Saltwater Taffy

by fishurine

Summary:

Tyler Joseph just wants to survive one more summer as a lifeguard without losing his mind—or his clipboard. But then Josh Dun shows up with a neon surfboard, no respect for red flags, and a smile that could drown him faster than any riptide.

It’s going to be a long summer.

Or maybe just the sweetest one yet.

Notes:

this is my first fic, and first time writing a fic pls be nice i hope you enjoy :3

@indigo.slowtown on twt

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: First Offence (of the day)

“-C’mon man, this is the third time this weekend. It’s not safe.”

Tyler frustratedly whispered under his breath, and pressed the whistle to his lips and blew. The sound sliced through the wind and crowded beach. Along the shoreline he saw him, Joshua, looking up and squinting. His neon pink surfboard was blinding. He didn’t move from where he was, and continued to straddle his board basking in the sunlight.

Tyler gritted his teeth and let out a sigh.

He blew the whistle again, this time longer. The surfer turned and began paddling back to the beach, at a conspicuously slow pace, he knew what he was doing.

Tyler began scribbling on his clipboard to look more official than he actually could be. No one read these reports unless there was a serious injury. Let alone one reckless stoner on the water. Still, he was here to do a job, and that job involved following a set of rules. Time, weather, tide, beach conditions et cetera. and infractions.

This guy? Joshua Dun, has had quite the summer of infractions and write ups.

“Got it out of your system?” Tyler groaned as he climbed down from his lifeguard tower

“You always this uptight, or are you just scared of fun?” Josh smirked and shielded his eyes from the sun while Tyler reached the sand.

Tyler didn’t have any rebuttal, he wasn’t sure what was more irritating about Josh. The lack of concern for his safety or the mockery of the rules meant to be followed.

“You went past the boundary buoys again. This is the third time this weekend, man.”

“I didn’t see a sign out there.” Josh grinned

Tyler pointed out towards the bright red flags “There are flags, red flags. You do know what red means right?”

“Danger?” Josh kicked some sand towards Tyler’s feet playfully

“Yeah, man. That means it’s not safe.” Tyler put his hands on his hips and glared at Joshua

“Not for me, though. I’m an expert.” Josh tucked his board under his arm and put his hands on his hips mocking the lifeguard’s posture.

Tyler laughed

“Dude, you wipe out just like everyone else. The ocean doesn’t care how special you’re convinced you are.”

Josh smirked and began to walk off the beach. He took a piece of saltwater taffy out of his pocket and threw the wrapper in the sand. He waved that same stupid wave over his shoulder, not a care in the world as if rules never applied

“Yeah, maybe not. But you sure care a lot.”

Tyler glared after him, and wrote down on his clipboard.

12:15pm Saturday July 16th 2012, Joshua Dun, Surfer, Out Past Boundaries. Again. Reckless.

Chapter 2: Second Strike

Summary:

A slow morning at the beach is shattered by a sudden emergency, leaving Tyler rattled and Josh watching closer than ever.

Chapter 2: Second Strike

The sun hadn’t fully risen when Tyler reached the lifeguard tower. His sneakers pressed softly into the damp sand as he carried his clipboard and thermos, earbuds tucked in, music humming quietly in his ears.

He climbed the steps and settled into the chair with a practiced sigh. The beach was still quiet, save for the rhythmic crash of waves and the occasional call of an early bird. Tyler pulled the thermos to his lips and began methodically checking his clipboard — tide charts, weather conditions, wind speed — all familiar numbers that grounded him.

Routine was everything.

A shadow fell over the steps. Josh stood there, board under his arm, hair damp and tousled from the sea. He dropped his bag far too close to Tyler’s space.

“You’re early,” Tyler said without looking up.

Josh shrugged. “Figured I’d get a few waves before it gets busy.”

Tyler’s gaze flicked to the clipboard. “The beach doesn’t officially open for another hour.”

Josh didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled a piece of saltwater taffy from his pocket and held it out. Tyler hesitated, then took it, fingers curling around the sticky wrapper.

Josh didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked toward the ocean, his bare feet sinking into the wet sand.

Tyler watched him go, the quiet crunch of footsteps stirring thoughts he wasn’t prepared for.

Why does he always have to be here before anyone else?
Why can’t he just show up when the beach is open like everyone else?
He’s reckless, impossible, and probably driving me insane.
But there’s something about the way he moves—like he belongs to the waves more than to this place.

He shook his head, trying to focus on his checklist, but the candy wrapper felt heavier in his hand than it should.

⸻

A few hours later, more people had trickled onto the beach. Parents with kids, just looking for a way to be out of the house.

Tyler scanned the shoreline from the tower, mechanically counting heads, marking zones in his mind. His foot tapped against the metal floor. The morning was already heating up. He adjusted his sunglasses and tried not to look at the water too much.

Josh was still out there.
Still.

Tyler glanced down toward the break, where a flash of yellow cut through the surf. Josh had been out since Tyler’s shift started, and somehow, he hadn’t taken a break.. not to eat, not to hydrate. Just… surfing. Like he didn’t have to think about things like sunscreen or muscle cramps or actual limits.

He caught another wave and whooped, voice carrying faintly up toward the tower.

Tyler didn’t react.

He shifted his weight, adjusted his posture, went back to scanning the crowd.

Kids squealed as they ran in and out of the foam. A dad yelled something about sandwiches. A dog barked near the dunes. All normal.

Josh fell off his board and popped back up, arms out like it didn’t matter. Like it was all part of it.

Tyler clicked his pen once. Then twice. Tapped it against his clipboard. He wasn’t even writing anything.

A gull swooped close and Tyler flinched just enough to pretend it was intentional. His sunglasses slipped down his nose. He shoved them back up and exhaled through his nose, sharp and fast.

Josh paddled back out again.

“Unreal,” Tyler muttered, then checked his watch.

Only a few more hours.

 

Tyler leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing at a small cluster near the edge of the swim zone.

A kid—maybe seven, maybe eight—had wandered a little farther out than the rest. Nothing unusual. They were still in the shallows. But the tide was starting to turn.

He tracked the movement, waiting to see if a parent would call them back. One of the moms glanced over but didn’t react. The kid took another step forward, water now brushing their chest.

A swell lifted behind them.

Tyler was already on his feet.

It wasn’t panic. Not yet. But his gut knew the rhythm of the ocean, and something about this shift—this moment—was wrong.

He jogged down the steps, clipboard forgotten, whistle bouncing against his chest. The sun had burned higher in the sky by now, heating the sand beneath his feet as he crossed the beach with long, practiced strides.

“Hey!” he called, voice firm. “Back toward shore, okay?”

The kid turned. Their smile faltered just as the pull of the undertow tugged at their feet.

One second.

That’s all it took for fun to tilt into fear.

They went under.

Tyler hit the water without hesitation.

The chill hit him like a slap, but he kept moving, strong strokes cutting through the current. His whistle floated away somewhere behind him.

He reached the kid just as they surfaced again, sputtering. Tyler grabbed them, arms strong and sure, and kicked hard against the tide.

“Got you,” he said, low and steady, as much for himself as for the kid.

It wasn’t far—twenty feet, maybe—but it felt like a mile dragging them through the shifting pull. By the time his feet hit the sand again, Tyler’s chest was heaving.

He passed the child off to the mother, who’d finally come running, face pale and stunned. Words blurred—thank you, oh my god, I didn’t see—but Tyler wasn’t listening.

He gave a stiff nod and turned back to the tower.

Everything was normal again. Or it looked that way.

But his hands were shaking. Just a little.

From the cold, probably.

Just the cold.

⸻

Tyler climbed the tower slower than usual, wet clothes clinging to him, breath still evening out. He toweled off his arms roughly and sat back down, sunglasses back in place like armor.

Clipboard. Thermos. Everything in reach. Everything normal.

He wiped his hands on his shorts and told himself it was just a minor incident.

Josh was already back on the beach, board stuck upright in the sand. He stood a little off-center from the tower, squinting up at him, arms crossed.

“You good?” he called.

Tyler didn’t look down. Just raised a hand in a half-wave that wasn’t quite convincing.

Josh kept watching.

He grabbed a towel from his bag and jogged up toward the steps without waiting for permission. Tyler sighed when he heard the familiar creak of sand-heavy footsteps climbing the metal stairs.

