tilts his head and ruffles his hair, its remaining water shaking out of his locks. "We have the afterparty," he lets out with a breath.

You raise an eyebrow, ready. "Then let's skip the after party."

Taehyung shoves the tail of his board into the sand. He is more than unsure of where you are trying to get at, and he cannot believe that out of all the things you can be yelling at him for, fuming your rage out onto his being about, you propose something else. "Why?"

You chuckle. "Who knows, let's make some plans. Want to meet behind the snack shack after the comp?"

Taehyung gulps, head turning to the crowd in search of his friends prior to replying, "Sure."

"Great," you breathe. "I'll catch you after today's Stoked, I have to think of another lineup to beat you."

Before Taehyung can call you back, you are off to your section, letting yourself unwind. The smile diminishes itself from your face the second you toss your board onto the sand. Your hands ball into fist out of fury; you need to get him back, good.

And you have the perfect way how.

Taehyung considers chasing after you, but his feet remain rooted into the sand, confusion still filling his mind. Within seconds journalists and newsmen wreath around him, bombarding him with flattery and questions.

“Taehyung!” calls one of them. “We’re from New School news and we have a couple questions for you.”

He blinks a few times, no longer insipid. “Yes?”

The newsman clears his throat. “How do you feel after today’s round? Topping your biggest obstacle.”

Taehyung opens his mouth, but his response is shadowed by another question and sounds bitter to his ears.

“And is it true you and Y/N are dating? That she let you win?”

–

Heat after momentous heat time passes by within a dream. Competitors crash on the waves, pulled under the force of the ocean and popping back up, and watchers scream their hearts out for their favorite contestant.

Your day becomes busier by the minute; reporters sail around you, questions pouring from their lips, each in regards to how you feel about being neck and neck with Taehyung. Rumors fly around in regards to committing the same surf trick, but those soon wither away as time passes and the thick air rises.

When the sun begins to set, an indication that the competition is coming to a close, the final announcement comes on:

'In first place we have Kim Taehyung, he has built his way to the top from his intense tricks on those mean waves. Gaining a perfect nineteen today in all of his heats, he takes his rightful place as first, kicking the guppy, Y/N, out of the way.

'Right behind Taehyung is Y/N, the guppy herself! She moved with sick steeze every heat, and the judges loved it.

'Tomorrow is the final day of Stoked, everybody. The last round, the final heats—and the winner shall rise. So far it is looking pretty intense with Y/N and Taehyung, but the other competitors might be able to make their...'

Your mind tunes out after hearing the desired information. You are now second place, right behind Taehyung, and you have every urge in your body to gain that title back. Not for the win or the money, not to have your name out, but to show him his mistake for crossing you in a session.

You gather your belongings and head to the public bathrooms to change your clothes into something fresher. You zip down your wetsuit, stepping out of the now uncomfortable apparel and into the swimsuit you carried along. You toss the damp clothing into one of the given plastic bags in the perimeter, hiking it over your shoulder once you have finished tossing on your bathing suit. Over the bottom piece, you slide into a pair of shorts. Your hair is still damp, salt latching onto your locks. With a final check on your outfit, you head out the restroom.

You grab onto your board that you left leaning against the bathroom outside and start to prod past the sand to get to Taehyung. Maybe this time he wouldn't be late.

As you walk to the shack reporters of New School chase you, striding on your path as you walk to meet up with Taehyung. They start with simple questions, inquiring how you feel about the restless race, if you and Taehyung have atoned. You laugh them off, responding listlessly to drive them away, but the moment you reach the shack and see Taehyung standing awkwardly in his beach shorts, board fixed in the sand.

The journalists pause, curiosity getting the better of them and they change the tangent of their quizzical statements. “Taehyung, after today’s win over Y/N, how is the status of your relationship?”

You raise an eyebrow, confused.

“After teaching her that move,” the reporter adds on, nosy, “how do you feel about her using it against you?”

You ball your hands into fists, incredulous fighting the urge to spear your surfboard in his direction. It is like with every passing second Taehyung only wants to fan your flame, fueling the heat of the competition — and you really won’t stand for it.

You can see the fraction of panic that becomes limpid in Taehyung’s two orbs, head fleeting him you and the journalists, but after seeing your bland smile he pulls it off, “Y/N says she doesn’t have an interest in winning—the competition is just fun for her.”

“Oh, is it?” asks the reporter, eyeing you top to bottom. “What do you have to say?”

You grin, forced and complacent. “I don’t have to say anything,” you curve from their question. You latch your arm with his, tugging Taehyung out of his stance to your body. “We have a bonfire to attend, so if you excuse us you can save the questions for tomorrow—when I win.”

Taehyung reaches for his surfboard as you drag him like a heavy current, drowning away the rooms for protest that lodge in his throat. The New School reporters exchange sparkling glances, snapping a few photos to add onto their new articles, tabloids — everything.

"Y/N," he calls as you drag his feet on the sand up until the boardwalk.

You remain silent, the only sound filling the night being the footsteps on the damp wood, rapid and intentive.

"The bonfire is at the other beach," he informs, reluctant.

You halt your pace, turning a curious look over your shoulder. "Is it? Sorry, I haven't been to one yet, haha," you shy away.

"That's fine," he brushes off, directing his attention to the opposite side of the beach. "We can go now, we still have time."

Taehyung takes a step away, but you pull him back to you. "No, I- um- I don't want to hold onto my board, is it cool if I crash it at your place for the time being? Maybe then I can freshen up a bit more in your bathroom."

He smiles, timid. He wonders if there is an underlying message in your question, and he is still puzzled to your angelic words after he went against you on the grind. Or maybe he is reading into it too much; after all, this is how you have always been towards him. And he would be lying if he said he didn't want you to stop by his place from day one.

He eyes your board, gaining an idea. Perhaps he can comb off the wax on your board when you are freshening up in the restroom; another easy win for him tomorrow, and he would gain the trophy and money.

Phony, he abides by your request. "Sure, I can stock my stuff out in my own shack while I'm at it," he tells you, a trick up his sleeve. "It's just a couple of minutes from here."

"Wow," you laugh, "you truly are a beach bum."

"Alright, city chum," he bites back, surprisingly affectionate as he ruffles your hair.

Taehyung leads the way back to his place: a dingy, compact lodging area that really is a few minutes from the beach. There are barely any street lamps to illuminate the area; an artificial glow not enough to make out the contours of his face until he reaches the first step of his porch. He opens the door in one fluid motion, easy and silently eager, allowing you to waltz inside.

"Nice place you got here," you tell him, taking in the appearance of his apartment. 'Nice' is an overstatement, to be honest. There are clothes scattered throughout the area, tubs of wax for surfboards and hair found on every wooden table. It reeks of the fresh open air, just like the beach. It feels as if the home of the sea has been transported within the confinements of his living area; small hints of the redolence of coconut swirl with the homelike scent.

Taehyung smiles modestly, closing the door. "Thanks, I haven't cleaned up in a while though."

"A week?" you question, allowing your board to lean against his wall. You toss down your bag that holds your damp wetsuit onto his couch.

He corrects, standing proud, "A month."

You nod your head, ready to set your plan into action. "Groady, I don't want to see what type of mess your room is."

Taehyung raises an eyebrow after comprehending your words as he wipes the sand off his skin at the front door. "My room? What makes you think we're going in there?"

You swallow your breath, nervous, and lean onto the armrest of the couch with your hips. You flip your hair over your shoulder, revealing more of your skin while crossing your ankles. "No reason," you say, nonchalant and quick to find a fresh excuse. "So, you got any trophies around here? Medals from Stoked?"

Taehyung shakes his head and ambles towards you, pulling you away from the couch. "Your hair is dripping salt on my sofa," he tells you, somehow caring. "And yes, I do have trophies and medals from junior comps. Stoked carries trophies for the champion, but medals for everyone who isn't first—seems like you'll be getting one of those tomorrow."

You bite your tongue to hold back your saltine wit. "Really?" you inquire to confirm, allowing his hand to latch around your wrist. "Are they as large as they say they are? I've seen some pictures, and I'd love to have a trophy."

"Not really." He shrugs. "They're half your size and stuck in the corner of my room—far too large to fit on my shelves, but I've seen bigger in world competitions."

"Care to show me?" you urge. "I'd like to have an idea of what I'm winning tomorrow."

Taehyung laughs. "You can find out tomorrow."

"Well I don't want to wait for tomorrow," you begin again. "And now we have a reason to visit your room."

"What about freshening up?" he swerves, unable to meet your eyes. You catch the way his gaze falls from your two amorous orbs down to your lips, candy-coated and probably lingering with salt. It doesn't take long for his gaze to fall lower, and lower until—

"—I need a towel for that, a fresh one please."

Taehyung snaps himself out of his daydream, not allowing a fiber of his being to fall into your grasp. "I- sure, they're..." he trails off. "In my room."

He laughs soon afterwards. "Now we have a reason to go in my room like you said." He pats your head, fingers threading through your damp locks.

He leans closer to you, staging an act of affection, but brushes right past your being; he hopes that you are the one to fall victim to his plan. "Follow me," he orders, gentle.

You shadow him from behind as he flicks on the lights to his apartment. A bright ivory paints upon his entire area and it is almost blinding until he swings open the door to his bedroom. Immediately, the obnoxious scent of musk kisses your nose, doing a terrible job of intoxicating your being.

"You really should clean up," you tell him as you swat your hand in the air, under the belief that it would shoo away the unwanted scent.

"I will later," he assures. "Stoked trophies are right ahead at that corner, and my towel... I'll find a fresh one in my closet."

Taehyung walks to the opposite of his room, skirting the furniture to scavenge for a new rag. You amble to his treasures, each one more grand than the last. A series of five: Taehyung has won Stoked five years in a row from his effort and the sight of those unpolished trophies causes an ache to ruin his streak.

After all, he screwed you over and apparently fed reporters false information about the process. You run a finger on the golden of the treasure, admiring its beauty as Taehyung is still rooting for a clean towel. "These are gorgeous," you tell him.

"Mhm," he agrees, not bothering to spare you a stare. "I know, there's an insane story to each of those too."

You tilt your head. "Is there?"

Taehyung confirms, "Yeah. One year I went to the wrong section and another I surfed during the wrong heat—but I still won. This year, I was almost late but I'm glad I made it right before we went on."

"Glad you made it," you say, discreet. Gee, it would be horrible if the champion is late to the final round of Stoked. You hum and start to prod to Taehyung, a simple question resting on the edge, but you bite it away. "I'm so tired," you let out with a yawn, artificial.

"You should rest." He laughs. "I have a bed right there."

Taehyung bites the outline of his lip, hoping that you would knock out on his mattress. He recalls you placing your surfboard by the front door; and boy, is he more than ready to comb the wax off.

You look at it, unsure. "You're right, we should skip the bonfire," you propose.

Taehyung gulps and takes a moment to look at you. You are rubbing your eyes, yawning once again as you keep yourself propped on your elbows. His breath becomes steady, pulse kicking up to the sight of you.

Shit, Taehyung tells himself over and over in his mind to calm down, but he just can't. You only have a pair of shorts on, top piece of your bathing suit barely latching around your body — and you are on his bed. He gains an urge to kiss you, to finally give into what has been poking the back of his mind from day one — to go against his friend's words, but he holds back.

To your dismay, especially.

Taehyung finally tugs off a towel from the pile of dirty laundry, its tag still intact as he grips it in his hands. "I found one," he cajoles.

"Ah," you let out, sensual. "Thanks."

Taehyung sits beside you, the silly ivory towel resting in his grasp. "Are you going to skip out on the bonfire?" he questions, waiting for confirmation.

His anticipation is at the edge; all he needs is your response to sort out the final action to his plan. "There's no reason to, is there?" you question with a purse of your lips.

"Well, you're tired," he continues. "And you need to rest—for tomorrow."

You groan, falling back onto his mattress with a bounce. Your legs are still dangling off the edge of his bed, the softness of his cot engulfing you. "You're right, but you need to rest too. I should probably freshen up first."

Taehyung leans to your level, propping himself up on an elbow. "Please do, I don't want my bed to get any more dirtier than it already is."

He tosses the towel on your head, urging you to enter the shower. No matter the time you take, it would be enough for him to scrape off your pesky wax. He smiles, imagining the mess you would be during the competition if you were to slip all over the place on your board.

You groan again, not moving for a couple of moments.

This gives Taehyung the chance to eye your body. Your exposed skin, almost smooth to the touch, and the curvature of your breasts. Shit, a lump lodges in his throat from the sight of you being half naked on his bed of all places; it is completely different than seeing you out on the water.

A tent starts to grow in his shorts, prominent as it is.

He leans his head down, head tilting closer and closer to you; then, you yank off the towel from your face, only to have your eyes feast on the image of Taehyung a few inches away from your lips.

His eyes are dark, filling with nothing but raw lust, and you smile — your plan is finally set into action. His mouth is parted, stable breaths still exchanging with his lungs as his gaze locks on your own pink petals. Teasingly, you lick your bottom lip as you flutter your eyes, drawing him in closer, and closer.

He has to be the one to kiss you, and so he does.

He sets off the first spark, enclosing his mouth over your own slowly, hesitant to make sure this is okay — that this is what you want. But it is indeed more. He finds comfort in you raking a hand through his damp locks, allowing him to melt under your touch as he keeps kindling the flame of amorous desires.

You shift your body, moving until you are on top of him and your mouth does not separate from his own. He pulls away, taking a heavy breath before diving into the sea of lewd aspirations.

Staged, you moan into the kiss, causing him to buck his hips up to you. Smiling, you press a palm on his chest, sailing it lower until it reaches his crotch, and you grip onto his hardening length over the thin material of his swim trunks.

"Ah," he lets out, accidental with a hiss. "Shit."

Taehyung mumbles a few words to himself, unable to believe the scene at hand. Is this really happening? Are you really willing to touch him — to provide him with a night to remember?

Yes, but not in his way. Just like him, you have a couple of demises up your own suit.

"Strip me," you tell him.

Taehyung obeys without a moment's hesitation. He pulls on the string of your swimsuit, revealing your top half entirely. He moves delicately, almost as if he is unwrapping a fragile present, but once your upper swimwear is off he discards the clothing like nothing.

Tossing it to the side of the room, he does not give you a second to react, for his mouth is already over your erecting nipple. "T-Tae!" you exclaim, hands gripping onto his exposed shoulders for dear life. Shit, the sensation he is providing you is godly and you cannot help but rip a moan from your throat.