“I said I’m fine,” Tyler muttered as Josh appeared at the top.

Josh ignored that. “You’re soaked.”

“Yeah. Kid got pulled a little too far out. Handled it.”

Josh offered the towel. “Doesn’t mean you’re not freezing.”

Tyler hesitated, then took it. “Thanks.”

Josh sat on the edge of the platform, feet dangling. “You didn’t even hesitate. Just ran in. I didn’t think you could move that fast.”

Tyler gave him a flat look, but Josh didn’t flinch.

“You shook up?”

“I’m fine,” Tyler repeated.

Josh didn’t argue. He just nodded and sat quiet for a minute, kicking his heels lightly against the metal frame.

“Still,” he said, “glad you were up there.”

Tyler didn’t answer. Just pulled the towel tighter around his shoulders and went back to scanning the shoreline.

Josh stayed a few minutes longer than he needed to.

Then he stood, slapped the railing twice, and went back down the steps—leaving behind the silence, and the soft creak of metal, and a towel that didn’t stop Tyler’s hands from shaking.

Tyler leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand down his face.

Eventually, the hour hit.

He climbed down the tower, walked back across the sand to his car, and slid into the driver’s seat. The heat inside made his skin prickle.

He didn’t start the engine.

His clipboard lay on the passenger seat, slightly crooked, with a smudge of sunscreen on the corner and one thing stuck dead center: a piece of saltwater taffy, the wrapper sun-warped and barely hanging on.

Chapter 3: Something Left Behind

Summary:

A forgotten object brings Tyler back to the tower earlier than usual, setting off a quiet shift in his day. Drifting through familiar places, he finds comfort in small rituals and old games. But the quiet doesn’t stay uninterrupted for long.

Notes:

wow i genuinely didn’t expect to get so many of you reading this. thank you genuinely i’m so glad y’all are enjoying!

 

- @indigo.slowtown on twt

Tyler showed up at the tower before his shift officially started.

The beach was mostly empty, washed pale under the overcast morning sky. The ocean moved quieter than yesterday—less hungry, less reckless. It mirrored how Tyler wished he felt.

He climbed the steps like always, muscle memory leading him up. His clipboard was in the passenger seat of his car where he’d left it, but it didn’t matter. He needed to stand here. To be here. Like rerunning a line of code until the bug disappears.

But something was missing.

He glanced around the platform, checked beneath the seat, even lifted a towel off the back rail.

The thermos was gone.

He stood still for a second, not panicking—just registering. The absence pulsed oddly. Not because he was thirsty. Not even because he needed the coffee. But because he always had it.

Part of the ritual: the weight in his hand, the warmth in his palm, the sip after setting down the tide chart. The rhythm.

Without it, everything felt… misaligned.

Footsteps padded through the sand below.

Joshua.

He was wearing the same board shorts from yesterday and a faded T-shirt with some old punk band Tyler half-recognized. No wetsuit. No towel. Just a slow, loping walk like the beach belonged to him and he was letting it borrow him for a while. Tyler crossed his arms and watched Josh approach the steps.

Josh stopped a few feet from the bottom with a stupid genuine grin on his face. “You forgot this,” he called, lifting something up.

The thermos. Cleaned. Dried. Steam curling faintly from the mouth.

Tyler blinked. “You—”

“It was still up here when I came back to grab my stuff. Figured you might want it.”

Tyler hesitated, then stepped down two rungs and reached out. Josh passed it up to him carefully, like it was fragile.

“It’s… warm,” Tyler said, quietly.

Josh tilted his head. “Made some coffee. Not sure how you take it, so I guessed. Just don’t tell anyone I’m capable of domesticity.”

A small, involuntary huff escaped Tyler. Not quite a laugh.

Josh smiled at the sound.

Tyler looked down at the thermos in his hands. It was cleaner than it had been in weeks—he usually just rinsed it and hoped for the best.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“No big.”

Josh turned to go, heading toward the surf, but then stopped.

“You alright, by the way? Yesterday… you looked kind of off.”

Tyler froze.

“I’m fine,” he said, too quickly.

Josh didn’t push. He nodded once, then jogged toward the water, board under his arm. A few seconds later, he was paddling out, swallowed up by the waves again.

Tyler sat down on the edge of the platform. The thermos sat warm in his hands. He didn’t drink from it right away. Just let it rest there.

Eventually, he opened the lid, took a small sip.

It wasn’t how he usually made it.

It was sweeter.

He didn’t hate it.

He sipped again.

He remembered a chipped mug once. Green with a white rim. He’d held it in both hands, sitting at a kitchen table too tall for his legs to reach the floor.

The coffee had been burnt. He drank it anyway.

A voice offscreen had said something sharp. Scolding. He couldn’t remember what. Only the way it made his shoulders bunch up. The way the mug warmed his fingers while everything else felt cold.

He looked down at the thermos now, fingers curled the same way. Though this time a smile was formed slightly on his lips.

Different mug.
Different morning.
Different static.

And he hadn’t made it himself.
Josh had.

Eventually Tyler’s shift ended unremarkably, so up he got and made his way to the boardwalk. It felt like that kind of evening. The arcade was just starting to come alive for the night.

Kids were trailing in, parents in tow. A group of teenagers clustered around the DDR machine, laughing and shouting over the music. The machines lit up in a kaleidoscope of moving lights and clinking sound effects. But Tyler walked through the chaos like a ghost, weaving between air hockey tables and pinball machines until he found his corner.

There it was.

The Galaga cabinet still sat near the far wall, dimmer than the others, the screen slightly tilted in its frame. It was an old machine, older than him probably, with the joystick worn down to dull plastic and a sticky button that only worked if you pressed it hard enough.

He slipped in a quarter. The screen blinked to life.

And like always, the high scores appeared:

TYJO1 - 85720
TYJO2 - 83240
TYJO3 - 79810

All him.

He’d earned them in different moods, different summers. Once on a late night after a bad breakup. Another after finding out his uncle was in hospice. The third—he couldn’t even remember why he’d come that day, just that it’d felt like survival. Something to do instead of spiraling.

Tyler stared at the initials for a moment, then pressed START. The opening music chirped to life.

The first few waves were muscle memory. He fell into the rhythm easily—dodge, shoot, double up, avoid the spirals. The same hypnotic loop he always came back to. In some ways, Galaga made more sense than people did.

He was on his fifth wave when a voice broke through the sounds of exploding pixel ships.

“TYJO, huh?”

Tyler’s finger twitched. He barely avoided losing a ship. He didn’t turn around.

Josh stepped up beside him, holding a Coke can and a half-eaten funnel cake, of all things.

“I figured your high score would be like… something darker. Like VOID or DTH or something dramatic.”

Tyler gave a small shake of his head, not quite smiling.

Josh watched him clear the next level, then pointed to the screen with a powdered sugar–coated finger. “See that fourth one?”

Tyler glanced, already knowing what he’d find.

JASR - 76490

Josh grinned.

“That’s me. Last week. And before you judge—I only had two quarters.”

Tyler snorted, a short exhale of disbelief. “You play Galaga?”

“I contain multitudes,” Josh said solemnly, then popped a corner of the funnel cake into his mouth.

Tyler lost a ship and swore under his breath.

“Relax,” Josh said, leaning against the side of the cabinet like they were old friends. “It’s not a competition.”

“Says the guy pointing out his score.”

Josh smirked. “Hey, just wanted you to know I’m coming for spot number three.”

Tyler finally glanced over, and the look he gave him was half amusement, half challenge. “You’ll need more than two quarters for that.”

Josh raised an eyebrow. “That a dare?”

Tyler didn’t answer, just turned back to the game and fired a double shot through the center of an enemy wave.

They stood there for a while like that — not talking much, but not needing to. The noises of the arcade surrounded them, but inside that small bubble of blinking lights and retro sound effects, there was something peaceful. Almost comfortable.

When Tyler lost his last ship and the “GAME OVER” screen flashed, he didn’t bother entering his name. He let the machine blink and reset. It wasn’t about beating the scores anymore.

Josh handed him the rest of the funnel cake. “You look like you need this more than me.”

Tyler took it without a word.