His hands hover up your body, touch feather-light as they run above the outline of your physique, just to cup your lovely breasts. He treats your other breast with just as much love, focusing all of his attention on you and the quiet, lewd noises that you try so hard to keep within you.

He massages circles onto your chest, his tongue swirling around the other. "Mm," he lets out, taking your bud into his teeth. He drags it out softly, perfect amount of pressure around the nipple before he sucks onto it as if it will alleviate the pain.

He moves one of his palms down your body, hand cupping at your heated mound that is aching with desire. You feel him smile against your skin, goosebumps rising while a feeling of victory surges throughout his body.

He rubs his hand over your hot core, a soft tease to your womanhood. You furiously move your hand over your mouth, unwilling to let out louder cries from such a simple action; you are better than this, you can do better than this.

"Taehyung..." you trail out, his name breathy as it rips from your throat. You thread your digits into his hair, tugging onto his head to pull him off your chest. "T-Tae," you mumble.

His eyes are fully blown his dark ardor, carnal desires sketching all over his expression while his pulse kicks up. Your eyes cast downwards from his two amorous driven orbs and down to his hardening member — how it is prominently sticking out from the nylon of his shorts.

You lick your lips, craving to get a taste. Your eyes flutter before you lock gazes with him again; you attempt to mirror his expression back, and without fail, you do.

Taehyung moans at the sight of your naked torso beneath him, face already fucked out even though he did not touch you with enough care — show you as much love as he wants to. Fuck, what is he thinking? It is the night right before the final round of Stoked; he shouldn't be giving into such greedy aspirations. But what else can he do? You prompted it, after all. And you want it — you want him.

"Fuck... baby," you whine, head throwing itself back into the soft of his pillows. Your neck becomes more exposed for him to suck marks on and he takes the initiative to bite at your tender skin, diminutive and soft. You pull away, tugging him back by his locks. "N-no marks on my neck," you order. "We have a round tomorrow."

"But—"

"—you can mark me all you want after the win." You wink.

Taehyung hushes himself, swallowing his protests. He takes notice of the way you keep intentionally eyeing his solid member that is shielded by that pesky layer of thin clothing. Fuck, you look like you want to suck him off and he pops the question, "Do you want my cock, Y/N?"

He chuckles, almost devious. He pinches on your nipple, a quick reply erupting form your chest, "I do! Fuck—" you tangle your arms around his neck, pulling him to your lips so you can engage in an electrifying kiss— "I want your cock so bad... Isn't that for me?"

Taehyung's breath hitches at your feign of innocence. This is getting dragged out a little too far, and you know it. But how else can your plan play out — the demise to set him up late for the final round tomorrow? All you have to do is tire Taehyung out more than he already is and he would sleep past the afternoon sun, causing him to miss out on his heats. It would be an instant win for you — a slap to his face from your "easy" victory.

"It is," he breathes. Taehyung runs the pad of his index finger up your slit, finding pride from your growing wet spot. "Is this for me?"

You smile, nodding. "Of course it is.

He presses his lips against your own again, light and gentle. It is hard to believe that with such a soft action, a fragile dance of each other's mouths, he is being driven by nothing more but his lust and crave to ruin you tomorrow. Taehyung already feels his mind becoming dazed, fragments of his being slipping away the longer he is under the wave of your presence.

"Can I suck you off?" you ask. "Please?"

"Mm," Taehyung nods, "please do."

Taehyung pulls his shorts down, revealing his solid member in one go. It slaps against his lower abdomen, tip pink and leaking with his sticky precum. You press your lips into a thin line at the sight, but mostly from the loss of his hand at your mound. You prop yourself on your elbows, marveling at the sight of his cock that tinges with red, before you slide off the bed and get on your knees at his side.

Taehyung fixes his posture, situating himself at the edge of the mattress waiting for your kiss.

Your hands are spread on his thighs, carnal flame being fueled by the delicious sight of his stiff cock. It looks like a perfect candy, the head is glistening with sticky wetness and it is the perfect shade of coral. You wrap your mouth around the sensitive tip, keeping it compact as your tongue begins to run over his slit. The bitterness of his precum kisses your tastebuds, a flavor that you can relish in for hours. Swirling the wet muscle around his pink head, he takes a handful of your hair, tugging gently to indicate that he wants you to begin already.

It isn't until an airy "please" leaves his mouth for you to oblige.

You take him all the way down to the base, surprising him entirely. His sweaty body bends over, a groan ripping from his throat as you instantly swallow around his solid length. You want him to release, quick.

"Shit," he curses. "W-what the..."

You cut his sentence short by bobbing up and down his aching dick, tongue flattening itself on the skin with every quick motion. His grasp slowly loosens itself from your hair, allowing you to guide the pace — as long as he reaches the edge of fervent desire.

He looks at you past the blanket of his lashes, adoring the sight of you sucking on his length. Taehyung becomes turned on more by the second; you feel his cock twitch in your mouth when you sink back down his length, your nose hitting his lower abdomen.

He regains a grip on your hair, a way to brace for the incoming impact caused by your heavenly action. With that, you swallow around him; once, twice, until he yells your name out louder than intended.

There is a deep burning in your throat, almost like it has been scorched, and tears begin to well at your eyes. You bring your mouth to his head that has morphed from a soft pink to an angry red, whirling your tongue around it a few more times before he lets out an extensive moan of your name.

You press your thighs together for relief after you hear it; it sounds like an absolute rhapsody to you, heaven to your ears. Here Taehyung is, the almighty surf champion — cocky and hubristic — becoming undone from your mouth alone, and he doesn't seem like he is lasting long either.

You take your mouth off him for a breather, locking gazes with him before you sail one of your hands down your heated physique. Your palm slowly meets your womanhood, rubbing it over your mound a couple of times before you slide it into your bottom piece.

Taehyung gulps from watching you rub yourself, a look of bliss painting all over your face as you continue. You take him in between your lips once more, parting tight. You try to focus every ounce of your attention towards Taehyung, who is writhing uncontrollably under your hot touch. Your aching clit has been craving to be toyed for what feels like eons, and it takes you everything that has vested within your to keep the moan locked inside of your throat.

Your fingers become coated by your own milky dew, aiding the process of pleasuring yourself. You start with large, gentle circles to tease yourself just a tad, giving yourself some time to focus on Taehyung's throbbing cock. Though, as his moans become louder, relentless, you increase the pressure and kick up the speed.

"Ah, Y/N," he calls, breathy. "I-I'm going to cum..."

But you do not stop. You move your head further down his cock and back up to the tip with a circular motion of your tongue. You sink down again, swallowing the the final time around his member. And that appears to be the final piece to prompt his release, timing it with your own the second you pinch your delicate clit.

That is the most you can provide for yourself; none of your digits, or sadly his, sliding inside of you — you cannot be sore for tomorrow. When you slide your lips to the middle of his cock you feel his load spill into your mouth, the warm splatter of his cum coating every part of your cavern. His thick seed fills up your mouth, yet you still slide your lips on his cock, swallowing his load past the burning sensation of your throat.

Your mind is left as a daze as it runs through the fervent paradise; a heat erupts from your body as you came yourself come undone.

"Shit," Taehyung pants, "Y/N, that's so hot. Y-you're so dirty..."

You release your mouth from his dick with a pop, quirking the corners of your lips upwards out of an easy victory. "You made me like this," you respond, innocence counterfeit.