Josh leaned in slightly. “You doing better than earlier?”

Tyler hesitated, then nodded. Just once.

Josh didn’t push. “Cool. I’ll let you be mysterious then.”

He stepped away, heading toward the pinball row.

Tyler watched him go, then looked back at the Galaga screen.

He dropped in another quarter.

Maybe TYJO4 wasn’t out of the question tonight.

He looked over at the funnel cake sticking to the wax paper and smirked, like it was challenging him. He usually hated sticky things, but this time he didn’t mind it so much. He lined up his first shot on the screen as the neon glow reflected on his smiling face.

Chapter 4: Tacos After Hours

Summary:

Tyler’s quiet evening at the arcade doesn’t stay solitary for long. When Josh shows up — again — things take a turn toward the unexpected. A spontaneous late-night taco run adds a strange kind of rhythm to the night, one Tyler didn’t plan for. He’s not sure what to make of it.

Notes:

thanks so much for all the love guys. it really means a lot to see people enjoying my writing :3

- Indigo

Tyler pushed open the door of the arcade, and the sticky summer air hit him like a warm slap. The salt off the ocean was heavier at night. Softer, too — it wrapped around him like a damp hoodie he hadn’t asked for.

He slipped his flip phone out of his pocket. A message blinked from his supervisor:

***Don’t forget tower maintenance checklist before shift. New protocol binder in break room.***

Sent an hour ago. He clicked the screen shut with a quiet sigh and started down the sidewalk.

The boardwalk lights buzzed overhead, moths flinging themselves toward something that wouldn’t save them. Stores were closing up. A pair of teenagers biked past, one of them shouting lyrics from a Pitbull song.

Tyler walked faster.

He hadn’t made it half a block before he nearly collided with someone rounding the corner.

“Whoa! Watch it, man.”

Josh.

Some cracked iPod in his back pocket, earbuds slung around his neck like a necklace. There was powdered sugar dusting his T-shirt — probably funnel cake. The guy moved like gravity was optional.

Tyler stepped back, instantly bracing. “What are you even doing out still?”

Josh grinned. “Chilling, enjoying the night.”

Tyler folded his arms. “Looks like your shirt took some of that fun too.”

“Rude,” Josh laughed. “Anyway, I was heading to that taco truck by Pier 9. You hungry?”

Tyler hesitated.

It was late. He had a binder to skim, protocols to memorize. But he hadn’t eaten since that little piece of funnel cake from Josh. His stomach felt like an empty soda can someone had crushed.

Josh was already walking backward, toward the parking lot. “Come on. You look like a guy who schedules dinner and forgot to put it on the calendar.”

Tyler frowned, but his feet started moving anyway.

⸻

The taco truck was a twenty-minute walk along the edge of the beach. Tyler kept his hands shoved in his pockets the whole time, avoiding the cool splash of water that kicked up when they crossed the tide line.

Josh talked the whole way, mostly about nothing: a half-broken surfboard he was trying to repair with duct tape, a rumor that someone saw a stingray in the shallow water, the way his iPod now only played music in one ear unless you angled the cord just right.

Tyler didn’t say much, but he listened. That seemed to be enough for Josh.

The truck’s lights spilled gold onto the sand. It smelled like grilled onions and cilantro and whatever heaven would smell like if it charged $3.50 per taco.

Josh ordered with casual confidence. Tyler copied him without thinking.

They sat on a concrete parking barrier, food in their laps, a warm silence stretching between bites.

Josh leaned back, chewing. “So, question.”

Tyler glanced over.

“Are you always this tense, or is it just around me?”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “You literally break every rule I live by.”

Josh smiled like he took it as a compliment. “Well, maybe you need some new rules.”

Tyler looked back toward the ocean. He didn’t answer.

Somewhere down the beach, someone lit a fire. Laughter echoed faint and far.

Josh picked up his soda. “We should hang out sometime. Not just because I beat your score.”

“You didn’t beat it,” Tyler muttered.

“Not yet. But seriously.” Josh nudged him with his elbow. “You’re kind of fun when you’re not scowling.”

Tyler snorted. “I’m not fun.”

Josh grinned. “Exactly.”

Josh crumpled his napkin and tossed it into the bin beside the taco truck, missing by a mile. He didn’t even flinch.

Tyler stood and walked over to drop his neatly folded wrapper in. He glanced at the ocean, then back at Josh. “So. What now?”

Josh shrugged, wiping powdered sugar off his jeans. “Walk? Or you gonna turn into a rule-abiding pumpkin if you’re not in bed by midnight?”

Tyler checked his flip phone. 11:42.

He almost said no. Almost made up some excuse about early shifts or sunscreen inventory.

Instead, he found himself saying, “Let’s walk.”

———

 

They followed the boardwalk again, quieter now, the air thick with sea mist and low tide. Someone was playing music out of their parked car — “Somebody That I Used to Know” by Gotye, tinny and distorted.

Josh kept talking, but it was softer now. Less scattered. He told Tyler about the first wave he ever caught when he was eight and got a mouth full of sand and still went back the next day. About how his mom used to take him to this very boardwalk when he was little — when the taco truck was just a hot dog cart and the arcade still had DDR.

Tyler nodded along. His hands were in his hoodie pocket, fingers nervously tapping. He felt weird. Lighter, but also like something in his stomach was turning over slow.

They paused near the lifeguard station — Tyler’s tower visible even in the dim light, empty and silent like a sleeping animal.

“You ever climb up there at night?” Josh asked, chin-tilting toward it.

Tyler shot him a look. “It’s locked.”

Josh smirked. “So? You’ve got keys.”

Tyler blinked. “That’s… I can’t. It’s against—”

“—your rules.” Josh finished for him, laughing. “Man, I’m kidding. I’m not trying to get you fired. Relax.”

Tyler didn’t smile. But he didn’t walk away either.

They ended up leaning against the wooden railing overlooking the beach. Below, waves folded into themselves. Someone had lit sparklers down near the water, little bursts of gold and white in the dark.

Tyler exhaled. “I don’t really do this. Like—hang out with people.”

Josh was quiet for a beat. Then: “Yeah. I figured.”

Tyler looked over. “Why’d you invite me, then?”

Josh shrugged, eyes still on the ocean. “You looked like you needed it.”

Tyler didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at the horizon, the place where dark water met darker sky. Then finally, he said, “Maybe I did.”

Chapter 5: A Coffee, A Board, A Death

Summary:

Tyler’s routine day at the beach takes an unexpected turn, testing the bond between him and Josh in ways neither anticipated. Moments of quiet connection, playful banter, and sudden urgency intertwine as their relationship deepens against the backdrop of sun, surf, and the ever-watchful lifeguard tower.

Notes:

thank you all so much for reading this fic. i did not expect so many people to enjoy it :p

 

hope the self titled reference got a chuckle.

- Indigo

The next morning Tyler arrived for his shift at the tower and skimmed the binder waiting for him.

“Really? This isn’t new at all. This is the procedure for two years ago.”

His cellphone chimed in his pocket and he saw it was a message from Josh.

***I’ll be there a little late today, hope you’re ready to see me catch a big wave today ;-)***

He smiled and shook his head, this guy just didn’t learn.

**thanks for the tacos.**

He texted back, and before he could even get the phone back in his pocket, it chimed again with another message from Josh.

Tyler found himself sitting in the tower just exchanging messages back and forth with Josh for a few minutes. Then a loud beeping sounded on his watch, that was the alarm to begin watch from his tower. He usually arrived two hours early to make sure he got everything set up, he got distracted by Josh’s messages.

He silenced the alarm and stood, brushing the sand off the edge of the wooden railing. The sun wasn’t fully overhead yet, but the heat was already gathering under his skin. The beach was still quiet—only a few early risers staking out umbrella spots or jogging the shoreline.

Tyler raised his binoculars and swept the coast out of habit. His fingers moved automatically to log the time, the weather, the tide level. But his thoughts drifted back to Josh’s message.

He hadn’t realized how much of his internal rhythm had come to expect Josh showing up, loud and salt-damp, within a certain window of time. It wasn’t like he needed to see him. But it was weird not to.

Another text buzzed.

***what if i show up wearing your sunscreen this time, will you finally take me seriously***

Tyler snorted, typing back:

**only if you wear it correctly. broad spectrum. reapply every 2 hours.**

 

***God you’re so hot when you talk about UVA protection***

He gasped audibly shut his flip phone quickly, glancing around to make sure no one saw the grin breaking through. His face felt hot with embarrassment.

“Idiot,” he muttered, and shook his head, but it didn’t sound like an insult.

——-

Later in the shift, a lifeguard from the next tower over radioed in that someone was surfing too close to the swim zone.

Tyler squinted toward the water, adjusted his binoculars — and yep, there he was. That ridiculous cracked board. That raggedy blond ponytail. Cutting dangerously close to where the swimmers were starting to drift.

He sighed deeply, almost theatrically, before radioing a warning to Tower 3.

Josh caught a wave all the way in, then jogged up the sand toward Tyler’s tower like he had no idea he was being a menace.

“Thought you said you’d be late,” Tyler called down.

Josh looked up, grinning and winded, tugging his board under his arm. “This is late for me. You miss me?”

“You’re in the wrong zone,” Tyler said. “Again.”

“Yeah, yeah. But did you see that left break? Tell me you saw it.”

“I saw it. I also saw you almost take out two tourists.”

Josh held up two hands in mock surrender. “Guilty. But come on — did you at least feel it? It was like the ocean knew I was coming.”

Tyler shook his head, but he didn’t radio anything else in. Didn’t even write it up.

Josh lingered at the base of the tower for a beat too long.

“Anyway,” he said. “I’ve got, like, ten minutes before I go find breakfast. Want anything?”

Tyler hesitated.

“I shouldn’t.”

Josh smirked. “Didn’t ask if you should. Asked if you want anything.”

A beat.

“…chocolate chip muffin. And a black coffee.”

Josh saluted him with two fingers and turned to leave, board still dripping seawater onto the sand.

Tyler sat back down, the sun rising behind his shoulder, and opened the logbook to the next blank line.

About fifteen minutes later, Josh returned, triumphant, holding a crumpled paper bag in one hand and a coffee in the other.

“For the grump in the tower,” he said, passing it up to Tyler like an offering.

Tyler took it carefully. “How are you this coordinated on land and such a menace in the water?”

“Balance,” Josh said with a wink. “Plus, I bring tribute. Muffin’s still warm.”

Tyler gave a small nod of thanks and cracked the lid on the coffee. He didn’t smile, not outwardly—but the warmth in his voice gave him away.

“You gonna keep surfing after this?” he asked, nodding toward the shoreline.

Josh looked out over the water, then back at him. “Yeah. I think it’s picking up again. Waves are good today—might actually get that barrel I’ve been chasing.”

“You’re gonna break your neck trying.”

“Only if you don’t catch me first,” Josh said, flashing that grin again before jogging off down the sand.

⸻

Tyler lost track of time. Between the muffin, the buzz of caffeine, and the stretch of sun-slicked swimmers along the beach, he found a kind of rhythm. His job required presence—watching the small moments, scanning for shifts in the current, for subtle signs of panic or exhaustion.

It was almost meditative.

Until he heard the shout.

Sharp. Far off. From the water.

His gaze snapped to the surf zone. Someone was flailing near the impact zone—right where a steep wave had just broken. Board spinning out beside them.

Tyler lifted the binoculars—and froze.

Josh.

He was half-submerged, one arm clutching at his forehead. Another wave crested behind him, and this time, he didn’t duck.

Tyler didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

He was off the tower and sprinting down the sand in seconds, every motion automatic—like the drills, like the procedures, like second nature.

A whistle blast. An arm signal to the nearby tower. His fins hitting his feet mid-run.

The water was ice in his veins as he dove through the first breaker.

Josh was floating face-up now—barely.

Tyler reached him just in time, hooking an arm under his shoulders and turning him fully upright.

“Josh,” he said, breathless. “Hey. Stay with me.”

Josh blinked slowly, eyes dazed. Blood was trickling from his temple, a small gash pulsing red just at the hairline.

“I—I wiped out,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Tyler muttered, his voice caught between panic and fury. “Hold on.”

The swim back was brutal. Josh was dead weight in his arms, half-lucid, the current pulling at them both like it had teeth.

But Tyler’s strokes were steady. He made it to the sand. Another guard came running with the med kit, and together they pulled Josh safely out of the surf.

⸻

Minutes later, Josh sat wrapped in a towel at the base of the tower, blinking like he’d just woken from a dream. His head was bandaged, the bleeding stopped, but the way he kept swaying told Tyler what he feared.

“Concussion,” he said. “You’re not going back in today.”

Josh tried to smirk but it faltered. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

Tyler didn’t answer.

He just crouched beside him, eyes steady, pulse finally slowing.

“You scared me,” he said quietly.

Josh’s grin softened. “Guess that’s one way to get your attention.”

“Idiot.”

This time, it really wasn’t an insult.

“You’re gonna sit here until the end of my shift, then I’m driving you home.”

Josh didn’t argue. He leaned back against the base of the tower, squinting up into the sun like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just scared the life out of Tyler.

Tyler stayed seated beside him a little longer than necessary. Watching the shoreline. Watching the rise and fall of the water.

It wasn’t until the end of his shift that he realized he hadn’t finished logging the last incident. The clipboard was still on the tower railing, the muffin wrapper tucked underneath it like a paperweight.

He walked Josh to his car in silence. Helped him into the passenger seat. Tossed the surfboard into the trunk with a sharp clack of fiberglass and metal.

Josh let his head rest against the window as they pulled out of the lot.

“Still cute when you’re mad,” he mumbled, barely conscious.

Tyler didn’t answer. He just gripped the steering wheel tighter.

But the corners of his mouth twitched.

Just barely.

 

⸻

Josh dozed most of the drive, occasionally murmuring something incoherent. Tyler didn’t mind. He kept one hand on the wheel and let the radio fill the silence — a tinny indie station with more static than signal.

When they pulled up outside Josh’s place, Tyler parked at the curb and leaned over to shake his shoulder gently.

“Hey. You’re home.”

Josh blinked at him, dazed. “Mmh. That was fast.”

“Only because you slept through it.”

Josh sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Thanks for… y’know. Everything.”

Tyler didn’t answer right away. He looked past Josh, toward the small beachside house — its porch lined with chipped pots overflowing with succulents and basil, the roof sloped like a tired shoulder. The siding had been repainted in soft seafoam green, uneven in places but warm in the way lived-in homes are. A wind chime clinked lazily in the breeze.

It wasn’t fancy, but it looked like him.

“Your place suits you,” Tyler said, more to himself than to Josh. “It’s got good energy.”

Josh gave a crooked little smile. “Thanks. I, uh… I like making it feel like a place people wanna come back to.”

Tyler nodded once.

Josh moved to get out of the car, but hesitated, hand on the door. “Hey… will you be okay?”

Tyler blinked. “I’m not the one with a concussion.”

“Yeah, I know,” Josh said softly. “Still.”

A beat. Tyler’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

Josh nodded. “Okay. There’s something for you in that bag with the muffin.”

And then he was gone, slipping through the gate and up the path to his front door. Tyler watched until the porch light flicked on and the door clicked shut.

Then he drove his twenty minute ride home. Windows down. Air salted. The sun dipping low behind him, painting the ocean in bruised colors.

Tyler rummaged in the paper bag where his muffin was and found some saltwater taffy, he unwrapped it and popped one in his mouth before pulling into the driveway at home.

He went in, hung up his keys and placed his bag on a chair in the living room. His parents were in bed by now, he made his way upstairs to his bedroom, opened his phone and sent a message to Josh.

**be sure to rest, and get some ice on your head to help the swelling.**

Chapter 6: Not Today

Summary:

Tyler checks in on Josh after the accident, and the two share a quiet, grounding moment together. As Josh recovers, Tyler’s care becomes more visible — and so do the pressures waiting for him back home.

Notes:

aaaa thank you for reading this and all the positivity. love you guys!

- Indigo <3

Tyler sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen. It had been three days since the accident. Three days since Josh wiped out hard and Tyler pulled him from the surf, bleeding and barely responsive.

Josh had texted once — the word “alive” — and then radio silence. No surf jokes. No jokes about safety.

Tyler frowned. That wasn’t like him.