Taehyung allows his body to give into the softness of his blankets — ready for his mind to shut off into a deep slumber. You eye the way his dick runs flaccid, angry reds withering to gentler pinks after his release. You raise an eyebrow at the sight, finding joy and amusement with what is about to come next.

Smirking, you wrap your hand around his sensitive cock, a compact grip around his member as you slide it slowly up and down. Taehyung groans, his body curling from the painful sensation that carries throughout his being. "Y/N, w-what are you- agh- doing?" he questions, frantic.

"I want to make you feel good," you respond, voice nothing more than a gentle whisper.

Taehyung opens his mouth again to voice a protest, but it immediately dissolves off the tip of his tongue when you tighten your grasp and drag it up to his pink head. The remnants of his release are lightly coating his cock, creating a smooth glide as you begin to jerk your wrist. You find pleasure in the situation, Taehyung writhing under your touch, unable to swat your hands away; but he feels the polar opposite, for now that is.

You are aiming to give him another orgasm, only to follow with a couple more afterwards; after all, what do you have to lose?

Taehyung’s breaths become heavier by the second; your speed morphs into an erratic pace that only rushes to have him grow hard under your touch. You have plans to edge him, to toy around with his balls — everything that involves pleasuring him, without a single hand of his on you.

Tonight is about Taehyung, and not what you want sexually.

You struggle to not give into the traces of fatigue that start to surface in your being; as much as you want to cuddle up next to Taehyung, you know better than to right now.

Taehyung is wiggling on his mattress in pain, but as his length sprouts so does pleasure and the two factors intertwine in a perfect harmony. It doesn’t take long for his second release to arrive, for he is still entirely sensitive from the last session, and it causes a wave of pride to wash over you — just like his intense orgasm that arrives out of the blue.

His mindless moans are not a good enough signal, nor is the fact that he has his hands twisting in the thin sheets for relief. His cum splatters everywhere, shooting up in the air and spreading its droplets out all over his body and mattress. A couple of the warm beads hit your face, which causes you to run your finger over the sticky liquid for another taste that you can relish in.

“Christ,” he spits out, “why would you do tha- agh!”

His complaints are silenced with a cry when you dig the tip of your nail into his slit, circling the digit within the edge. This time Taehyung reacts; he gently smacks your hand away, unable to take whatever plans you have next, and all the plans that you have in store afterwards.

“Baby,” you purr, pursing your lips into a pout. “One more time?”

Taehyung mumbles, annoyed, “I-I can’t handle another… I’m tired…”

“But it’ll feel good,” you convince, smiling.

Taehyung hums, taking a moment to think and regain his breath while fragments of his mind return. Shit, what’s the worst that can happen anyway? It’s a night that he has been waiting for — craving for — and it is finally happening.

Taehyung nods his head slowly. “Fine, s-sure… One last time.”

And one last time is all you need.

You prolong his third orgasm, teasing him to the brim just to cut the road to an intense delirium off so his pleasure dies down, but his pleas do not. With every push to the edge that gets dragged back to square one his moans pour endlessly, coherent sentences now impossible for him. Tears start to well at his eyes, grip soaring to everything near him so he can find relief from your devious demises.

Amidst, you grow tired, exhausted from focusing on him and not yourself.

So when his orgasm finally dawns on him after a long period of constant whining, you gain pleasure from the situation alone, for you can finally take a rest.

When Taehyung’s thoughts become evenly sorted the last thing he says is an apology, “Sorry for not focusing on you tonight…” he trails off. “There’s a next time, right?”

You smile, a darkness overtaking your two orbs. “Of course. I’ll wake you up tomorrow, okay?”

“Thanks,” he whispers.

You follow with a kiss on his lips; then within seconds, he shuts his mind off.

Typically in nights like these people would stay, making him in the arms of their companion, but you have other plans. And staying the night with Taehyung is not even the slightest fraction of them.

Victory is limpid; already given to you the moment he let his guard down.

You try to keep quiet as you gather your belongings, dressing yourself in one of his sweaters that lay on the stained couch of his compact place. Within moments, you are out his door.

–

The dawn of the last day of Stoked finally arrives and you wake in your resort room with the taste of victory on your tongue. You vivaciously grin at the sun that’s peering out from the distance, adoring the introduction of pinks and saffrons splashing onto the sky. The deep blue reflects the alluring oranges; the picturesque sight is enough to wake you up.

You stretch and begin to prepare for the final day, slipping out of your sleeping attire that consists of Taehyung’s dirty sweater and your bottoms, and change into a fresh wetsuit. Amidst getting ready, you cannot help but wonder how Taehyung is holding up — all your hope is pouring into the fact that he still lies dormant on his bed, especially from the effort you spilled last night. You did not have the goal to give him a night to remember, but a day — and that day is how he does not show his face at the last round of Stoked.

It is a little mischievous, even for you, but just like Taehyung says, you have to do what you must to win.

You cannot imagine the look on Taehyung’s face when he shakes himself out of his slumber. Would he be angry, surprised, or vexed? Probably a swirl of all the options above, and it rises laughter from your chest.

When you head out of your resort room and towards the beach there is already a substantial amount of people flooding the tents and canopies, each being left on the edge of excitement.

Your surfboard is under your arm, the scent of wax swirling with salt kissing your nose and you run over to the check-in canopy, signing off your presence. With your gaze trailing down the paper you notice that Taehyung’s signature is missing, causing you to grin, humorous.

“Y/N,” says a familiar voice from behind. You turn around and see Jimin and he asks, “Have you seen Taehyung?”

With that, Seokjin orbits to you, wonder and the opposite of buoyant on his face. Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “Right, didn’t you two leave the competition together?”

You gulp, shrugging your shoulders as well. “We went to his place afterwards, but I left within a few hours,” you inform. “Why?”

Seokjin and Jimin shoot worried looks to each other, puzzled expressions casting on their faces. “Um,” Seokjin clears his throat, “because he is nowhere in sight and his heat is one of the first.”

You gasp, far too dramatic, and furrow your eyebrows together to feign confusion. “What? Where is he?!”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out…” Jimin trails off. “Shit, did he party too hard last night?”

“No,” Seokjin shakes his head, “he didn’t even show up, remember?”

Jimin groans. “Where’s Hoseok?”

Seokjin slips out his device, head turning to search the area in case he sees Taehyung. “Hoseok’s running to Tae’s place right now, or so he says. Hopefully he’s up by now.”

“It isn’t like him to be late…” you say, pursing your bottom lip into a pout. “He never missed dawn patrol, so I don’t know what’s going on.”

Jimin gulps from the credibility in your words. “You’re right, ugh. This boy, where is he?”

‘Welcome to the final day of Stoked! Never has a competition been so fierce—so gnarly until this year! The waves are lookin’ glassy, weather is beautiful, but it is an even more gorgeous day to see who takes home first place.

‘Taehyung, our five-streak champion has not shown his face yet to the canopy. It would be a total bummer if he missed out, but Y/N is here and she looks ready to shred! These two contestants are in two very different heats throughout the day, Kim Taehyung being up first. Let’s see how the waves will roll for them.

‘Good luck, broskis!

‘First up we have...’

“We need to find Tae,” Jimin says to Seokjin, panicked.

Seokjin groans. “I have safety watch in two minutes, I can’t do anything. Go find the champ—” he shifts his attention towards you— “don’t do anything dirty.”