He typed out a message.

**hey. haven’t heard from you. i’m gonna swing by, just to check in. hope that’s cool.**

He hesitated, then hit send.

It was his day off. He didn’t have any obligations, really — and yet he felt like he needed to see Josh, needed to make sure he was okay with his own eyes. His phone chimed as he was putting his keys in the ignition in the car.

***Cool with me***

The screen door creaked as Tyler stepped onto the porch. The same faded windchime clinked in the breeze, and there was a ceramic turtle by the step and chipped ceramic pots he didn’t notice before, it was wearing a little plastic lei.

He texted:

***coming up unless you’re dying or on fire.***

A second later, the door opened.

Josh stood there, pajama pants slouched low on his hips, an oversized band tee hanging off one shoulder — and most noticeably, a freshly-dyed curly electric blue mohawk on his head.

Tyler raised his eyebrows. “That’s new.”

Josh blinked like he’d forgotten. “Oh. Yeah. The old dye ran out. Figured I’d go with something less tragic.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You hate it?”

Tyler smirked. “Nah. It suits you. You look like you lost a bet to a punk band.”

Josh grinned. “I did, actually. With myself.”

He stepped back, and opened the door wider. “Come on in. Unless you were just here to dig at my hair and leave.”

Tyler stepped inside. “That was Plan A.”

—-

 

Josh padded back into the kitchen, muttering something about how the coffee was “probably still drinkable” as he rattled around a bit louder than necessary. Tyler followed him in, leaning against the counter while Josh poured water into a half-full kettle.

“You’re limping,” Tyler noted.

Josh shrugged. “Barely. Just a little sore from getting thrown the way I did.”

“That’s still limping.”

“I’ve seen you walk after leg day, dude. You looked worse.”

Tyler grinned but didn’t let it drop. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a little cracked.” Josh tapped the side of his skull. “Brain’s a little shaken, but I passed the flashlight test. Or maybe I hallucinated it. Either way, I’m up and alive.”

The kettle hissed as it heated. Josh pulled down two chipped mugs from the shelf and dropped in instant coffee granules without asking — like he already knew how Tyler took it.

Tyler grabbed the milk from the fridge and poured a splash into both.

They stood in silence while the kettle came to a boil.

Josh finally spoke. “Sorry I went dark. I was just… tired. Like, down-to-the-bone tired.”

“No apology needed,” Tyler said. “Just didn’t want you to turn into a cautionary tale.”

Josh snorted. “Surfer Dies After Ignoring Red Flag Warning.”

“Exactly.”

Josh handed him a mug. “Cheers to ignoring our instincts.”

They sat on the couch, Josh curled up with a throw blanket over his lap, Tyler sipping carefully, watching the steam rise.

“Do you remember the wipeout?” Tyler asked after a while.

Josh blinked. “Bits. I remember the drop-in felt wrong. Board wobbled. Everything after that’s a blur. You said I hit my head?”

“Hard.”

Josh nodded slowly. “Explains the headache and the part where I thought my fridge was humming ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ yesterday.”

Tyler didn’t laugh. Just studied him for a second, eyes narrowed like he was trying to read between the lines.

Josh glanced over, expression gentler. “Hey. I’m okay, alright? I mean it.”

Tyler nodded once, slowly. “Yeah. I know.”

Josh sipped his coffee, then smirked. “You really drove all this way just to stare at my mohawk?”

Tyler smiled. “Nah. I wanted to make sure you didn’t turn into a ghost.”

Josh raised his mug in salute. “Not today.”

——-

After finishing his coffee, Tyler glanced around the living room. It was messier than last time — a half-eaten bag of chips on the coffee table, a towel slung over the back of a chair, a pile of mail balanced precariously on the arm of the couch.

“You, uh… livin’ the dream?” he asked, nudging an empty Gatorade bottle with his foot.

Josh looked around like he was seeing it for the first time. “Yeah. The dream where laundry folds itself and floors vacuum themselves. I think I’m still waiting on that upgrade.”

Tyler set his mug down. “You want help with any of it?”

Josh opened his mouth to say no — and stopped. He looked away, jaw tight for a second, then shrugged one shoulder.

“Sure. I guess if you’re offering. Don’t stress it if you don’t want to. I can manage.”

Tyler stood. “Where’s the laundry monster live?”

“Bedroom floor. Good luck in there. Hope you’ve had your tetanus shot.”

Josh tried to sound casual, but the little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Tyler gave a joking salute. “If I don’t make it out, tell my record collections I loved them.”

——-

A little while later, the living room looked better. Not pristine, but lived-in in a good way. The floor was visible, the mail was sorted into piles, and the smell of something vaguely citrusy lingered from whatever cleaner Tyler had dug out from under the sink.

Josh had disappeared to change his shirt somewhere in the middle of it. He came back now in one of those faded tanks he wore when surfing- neon pink with a cartoon shark on it — and dropped onto the couch with a groan.

“This is the most productive I’ve been all week,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face.

Tyler sat cross-legged on the rug, leaning back on his palms. “That’s not saying much, considering the bar was ‘not unconscious.’”

Josh chuckled, soft and a little breathless. “Still. Thanks.”

Tyler shrugged. “Wasn’t gonna let you stew in the wake of the laundry monster and existential dread.”

Josh glanced around the room again. “Looks less like a raccoon broke in now.”

“Still smells like one, though,” Tyler said, grinning.

Josh smirked, but his eyes lingered on Tyler for a beat too long — something unspoken resting there, heavy and almost grateful.

Then: “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

“I know,” Tyler said simply. “That’s why I did it. Helps you heal when your space is cleaner.”

Josh didn’t say anything to that, just sat and looked outside the window aimlessly.

Outside, wind rustled the old windchime again. Inside, it was quiet in that kind of warm, ordinary way that made Tyler feel like maybe this was what safety looked like — not loud or dramatic, just two people in a mostly-clean room, breathing the same air.

He exhaled, slow.

Josh tilted his head toward him. “You staying for a bit?”

Tyler blinked. “If that’s alright.”

Then Tyler’s phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, thumb hovering over the screen. MOM.

He hesitated.

Josh noticed. “You gonna get that?”

Tyler forced a smile. “Yeah. Just a sec.” He stood, stepping toward the door for a little privacy before answering. “Hey.”

Josh couldn’t hear the words, but he could hear the tone — tight, clipped. Tyler’s voice dipped lower, like he was trying not to be heard. A pause. Then:

“No, I told you, I’m just at a friend’s.”
“…Yes, I’ll be back by dinner.”
“…I said I was, didn’t I?”
“…Okay. Okay. I get it. I get it.”

He hung up with a sigh, lingering by the door for a moment before coming back in.

Josh raised an eyebrow. “Everything cool?”

Tyler gave a noncommittal shrug. “Yeah. She just gets… weird when I’m not home.”

“Weird like ‘check-in every hour’ weird?”

“More like… ‘you better not make me worry’ weird.”

Josh squinted. “You grounded?”

“No. Just… not supposed to disappear without warning. She doesn’t like when I don’t answer right away. Or if I’m out too long.” He paused. “She worries. I guess.”

Josh studied him for a second. “That happen a lot?”

Tyler rubbed the back of his neck. “Enough.”

They sat in silence for a beat. Josh didn’t pry, but the shift had settled — the dynamic tilting slightly, as if Tyler had let something slip that he hadn’t meant to.

Josh leaned back against the cushions. “For what it’s worth, you’re welcome to disappear over here anytime.”

Tyler smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks.”

Josh held his gaze. “I mean it.”

Tyler glanced at the time, then tucked his phone into his pocket with a sigh.

“Well. I better get going, or I’ll start getting called every fifteen minutes until I walk through the door.”

Josh gave a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite hide the concern in his eyes. “Guess I’ll owe you a raccoon-scented candle or something.”

Tyler grinned, heading for the door. “Only if it’s shaped like a turtle in a lei.”

Josh leaned against the doorway as Tyler stepped out onto the porch, that same windchime clinking overhead.

“Text me when you get home,” Josh said.

Tyler looked back. “You’re one to talk.”

Josh just shrugged. “Yeah. But I mean it.”

Tyler held his gaze for a second, something warm and unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he nodded. “Alright. I will.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Chapter 7: Josh Dun!

Summary:

Josh chapter. Couldn’t think of a good summary.

Notes:

Wow, almost 500 people have read this??? Thank you all so much!

Hope you guys enjoy this little Josh chapter.

The sound of the ocean barely reached through the sliding glass doors, softened by thick curtains and the distant hum of a ceiling fan. Josh lay sprawled on the floor of the living room, his back pressed against a sun-warmed patch of hardwood. It was nearly noon, but the house still held the stillness of morning the kind of silence only a solo summer can bring.

He didn’t feel like moving.
Didn’t feel like sleeping either.

The remote was somewhere on the couch, out of reach, and his phone was flipped face-down on the coffee table, the screen long gone dark. No new notifications. Not that he was really expecting any.

He blinked up at the ceiling slowly, tracing the path of the fan’s lazy rotation.

Tyler hadn’t texted today.

Not that he had to. It wasn’t like they were… anything. Just a lifeguard doing his job. Just a guy who didn’t run away when things got heavy. Just someone who showed up with quiet determination and a calm Josh wasn’t used to being around. And yeah, Tyler had helped clean up the disaster called a house. He’d seen the mess, the dishes, the laundry, the boxes that still hadn’t been unpacked from spring. And he’d helped. No judgment. Just a towel tossed over his shoulder and a soft “you don’t have to do it alone.”

Josh sat up and rubbed at the back of his neck. He hadn’t told anyone about the concussion. Not even his brother. Mostly because it had started to feel less real, like something that had happened to a different version of him. A version of him still tangled up in old habits, still trying to forget what day it was.

The floor creaked when he stood. The brightness through the curtains made him squint. The kitchen counters were still surprisingly clean. That was new.

He was tying his hair up into a stubby mohawk when he heard a car pull into the driveway. A second later, a knock.

Josh blinked. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

When he opened the door, Jordan stood there with his usual surfer-boy grin, holding two iced coffees and wearing too much sunscreen.

“You’re alive,” Jordan said, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “And holy sh*t, you cleaned.”

Josh gave a noncommittal shrug as he took the coffee. “Place was getting gross.”

Jordan gave him a look. “It’s not just ‘not gross.’ You vacuumed. It smells like a lemon-scented Target aisle in here.”

Josh rolled his eyes and dropped onto the couch. “Don’t get dramatic.”

Jordan plopped down beside him and took a long sip from his drink. “So…”

Josh didn’t look at him.

“Who’s the guy you’re trying to impress?”

Josh made a face, hiding behind his coffee mug. “It’s not like that.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Really? So the dishes did themselves and your laundry folded out of guilt?”

Josh shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just had a friend come over. Helped clean up a bit.”

Jordan gave him a look. “A friend, huh?”

Josh leaned back on the couch, stretching his legs out. “Yeah. Just a guy I met recently. He’s a lifeguard.”

Jordan’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Ohhh, so this is a HOT friend.”

Josh rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Jordan grinned. “I’m just saying, beach body plus cleaning skills? Sounds like a rom-com setup.”

Josh flushed slightly and buried his face in his cup again. “He’s just… nice. He noticed the place was a mess and kind of took it on himself. That’s all.”

Jordan eyed him. “You always let random nice guys into your fortress of solitude?”

Josh smirked. “It’s our parents’ beach house, not a fortress.”

“Still. You don’t exactly let people in.”

Josh was quiet for a second, then softly said, “He showed up when I wiped out surfing a few days ago. Hit my head. Pretty bad concussion. He kind of stuck around.”

Jordan’s teasing faded. “Damn. You okay?”

Josh nodded slowly. “Getting there.”

Jordan reached over and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well, maybe don’t let this one get away. Lifeguards literally save people for a living. Sounds like he’s already saved you a little.”

Josh shook his head, smiling to himself. “Pretty sure he’s straight.”

Jordan stood, stretching. “So were all your crushes in high school. Still didn’t stop you.”

Josh threw a pillow at him.

Jordan caught the pillow midair with one hand and grinned like he’d just won a game. “Missed me.”

Josh rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite suppress a smirk.

They sat in a comfortable lull for a minute, the kind only siblings who’ve spent their lives orbiting each other know how to fall into. The iced coffee slowly melted between their hands, condensation pooling on coasters that hadn’t seen use in years.

“So,” Jordan said, after a beat, “you get that lecture from Mom and Dad yet?”

Josh groaned. “Yeah. Last week. Over grilled salmon and one too many references to investment in your future.”

Jordan laughed. “Let me guess — Dad opened with one class isn’t a summer, it’s a vacation, and Mom chimed in with structure is good for the mind.”

“And the soul,” Josh added, doing a pretty accurate imitation of their mother’s voice.

Jordan nodded approvingly. “They’re consistent, I’ll give them that.”

Josh shifted on the couch, resting his arm along the back cushions. “I told them I’m taking one class because I actually want to focus, not half-ass four.”

“They buy it?”

Josh shrugged. “Eventually. I think Mom just wants me to pass organic chemistry. She’s convinced I’m one bad grade away from dropping out.”

“Well,” Jordan said, taking another sip, “you did fail Intro to Psych.”

Josh pointed at him. “Okay, first of all — that professor hated me.”

“You told him that free will was a myth and then walked out of a group project because existentially, nothing matters.”

Josh gave a small, crooked smile. “Exactly. Hate is a strong word. But not inaccurate.”

Jordan chuckled and leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Honestly, though? I think they’re just trying to make sure you’re okay. Mom worries more than she lets on. She asked me yesterday if you were eating enough fiber.”

Josh raised an eyebrow. “Did you tell her I’ve had three iced coffees and half a granola bar today?”

“I told her you were thriving.”

They both laughed, a little too loud, until it dissolved into something softer.

Josh looked toward the sliding glass doors, squinting at the stretch of sand just beyond the porch. “I think they still see me as… fragile. Like if they look away, I’ll disappear.”

Jordan’s voice was quieter now. “You kinda did disappear for a while, man.”

Josh didn’t answer right away.

He traced the edge of his cup with one finger. “It’s easier, you know. Being alone. It feels… manageable.”

“But not sustainable.”

Josh looked at him then — really looked — and saw no judgment in his brother’s face. Just the kind of quiet concern that had always made Jordan a better sibling than most.

“I think I want to try, though,” Josh admitted. “Not just with school. With people. I don’t know. Maybe Tyler being around kind of… reminded me how to start.”

Jordan smiled gently. “Well, if Blue Hair Marine Boy wants to get his heart broken, I think he’s your guy.”

Josh barked out a laugh. “Shut up.”

Jordan stood, stretching. “Come on. Let’s walk the beach. You’ve got that depressed cryptid look again. You need vitamin D.”

Josh sighed but followed. “If I get sunburned, I’m telling Mom it was your idea.”

Jordan opened the sliding door, the sun already spilling in. “She’ll probably thank me. Now let’s go, Sand Goblin.”

Josh hesitated in the doorway for just a second — then stepped forward into the light.

—-

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the shoreline. The breeze had cooled slightly, tousling Josh’s hair as he walked alongside Jordan, their footsteps leaving soft indents in the damp sand.

Josh wore a hoodie, sleeves tugged halfway over his hands, and his shorts were already speckled with saltwater from where the tide kept sneaking up higher than he expected. Jordan had rolled his jeans up and was walking barefoot, as casual as ever.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Just the hush of the waves and the distant caw of gulls filled the space between them. It wasn’t awkward—it never was with Jordan. The silence felt earned.

Josh finally broke it. “It’s kinda weird, being back.”

Jordan looked over. “Here? On the beach?”

“Yeah,” Josh nodded. “Like I should feel more at ease, but I don’t. Not completely. It’s like my body remembers wiping out, even if my brain doesn’t.”

Jordan kicked at a shell. “Give it time. You’ll settle in again.”

Josh hummed noncommittally, eyes drifting to the waterline.

Something half-buried in the sand caught his attention. He crouched down and pulled out a sun-bleached piece of driftwood, smooth and weathered. “Remember Mom’s dumb jar by the sink? With all the beach trash she pretends is decoration?”

Jordan snorted. “You mean her ‘coastal memory capsule’? Yeah, I’m shocked she hasn’t filled it with fake lemons and called it a day.”