You stick out your tongue. “I’m not you, Jin.”

With that, the three of you part. You walk to your designated section, waiting patiently under the canopy with your surfboard entrenched in the sand. It is so early in the day and the sun appears to be at its peak, heat waving throughout the entire shoreline, and there are no hints of a cool breeze.

Just like the bystanders, you are left on the edge and hoping with every fiber of your being that Taehyung is a no-show. It would be absolutely rebarbative to your being if your work from last night went down the drain. “Ew,” you spit out from the repulsive thought.

You see Seokjin running to his section on the beach, his rescue tube tight in his grasp. “Double ew…” you whisper.

You take two small breaths, preparing yourself for the rest of the day. You need to drown out the thoughts of Taehyung; perhaps you can perform at your best ability. Out of sight, out of mind after all.

You peer at the contestants, heats soaring by one after the other. You catch how haughty some are, while a small few are quiet, nervous to fail and drop their rank on the scoreboard. The water is sparkling, six-footers to eight at an average, and the waves appear glassed on for a perfect surf; yet the contestants still falter.

It does not take that much time in your pensive thoughts whilst watching the indomitable surfers for your heat to spur up — Taehyung’s already flying by. Your gaze has been fleeting from the starter canopy to the water for quite some time, enormous expectations that Taehyung will not show his face.

And he doesn’t.

A special smile blossoms on your face, gracing your being as the announcer begins again:

‘Taehyung is a no-show! Will he appear for the next heat? Up next we have Y/N and this is no party wave, maybe she can make up for his lack of presence.’

Overly-confident, you dash your way down to the wash zone, rooting your toes into the wet sand as you take in the view. The calm waves, the sand dazzling like jewels, and the gorgeous sun that you live for. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes before you start to walk past the force of the water.

You lay prone on your board, paddling out in the open and away from the encouraging yells from your supporters onshore. Your hands become cold from scooping the water, body as a whole being heated up by the summer sun. You narrow your gaze into the distance, searching for the perfect comber. Ten minutes, you have ten minutes to perfect your set.

You take another two short breaths past the oceanic mist; as if that is the final action to set the pristine wave, it comes. Foot stacking upon foot, it morphs into a gentle, slow seven-footer. And once it is a few feet away from the very nose of your board you pop up, gaining the best stance.

The sea’s haze dampens your wetsuit and kisses your skin, a sensation all too enlivening — a feeling like home. Distractions are tuned out within a heartbeat, and all you can hear is the song of the sea. You decide to go with a simpler set today, an array of tricks to pack within ten minutes: start with a carve, commence the floater and closeout re-entry, switch your stance, and then pull of a kerrupt flip.

You allow yourself to ease into the lines of the breaker, changing your direction amidst the open section. You head down the shoulder of the comber, placing every ounce of your weight onto the rail of your surfboard. You bury it deep into the water, an arc rapidly being drawn to stay within its curl. Your hand dips into the sea as the wind whips in your face; then, directions are soon changed.

You are heading back towards the white water, surfing towards the tube this time and you kick all the way up to the curl. Gliding over its foam, ready to break into an a-line, you take a hold of the speed gained from the carve at the shoulder and twist your body over the crumbling water. Shit, you lose momentum mid-way; perhaps the closeout works for this set after all. After all, that move this the very chance to save a surfer from wipe out: a power turn during its closeout on the hollow.

You kick your front foot, heading away from the wave as you sail down the glassy face as you jump, switching your stance. You twisted your body and applied pressure on the rim, allowing the board to twirl into a three-sixty before you ride goofy.

You drag your board up and down the hollow, tail two yards away from the start of the curl, and you start your final trick with an aerial. You swallow your breath, tossing in some dashes of hope into your final segment. Heading your way up to the white-water — the start of the curl — you lift your board off the raging water and bring your knee to your torso, flipping the board with the underside of your foot: a backwards aerial rotation proceeds to play, and you latch onto the rim of your stick, stalefish-style.

You blink, guiding your eyes to the scene before you: the entire shoreline populated with locals, tourists — beach lovers. It is the sight of each of them sharing the same expression, immersed with your fluid movements, almost as if you are one with the wave. You surf with your own style, a thousand fractions of ease and with not much care — and for some reason it is engrossing to the eye.

Surfers already ache to be like you, to be someone who has fun on the water despite the circumstances.

A bright grin efflorescences on your face right when the nose of your board digs an inch into the water, creating a smooth landing for the rest of your surfboard.

Your hair flies in front of your face immediately, but it is quickly washed away by the salty mist, the thick breeze from your speed, and force of the intricate maneuver.

The cheers from shore are loud enough to reach you, and the melodious tune of victory swims in your ears.

You pump a fist in the air and wave to those on the dryland, pictures being snapped of this moment; you just made history.

When is the last time a “betty” has scored first in Stoked? Let alone, most competitions?

‘Y/N has completed not one, not two, not three, four or five—but six surf tricks within the span of ten minutes! With this being her only heat—her final, individual heat—she has stolen the show. The judges are whispering, on heavy debate.

‘The water was glossy, glass completely on and they are hanging onto the new scale. Let’s see what they have to say in three minutes. Say, has anyone seen Kim Taehyung?’

Your smile dwindles at the sound of his name; your plan really did succeed after all. You chuckle, laughing once your feet kiss the sand. With him tired out from yesterday’s round of Stoked, you only had to tire him out further — and what better way can you do that aside being the cause for his dismay?

God, you know he is going to be fuming by the time the news hits him. Just how yesterday is a complete slap to your face, you hope the same for him.

Reporters fight their way to you, hunger in their blood to fight for a scoop, but they all hush when the announcer clears his throat on the microphone.

‘The results are in, here you have it everybody. With Taehyung has a no show, we have our new champion! Y/N has scored a perfect twenty within the timespan of ten minutes—an impossible occurrence! Stoked is over, the crowd is wildin’, this summer is the summer of new beginnings and Y/N has set the bar!

‘The words of kahunas are never wrong: the best surfer out on the water is always the one that knows how to have fun,’ and that is Y/N for you!

‘Breaking Kim Taehyung’s five-year streak is Y/L/N Y/N, herself everybody! Way to be the new model for kooks, groms and grommets—every surf bum we have out there!’

You smile at the cameras, lifting your dripping surfboard above your head as you fight your way past the crowd. You shy off the poking questions, shoves of microphones to your face as everyone trails your sandy footsteps. You begin to trudge towards the main canopy, a sunshine beam etching on your face, and it remains there when you see Taehyung right at the canopy, confused and snug in his wetsuit.

He appears to be arguing with the worker, spitting words of fight to the man as he attempts to sort out the scene at hand. His hair is still disheveled, eyes still struggling to be kept open, and you call his name. He turns around, furious.

“Hey there, champ.” You smile.

“Y/N,” he says, bitter and vengeful. “What did you do?”

You puff your chest out, proud. “I just won Stoked, can you believe that? You should have woken up on time, we all missed you.”

Taehyung grumbles. “You tired me out last night!” he exclaims, hands tossing themselves into the air. Heads turn to his and your direction, agog from his words. What could he possibly mean? The bystanders refuse to give the benefit of the doubt. “Is this why you wanted to come over?” he questions.

You wink. “Why else?”

“You played me,” he spits out, disbelieved.

You frown his way, stern. “I was just playing your game.”

“What game?”

You take a step closer to him, letting the surfboard fall to your side and under your arm. “The game you started the second you approached me on the first round of Stoked. Seriously, was all that time we spent together nothing to you? Did you seriously just approach me to learn a couple of my tricks, only to use them against me?

“Have you ever heard of a fair play? I know you are obsessed with winning, but you can at least try to earn it. We’re even now. Excuse me, I have some money to catch and a trophy to collect. Try topping me later, champ. If I should still call you that.”

Taehyung is rendered speechless by your words and your stunt, did you seriously toss him into his place? He sighs, wordless. As much as he wants to fight back he is more than aware that you have a point. It is his fault for approaching you for your surf moves, on him for using them against you to win.

Shit, victory really did intoxicate his mind to the point that he disregarded what mattered the most: a friendship with you.

He would be lying if he claimed he did not have fun going out on early surf sessions with you, and he knows damn well that he has enjoyed every second spent together. Whether or not you laughed at him, made fun of him, or helped him along the way — he found joy in it. He experienced something he has not faced in a while, and that is having a friend — a surfer buddy who does not always kiss his ass or look for everything that is not who he truly is.

He messed up, and now he has to find a way to fix it.

Jimin runs to his side, giving a firm squeeze on his friend’s shoulder. “You made it, a bit too late though.”

Taehyung groans, pressing a palm to his face. “Sorry, bro.”

He tilts his head. “For what?”

“For losing Stoked.”

Jimin remains silent for a few seconds, allowing the weight to sink onto Taehyung’s shoulders. “Why are you sorry?” he questions. “As cool as winning is, it isn’t everything. We’re not let down or anything.”

Taehyung looks at him, somewhat crossed. “You’re… not?”

“No!” Jimin assures, beaming. “You’re still our broski whether you’re a champ or not. Who cares if that betty stole the show, you’re still our champ in the end. So don’t beat yourself up over this.”

“But what about everyone else? My fans and people who look up to me—”

“—if they’re your fans, true people who look up to you, then they’d accept your mistakes, failures, everything. The way we would.”

Taehyung smiles at the older boy’s way with words. “I thought you were going to say that I completely lost my mind.”

“Well,” he laughs, “I thought you did the moment you fell for a chick like Y/N.”

“What makes you think that I fell for her?” he presses defensively.

Jimin rolls his eyes, childish. “No vengeful man would spend every darn day of their life to learn a simple surf trick for revenge. Unless they’re that determined.” He pats his friend’s back. “And you are not that determined. You can’t tell me that you didn’t have a fun time around her, even though Jin complained all the time—don’t tell him I told you that.”

Taehyung laughs, magnanimous. “I guess you have a point. Shit,” he curses. “What am I going to do?”

“What do you mean?” Jimin questions, cunning.

“She’s the reason I’m late to this—because I did her dirty like a darn squid in the second round.”

Jimin blinks a few times, confused. “What did she do?”

“Uh,” Taehyung pauses, noticing the group of reporters that want to catch a glowing scoop with second place. “I’ll tell you in a bit.”

Jimin remains by Taehyung’s side as he answers the questions, one nosy inquiry flooding after another, speculative. Taehyung retrieves questions of the pert woman — of you — and all her can do is curve his responses, dropping them towards Jimin. They are all queries that conclude the entire championship, and the journalists finally gain enough information to construct a juicy article.

Once the crowd disperses, Jimin and Taehyung start to walk down the boardwalk, finding peace without the swarm of fans, curious beings, anybody to be exact. Within the distance Taehyung and Jimin see you parading the trophy in the air, a bright grin on your face while another holds your twenty-five thousand dollar check.

Taehyung bites the tip of his tongue; there is no jealousy or anger coursing through his veins, but equanimity. “Okay,” Taehyung breathes, “don’t think I’m stupid when I tell you this.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows, already holding back his laughter from Taehyung’s opening statement. Oh, this should be good. “I won’t,” he says, welling his laughter.

Taehyung takes a deep breath and then spills the news. He starts from day one of the competition, how he has felt, and moves onto his sentiments during the entire plan — how he has possibly gained an interest for you along the way. Jimin nods his head in understandment, affable as his friend continues to ramble; that is, until he pours the news from last night.

The older boy bursts out in laughter. “Wait, wait,” he waves his hands in the air to dismiss Taehyung’s follow up, “you’re telling me that she sucked your dick to tire you out even more, just so you can miss out on the competition?”

“I—”

“—I should try that!” he cajoles. “You know, if any other bettys mess with me during an all time surf comp. Tae, I didn’t think you’d be so easy. Why the hell would you put yourself through that after a round of Stoked? You’re supposed to rest, and clearly after surfing you’d be drained. Heck, you’re drained even when you surf for fun. It’s no wonder you woke up so late.”

Taehyung frowns at his friend’s unctuous badgers, as if he is not aware of the stupidly roguish situation himself. “Gee, way to repeat my mistakes.”

“I’m just saying,” he says with a breath, stretching his arms into the air. “I can’t believe your mind strayed so much from the competition.”

“Neither can I,” he agrees. “I can’t believe I fell for something like that. I’m so…”

“Stupid?” he continues.

Taehyung hits Jimin’s arm. “Bitter,” he corrects. “But yeah, I guess I’m stupid for playing her game.”

Jimin beguiles. “God, you sound heartbroken.”

“My ego is broken.” He groans. “And now I need to suck up my pride and apologize to her.”

“You? Apologize? Are you okay, Tae?” Jimin catches his friend’s saturnine expression. “Geez, at least do it later. She’s going to be surrounded by reporters the entire night.”

“I don’t even know if I can catch her later,” he complains. “We have the party and she’s going to be dealing with news casters and journalists.”

Jimin shrugs. “If you don’t then you don’t. Move on, buddy. Quit being such a chum.”

Jimin continues to walk down the boardwalk, giving his friend some time to catch up to his stride. Taehyung hangs his head low, regret dawning upon him. He is more than aware that the least he can do is voice an apology — but when?

Time feels like it passes by way too quickly, almost like a rocketing wave when he spends his night dancing at the shack, celebrating the end of Stoked. The little fragments of stress he has carried becomes alleviated from his shoulders, providing a sense of liberation. Coming to think of it, he has never dived into his pensive thoughts he once viewed as immutable; perhaps your presence during those extensive surf sessions carried the weight of his shoulders, and that your words did sink into his mind without him realizing it.

When he talked with you, Stoked felt nothing more but a free ride — a simple game for those interested, and winning has been a bonus factor. Those two miniature days he has spent away is all that it took for him to fall victim to the imaginary pressure of his fans, reporters, and friends — causing it to get the better of him. Gee, he really could have learned more than just a few tricks or two from you.

Immersing himself in the sea of wide thoughts, everything falls into place. He should have focused on himself, stuck to surfing alone, and not fret with you topping him on the charts. None of this would have happened if he poured his effort into sharpening his personal skills; honestly, he should have thanked you for remaining benign.

Because not once, has he.

You do not run into Taehyung for the next few days; you honestly expect him to show his face at the signature meeting point on the sand, but he does not. With it being Wednesday already, you would expect him to show his face for dawn patrol, and he doesn’t. You spend your day riding the waves, clearing your mind of plaguing thoughts with every twist, kick, and snap on the shoulder of the hollow — just until the sun begins to set and you make a temporary home on the sand, watching the large star dip.