Josh grinned, brushing sand off the wood. “Nah. She’s still committed. This is perfect for it.”

He tucked the driftwood under his arm as they resumed walking.

Ahead, near the lifeguard stands, a figure in red jogged along the shoreline—steady, rhythmic strides, arms swinging with familiar precision. Josh’s heart skipped.

It was Tyler. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just his red trunks and a thin whistle lanyard that bounced lightly against his chest. The setting sun lit up his skin in copper and peach, casting soft shadows along the curve of his back and shoulders.

Josh stared longer than he meant to.

Tyler’s hair was messy, curls dark and slightly damp, clinging to his forehead. His jaw clenched as he adjusted his pace, like he was running off stress. Even from here, Josh could see the tight focus in his posture—the same look he wore that day on the tower.

Josh flushed, quickly looking away.

Jordan followed his gaze, squinting. “Hey—is that the mystery cleaner guy?”

Josh coughed. “What? No.”

Jordan grinned, unconvinced. “Come on. He was just jogging shirtless, not proposing. You stared like you were trying to do geometry with his abs.”

Josh groaned and rolled his eyes, cheeks hot. “Shut up. I didn’t—I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure,” Jordan said with a smirk. “So who cleaned your house then?”

Josh shrugged, keeping his eyes down. “Just a friend. A guy from around here. He’s… I dunno. He’s nice.”

Jordan raised a brow. “Nice and jacked? Wow. Sounds like a rom-com waiting to happen.”

Josh kicked water at his brother’s legs. “Shut up.”

Jordan laughed, wiping his leg. “Okay, okay. I’m backing off. Just…you deserve something nice. And if this guy makes you feel safe, maybe don’t talk yourself out of it.”

They walked a bit further, the light thinning into soft lavender streaks across the sky. The beach felt quieter now—emptier, but peaceful.

Josh exhaled. “Thanks for coming today. I needed the company.”

Jordan reached over and ruffled his hair. “Anytime, bro. You’re not as much of a recluse as you think.”

“Not anymore,” Josh muttered.

And maybe, for the first time in a while, that felt true.

Chapter 8: Clarity

Summary:

After a long day, Tyler reaches out. A simple meetup turns into something easy and comforting—just good food, good company, and something he didn’t realize he’d been needing.

The whistle around his neck bobbed with each step across the sun-bleached boardwalk. Tyler squinted at the shoreline. Same routine: umbrellas sprouting like technicolor mushrooms, the ocean curling in lazy rhythm, kids running where they weren’t supposed to. He did a slow scan of the waves. No trouble. Not yet.

The salt stuck to his skin. He could feel it drying in flecks along his arms as he descended the lifeguard tower and walked his usual circuit, nodding to a family struggling with a beach tent. It kept collapsing on itself. He fought the urge to fix it.

Tyler’s coworker, Lexi, waved from her post down by the south end rocks. “You’re out here looking extra intense today,” she called. “What’s got your forehead wrinkled like that?”

He tried to smile, even pulled it off. “Just the sun.”

“Right,” she said, clearly not buying it.

He kept walking.

Josh’s voice had been lodged in his head for two days, that slightly sarcastic way he said “Do you just hate fun?”

The way his lips tilted crooked when he smiled. And that stupid little elbow bump when he handed Tyler his own coffee like it wasn’t a big deal.

Tyler didn’t get stuck on people. That wasn’t how he worked. You show up, you help out, you go home. Done. But for some reason, Josh was hard to shelve.

Tyler sat with a protein bar in one hand and his phone in the other, chewing without much focus. The sun beat down on the concrete bench behind the tower.

His phone buzzed.

***Still haven’t messed up the kitchen. I’m scared of your judgment now.***

Tyler snorted. His thumb hovered over the dial pad, a few replies flashing through his mind — all of them a little too honest.

He didn’t send anything at first. He just stared at the message, the half-smile still playing at the corner of his mouth.

Then slowly, carefully, he typed something out.

**i’m glad you’re feeling better. i meant it when I said i’m around.**

He read it over three times before hitting send.

His heart knocked in his chest like it wasn’t sure what it was doing.

Less than a minute passed before his phone lit up again — not with a text this time, but a call.

Josh.

Tyler hesitated, just long enough to feel it, then answered.

“Josh!” Tyler answered a little more excited than he meant to

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“You okay?” Josh’s voice was quieter than usual. Not teasing. Just… real.

Tyler looked out at the ocean, trying to find something steady out there.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… long day. And I didn’t want you to think I only helped because you were a mess.”

There was a pause on the line, not awkward, just full.

“I didn’t,” Josh said. “But thanks for saying it.”

Tyler let out a slow breath.

They didn’t talk long — just a few more lines, nothing big. But when he hung up, something in his chest felt a little less tight. And that scared him more than anything.

Before he knew it his shift was over, and he drove home.

——-

The table was already set when Tyler got home. His mom was slicing bread with rhythmic precision, a towel slung over one shoulder. The kitchen smelled like roasted garlic and herbs. It should have felt comforting. It usually did.

“Just in time,” she said without looking up. “Wash your hands and sit. Your dad’s almost done with the salmon.”

Tyler kicked off his shoes by the door and did as he was told.

By the time he came back, his dad had joined them, setting down a tray of grilled vegetables with pride. “You would not believe how expensive asparagus is right now,” he said. “This is the last time I buy it until September.”

Tyler sat, nodded, smiled. “Looks good.”

It wasn’t awkward, exactly. Just rehearsed. They did this every Sunday: eat dinner, talk about the week, and pretend there was nothing lingering in the air.

“So,” his mom said, passing the breadbasket. “You’re halfway through the summer. How’s the beach job going? Still spotting floaters?”

“Still dry most days,” Tyler said. “Though some idiot nearly cracked his skull on a sandbar wipeout earlier this week.”

His dad raised an eyebrow. “Did you have to go in?”

“No. He limped out on his own. Got lucky.” Tyler didn’t mention that he’d been the one helping him up. Or that he’d made the guy coffee. Or that they’d talked until it felt weirdly normal.

“What’s his name?” his mom asked.

Tyler paused. “Josh.”

Both parents nodded politely — nothing suspicious. But Tyler felt his ears heat anyway. He grabbed for his water glass.

“Listen,” his dad said, settling back in his chair. “Your mom and I were talking. You’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got another big semester coming up. We just want to make sure you’re not burning yourself out.”

“I’m fine,” Tyler said quickly. Too quickly.

His mom gave him that look — soft, but sharp enough to get through his armor. “Honey, we just want you to stay focused. You know how proud we are of how far you’ve come.”

“Right,” Tyler murmured. “Focused.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then his dad asked, “Have you looked into leadership positions at the college rec center again? That would look great on your med school applications.”

“I’ll check,” Tyler said, even though he already had — and didn’t apply.

He kept his eyes on his plate, nodding when appropriate, tuning out just a little.

By the time the plates were cleared, and the dishwasher hummed to life, Tyler excused himself, saying he had to finish a training report.

In his room, he shut the door and sat on the edge of his bed.

On his phone was the last text from Josh:

***You okay?***

Tyler stared at it for a long time, thumb hovering.

He didn’t reply. Not yet.

But the question stayed with him, louder than anything else he’d heard all night.

Tyler stared for a moment, then slowly started typing.

**tacos tomorrow?**

He hovered, thumb poised over the send button. For once, he didn’t overthink it.

He hit send.

***YES!***

Josh’s immediate text back made his heart jump for just a moment.

Then he clicked his phone shut placed it down on the nightstand, laid back, and for the first time all weekend… smiled.

——

The next day drifted by the same as the last—sun, sweat, the slap of waves, and a hundred small decisions that kept people safe. Tyler kept his sunglasses low on his nose, half-listening to Lexi narrate a crab chase between two toddlers and trying not to glance at the time every ten minutes.

When his phone buzzed during his break, it was only one sentence:

***Still on for tacos?***

Tyler didn’t hesitate this time.

**you bet**

Josh sent an address.

***I know it looks sketchy. It’s worth it, trust me.***

He did.
More than he wanted to.