And Taehyung still has not shown his face.

It is a total let down, how far Stoked appears to have gotten to him — how his loss affects him. It is almost impossible to avoid what he calls a “supreme failure.”

Your name is on every newspaper by now, pictures of you landing that steal-worthy trick on the raging combers on every article on each social media. They all share the similar title of “New Stoked Champion.”

To you, nothing feels different. The win is not intoxicating your mind, and the lack of Taehyung’s presence feels as if he never has a place to begin with. It feels like the first day you have arrived on the beach two summers ago; the recognizable view, familiar ocean air kissing your nose, and the salt lingering by your lashes. Your surfboard is rooted behind you, it is the same stick from when you first arrived; a loving companion, at best.

As the sun begins to sink past the horizon, orange hues quickly swirling with pink as everything fades to aegean, you finally allow the depth of the moment to hit you. Maybe you did go overboard with Taehyung. After all, he did tell you how important Stoked is to him — why he cares so much about winning, and you completely took his chance away from him.

You groan, knees tucked under your chin as you wiggle your toes into the sand. “Should I apologize?” you ask yourself, attempting to sort out a conciliatory approach. “But,” you pout, “where has he been? I sort of want to try that bonfire out…”

Once you are about to groan and kick your feet into the sand, you hear heavy footsteps near you, a shadow towering over your physique as the voice says, “Y/N.”

You recognize that tone, the husk, anywhere. “Tae?” you question, head turning over your shoulder to gawk at him. His expression is niche, lifeless until your eyes meet with his. There is a glimmer of hope sparking within his two dark orbs as he looks down at you; surprised at how you are not raging at him.

The same way you are taken back by his calm composure towards you.

He sits himself comfortably next to you, not that much proximity shared compared to every other time you two meet early morning. You would crack a joke, blaming it on the current sunset that makes him like this, but all you can do is remain silent.

He rests his arm on his knee that is propped up, eyes squinting as he observes the setting sun. “Thanks,” he mutters.

You look at him, holding a hand to your face to shield the saffron light. “What was that?”

Taehyung sighs, unwilling to repeat it. “T-thanks…” he says softer.

“For what?” you ask, confused.

“For, um, teaching me that move.”

You frown at him, annoyed. “Seriously?” you spit out. You have not seen him in a few days since Stoked and that is what he has to say to you. A vague, lifeless response that is far from an apology? “The first thing you say to me is thanks for that? Yes, the move that you used agai—”

“—no, I mean it. I know I was a handful and that I was far too cocky, had my head in the sand at times, but thanks for taking the time to deal with my whack ass.”

You chuckle, lighthearted. At least he can admit it. “Well, it wasn’t bad. You’re pretty cool for a surf bum, to be honest. I haven’t hanged with anyone like you in a while—the opposite of me, to be honest.”

“Opposite of you?”

“You know: crazy, insane, cocky—”

“—okay, okay. I get it,” he pushes you, gentle, “Guess who’s the true surf bum now though?”

You furrow your eyebrows together. “Who?”

“You!” he breaks the news. “You know, Stoked is actually a competition to see who the real bum is on the beach.”

“I thought you said I was a beach babe.”

Smarmy, he comments, “I’m not Jin.”

“You have a point there.” You bring your palms to the sand, playing with the bijou grains as you ask, “Why are you out here so late?”

He looks at you, eyes filling with wonder. “It’s Wednesday night, is it not? We have a bonfire—which you should totally join us in.”

Rather than imploring, Taehyung keeps inching towards words to convince you over. “Who is ‘us’?” you ask query.

“Uh—” he turns his head back, looking at his friends who are struggling to start the bonfire. Hoseok is spraying the starter all over the wood, practically dousing it in fuel while Jimin cannot start one spark. Seokjin is on the side, his palm splaying on his face while the rest of his friends laugh at the scene— “just the usual.”

“Your usual buds?” you comment. “The crazy ones?”

“Yes,” he confirms, buoyant. “The ones that think I’m crazy for having a crush on you,” he says with an eye roll. He raises himself from his seat, patting the sand off his swim trunks as he waits for you to join him.

You tilt your head, pondering if you heard his words correctly. “What was that?” you ask.

“What was what?” he retaliates, saucy.

“You know,” you trail. “Why they think you’re crazy? For… what was it?”

Taehyung feels the heat soar to his face, did he slip up his feelings — the truth? He didn’t even catch himself mooning over you as he poured his heart out. “U-um,” he stutters.

“For—” you stand up, taking a step closer to him— “having a crush on me?”

Taehyung looks down at you, adoring the way your lips quirk into an evocative smirk. He blinks away, shifting his sidelong gaze back to his friends. “Well,” he clears his throat, “you see… I guess you can say I am interested.”

You bestow delightment. “Really? Or is this another one of your games.”

“If you want a game then we can go out for another surf sess,” he bites back.

“So what, for you to steal my tricks again?”

“Ouch,” he winces with a small smile. “Too early, but let’s see… you might be able to catch the moves I’ll make on you.”

You take a step back, ready to make your way to the group of locals. “I’m not surprised that your macking is smoother than your surf.”

“My… what?” He tilts his head a little to the sky, as if he is searching through his clouds of thought.

You tug him to you by the wrist, flashing a bright beam amidst the incoming darkness of the sky. “It means flirting. What’s wrong? Not familiar with city chum slang? Now you know how I feel. Come on, properly introduce me to your surfer pals.”

You drag him once more, your force strong as a thick wave on the extending ocean; all he can do contort his face guilelessly.

It starts with a few hello's and euphoric statements welcoming you to their circle, and everything soon blossoms into a moment of absolute joy. The fire takes a while to kindle; each of the men cannot bring a single spark to last, but once the fire blazes the night is set, and everybody is one.

The moon is drawn out, painting the sky with thin strokes of ivory from its beams, and golden specks splatter on the sky. Beneath the aegean curtain rests a group of people — surfers, lifeguards, friends — who have all come together to drown out the night.

You would expect to feel like a fish out of water, but for some reason being within the group is the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps sharing a similar love for the sea really is the easiest way to stir a friendship, especially surrounding an angry flame that renders everyone to their true self. The fire rises intrepidly into the sky, its smoke dispersing in the oceanic air while everyone’s skin reflects the golden and scarlet light.

You are seated next to Taehyung, the image of the flickering flames reflecting off his two dark orbs, and it mesmerizes you entirely. Laughter carries throughout the wreath, glass beer bottles clacking against each other that is practically a mark of unison, and smiles grace everyone’s face. Taehyung is right: despite who you are, the thick air from the day — competition — the bonfire always manages to bring people together. And as close as Taehyung is to his buddies, he is only dragged closer; you have the same spell going around as well.

Seokjin looks at you, his open-mouthed smile diminishing as he says, “It’s strange to see you with all of us.”

“It’s weird to see you having fun for once,” you comment, playful.

Hoseok laughs winsomely. “Seokjin needs a couple of beers for him to learn what ‘fun’ is.”

Taehyung pushes your shoulder, grinning like an excited child. “Don’t let Y/N get to you, she’s just trying to play around.”

You groan. “You’re one to talk after I—”

“—had… a lot of fun at the competition!” he intervenes, a cold sweat dripping down his forehead. He flashes a radiance your way, showing off his pearly whites as he shuts down your retaliation.

“Of course,” you shy off.

“Speaking of the competition,” chimes Hoseok, “how was Stoked? Ah, Y/N, not Taehyung. He didn’t show up.”

Taehyung abashes, coral hues chasing his face.

“It was great,” you tell him. “I managed to score a perfect score within ten minutes; my series of small tricks really did impress the judges.”

“And now you have twenty-five thousand dollars to spend,” he comments, tipping his bottle your way prior to taking a sip.

You shrug. “Yeah, first thing I’m going to do is buy a new surfboard.”

“Are you going to name it?” Jimin asks. “Maybe Jennie can have a friend.”

You roll your eyes, burning away his comment. “I’m not like you who is in love with his stick.”

“How can you not love your own surfboard?” Jimin exclaims. “You know, when Seokjin used to surf he had a tri-tip fin. Oh, and a fillet mignon.”

“He had a steak cut?”

Seokjin clears his throat. “A fillet mignon is a four-fin surfboard,” he chides.

You press a palm to your forehead, crossed. “Jeez, your slang gets more confusing by the second. Thank god I’m only here for summers only.”

“Speaking of boards,” Hoseok cuts in. “Where is yours? I’d like to see what type it is. You said you ride a shorty, right?”

“I do!” You reach your arm behind you, searching for the hard surface out of the sand but there is nothing. You turn your head, only to find the cold grains of the earth meeting your skin. “Uh, let’s see…”

Taehyung taps onto your shoulder, motioning to the ocean. “You left it by the wash zone.” He points.

“Agh,” you facepalm, “of course. Give me a second, guys.”

You lift yourself from the sand, dusting your bottoms off as you begin to walk to your beloved companion. You her susurrus whispers from behind, unable to make out what they are saying as you walk away.

Taehyung’s face flushes red, for the guys have been pushing, nudging, and badgering him to go after you. It takes a while, but he does. He stands up and begins to dash towards your figure, making it just in time to when you are about to remove your board from the dampened sand.

He places his palm over your own once you gain a grip of your shorty, the gust of air he created whipping at your face. He moves his body, taking three small steps to go to the other side of your board, sliding his hand off your own. You remain niche, unable to move as he gawks at you under the bright moonlight.

Stars are reflecting off your eyes and it gives you the appearance of an absolute goddess, making Taehyung lost at words. “Um,” he mumbles.

“I was just getting my board, why did you come along?” you question, already aware of the answer.

“No reason,” his words fly out, quick. “I just, well, I want to say thank you again.”

Your hand slides lower on the rim of your board. “Why?”

“For, well, making me realize that surfing is a lifestyle.”

You urge him to continue with a curl of your hand.

“I always surfed because it is a sport that can score me some cash at competitions, and after every win the fun was sort of sucked out and I surfed for others, wanting to top others—wanting to keep my name on the top.

“But you are the opposite. I’m not sure if it’s because you’re city chum, or if you’re really just weird, but it got to me. So thanks.”

You run your fingers through your hair, removing the tangles as you think of a response. “See,” you bellow, “surf for yourself. I told you this already, but don’t let the pressure get to you, champ. It’s hard, but everything is more fulfilling once you drown out what everyone nags at you for.”

“I sort of realized that,” he tosses in, lightening up the weight of the situation. Taehyung leans closer to you, his face now covered by your tall surfboard. Silently, he thanks the fact that you didn’t remove it from the sand; his friends can miss the entire show. “How about we go out for a night surf?” he whispers.

“Okay, now I understand why your friends think your crazy,” you gush. “Night surfing? Do you want to die?”

Taehyung shrugs with a smirk. “It’s to make up for the time I lost with you.”

“Yeah,” you press a hand to his chest, attempting to push him away, “that’s what dawn patrol is for. You know, the morning surf sessions that you choose to miss out on.”

He grabs a hold of your hand that rests on his chest, refusing to let go. “Hey, I’ve been sleeping in, and I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sleeping in? I haven’t given a reason for you to.” You wink, jolly.

Taehyung chuckles, breathy. “Nice one—” he holds your hand with his, bringing it back down— “I gotta say thanks for that night as well.”

“God,” you spit out, “you’re so strange.”

“You’re the one who prompted it, what kind of plan was that?”

“One that actually succeeded,” you surmise.

He extolls, “I’ll give you credit for that.”

You swallow your words, casting your eyes down to your hand that he is holding; a soft action that is enough to set your skin ablaze from contact. You press your lips into a thin line, face flushing with the deepest shade of roses.

Taehyung looks down at you, content. He watches your expression efflorescence the moment he intertwines his fingers with your own, gaining a comfortable hold on your hand. Standing on equal waves to quiet plaudits, the look on his face is just as charming.

You take initiative to peer at him again, finding a twinkling gleam painting on his face; it reflects the moon above, a picturesque scene. Your words dissolve on your tongue from the pristine view of Taehyung.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, breathy and catching the love in his eyes. You shift your gaze to the stars spread out above, searching for a distraction.

Thank god he cannot see your flushing face under the darkness of the night.

“Like what?” he raises a brow, voice falling to a whisper.

You gulp, casting your gaze down onto your fingertips that drum on the board. “Like you want me,” you mumble, reluctant.

Taehyung pauses, allowing silence to fill in the situation. Why is he looking at you like that? Fuck, all he can do is voice his first thought, “Because I do.”

Your lips part and you use your other hand to stroke the outline of his jaw, beckoning him closer; within seconds, your mouth encloses over his. Taehyung closes his eyes, tightening his grasp on your hand as he eases into the kiss, moving by the melody of the sea.

The only noise that fills your and his ears is the tune of the ocean, its waves crashing against one another for a harmony. The kiss isn’t like the first — not from the scene while you were at his apartment. It is not rushed, forced; it is filled with a raw admiration, fragments of the sentiment that he has not felt for years towards a person, and away from the sea.

He feels all of his appreciation towards the ocean pour into the tenderness of his actions, treating you with care. Amidst this moment, you truly are like the sea.

Unpredictable at times, strong but also fragile with waves of emotion — absolutely gorgeous to look at. Maybe that is why Taehyung has grown so fond of you throughout the past few weeks — you remind him so much of his home, the freedom he feels during surfing. The happiness.

You pull away, your two dark orbs meeting his. “We should get back before they question why we’re taking to so long.”

Taehyung nods, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not like they don’t have an idea…”

“But still,” you lift your surfboard out of the sand and stick it underneath your arm, flashing radiantly to Taehyung, “I’d like to see what Hoseok has to say about my board.”

“What about making up for the time lost?” Taehyung asks, childish.

You toss him a smile, the glimmer in your eyes providing him with an assuring sentiment. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning for that surf session.”

Your fingers remain interlocked with Taehyung as you both walk back towards the wreath of people, happiness written on each other’s face from how far the similar quality of surfing has taken each other, blossoming each other’s muted antipathy into genuine veneration. It is a warm feeling — welcoming compared to most sentiments you have retrieved from him — and it makes you feel like you have a home on the west beach.

Not as a tourist or a champion, a fan or a grommet, but as a normal surfer by Taehyung’s side.

Taehyung grins, already anticipating the next morning. “At dawn then, I’ll be waiting.”

#bts #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts smut #bts fluff #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #bts taehyung #taehyung kim #writing

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