—

Josh was already there when Tyler pulled in after his shift, leaning against the hood of his car at a chipped paint, worn taqueria behind a gas station, with a pair of knockoff sunglasses and a takeout menu in hand. The early evening made everything feel soft—like the world had exhaled. Josh waved lazily as Tyler stepped out of his car.

“Took you long enough. I was about to order for both of us and pretend you like the spiciest salsa on the menu.”

“I probably would,” Tyler shrugged and smirked.

Josh blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Tyler shrugged. “I’m a man of layers.”

Josh snorted. “Okay, ‘mystery man.’ Let’s test that theory.”

The place was exactly what Josh promised—half a restaurant, half a convenience store, the kind of place with faded signs, cracked plastic booths, and salsa that could probably dissolve concrete.

They sat outside at a chipped metal table under a strung-up umbrella. Tyler watched as Josh dumped hot sauce onto his food with the confidence of someone who’d definitely regretted it once before.

“You always eat here?” Tyler asked, biting into a taco.

“Whenever I’m too lazy to cook and too broke to lie about it.”

Tyler smiled. “So, most days?”

Josh grinned around a mouthful of al pastor. “Exactly.”

They ate without rush, the kind of silence that wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable—just shared space. The low hum of cars rolled by in the background, along with a distant barking dog and the soft buzz of old patio lights flickering overhead.

Tyler reached for another taco. “I almost forgot what it’s like to hang out with someone who doesn’t expect something in return.”

Josh looked at him, then down at his drink. Twisted the straw wrapper around his fingers.

“You ever think maybe you don’t have to earn being liked?” Josh said.

Tyler froze for a second.

Josh glanced over. “Just saying. You do a lot. Like… a lot a lot. Maybe you don’t have to prove anything.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything.”

Josh raised an eyebrow.

Tyler looked away. “…Maybe a little.”

Josh smiled, small and crooked. “We’ve all got something to unlearn.”

They sat with that.

Tyler leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and let the wind push through the edges of the awning. Josh stretched his legs out under the table and nudged Tyler’s foot with his own.

“I like this,” Josh said. “This weird little spot. You. Here.”

Tyler blinked. “You mean the tacos.”

“Sure,” Josh said. “Them too.”

Tyler smiled down at the table, tracing the condensation ring from his drink with his finger.

“I’m glad you texted back,” he said.

Josh didn’t say anything right away. But his foot didn’t move.

They split a churro, mostly because Josh insisted it was “tradition,” even though Tyler had never heard of that particular rule before. When they got back to their cars, neither of them made a move to leave.

Josh leaned on the door. “You work tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Tyler said. “Early.”

Josh nodded. “You want another taco night sometime?”

Tyler met his eyes, and for once, didn’t dodge the feeling in his chest.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

Josh smiled. Not sarcastic. Not deflecting.

Tyler felt something settle in his ribs as the night ended, and he drove back home.

Chapter 9: Bonfire

Summary:

A surprise smoothie drop-off turns a regular shift into something better. Later, a spontaneous invite brings Josh to a lifeguard bonfire, where glow sticks, marshmallows, and quiet conversations under the stars leave something unspoken.

Chapter 9:

Tyler didn’t see Josh at first. He was too busy trying to coax a cranky toddler out of the tidepool, holding out a crab shell like it was a peace offering while the kid screamed like the ocean had personally offended him.

Then he turned—and there Josh was. Standing halfway down the boardwalk, holding two smoothies and squinting in the sunlight, like maybe he wasn’t sure if this counted as a good idea.

Tyler blinked. Then blinked again.

Josh lifted one of the cups. “Tropical something-or-other. I picked the prettiest one.”

Tyler jogged over, already smiling. “You didn’t have to bring me anything.”

Josh shrugged, casual. “I owed you a coffee. Figured I’d up my game.”

Tyler took the cup. Their fingers brushed briefly. The plastic lid was cold, condensation already starting to bead at the base. He took a sip.

“Okay, that’s dangerously good.”

“I know, right?” Josh said, pleased. “I think it has mango. Or banana. Or both? Honestly, I just said ‘surprise me’ and paid in cash.”

From the lifeguard tower, Lexi called out: “Hey Tyler! Your boyfriend brought you a drink! That’s so domestic!”

Tyler choked a little on the smoothie, turning an instant shade of sunburn. “Lex, oh my god,” he called back, waving her off with a look that fell somewhere between please shut up and I will murder you in your sleep.

Josh just laughed. “Friend of yours?”

“She thinks she’s hilarious,” Tyler muttered, half under his breath. “She’s not.”

Josh smirked but didn’t press. “Well. Now I feel like I should’ve brought flowers too.”

Tyler shot him a look, eyes narrowed but amused. “Please don’t.”

They walked the stretch of beach together, Tyler barefoot and alert, Josh slightly behind him, sandals flicking up sand with each step. Tyler kept scanning the shoreline, but he didn’t seem rushed. Just… lighter. Josh noticed that.

“So this what you do all day?” Josh asked. “Stare at waves, rescue babies, and get heckled by coworkers?”

“Pretty much,” Tyler said. “Minus the smoothies. That’s a new perk.”

They paused by the base of the tower. Tyler leaned against the railing, shielding his eyes with one hand as he scanned the water again. He looked relaxed in the sun, the breeze tugging at the edges of his shirt.

Josh couldn’t help staring. Just for a second too long.

“You’re good at this,” he said.

Tyler looked over. “What?”

“This. Watching people. Being ready. I don’t know. You seem like someone who… doesn’t miss much.”

Tyler was quiet for a beat. Then: “It’s not always a good thing.”

Josh took another sip of smoothie. “Maybe not. But it still means something.”

They didn’t say much after that. But when Josh handed Tyler his straw wrapper to throw away—“I’m not littering, I’m delegating”—Tyler just rolled his eyes and took it without comment.

Before Josh left, Tyler touched his arm lightly. Just a quick brush.

“Thanks,” he said. “Seriously.”

Josh nodded. “Anytime.”

And he meant it

——-
After he got back home, Josh sat hunched over his computer at his desk, forehead resting in one hand while the other clattered across the keyboard. A half-eaten granola bar lay forgotten beside his mug of cold coffee. His Word doc was titled, “The North Atlantic Right Whale: Surviving in a Shrinking World,” which sounded more dramatic than he intended, but it was already past the page count, and he wasn’t about to start rephrasing.

He paused, reread a sentence about migratory shifts, and groaned. “God, shut up, whale man,” he muttered to himself, highlighting an entire paragraph and hitting delete.

The whole house smelled faintly like dryer sheets and peanut butter. Somewhere outside, someone was arguing with a lawnmower. He leaned back and rubbed his face, letting his eyes drift to the screen. Two more sources. A quick conclusion paragraph. Then he’d be free.

His phone buzzed beside him.

Tyler.

Josh blinked at the notification, then snatched the phone up a little faster than he meant to.

***hey i can invite a plus one to a work bonfire tonight. wanna come?***

Josh reread it twice. There wasn’t a question mark at the end, but it was definitely a question. And it wasn’t casual in a way that made him feel like it didn’t matter.

He felt stupidly warm all of a sudden. And his first thought wasn’t should I go? but what the hell am I going to wear to a lifeguard bonfire?

He typed back:

**do i get bonus points if i bring more smoothies?**

Tyler replied almost immediately.

***only if it’s mango***

Josh smiled, thumb clicking out a response before he could overthink it:

**i’m in. what time?**

Tyler sent the details — beach parking lot, sundown, bring a hoodie, don’t be late.

Josh stared at the screen for a long second after the conversation ended. Then he set his phone down, turned back to his laptop, and with a sudden burst of motivation, started hammering out his final paragraph like the fate of the entire species depended on him submitting it before the hour was up.

——-

The sun was already low when Josh parked along the edge of the beach lot, his hoodie slung over one shoulder and a bag of tortilla chips in hand, because he figured showing up empty-handed felt wrong.

Tyler had said “bonfire,” but somehow Josh hadn’t pictured this many people. There were maybe a dozen lifeguards already scattered around the fire pit — someone had dragged out an old boom box playing a fuzzy Paramore CD, and someone else was handing out glow sticks like it was a rave.

Josh spotted Tyler near the edge of the group, hoodie half-zipped, talking with Lexi, who was dramatically miming a jellyfish attack. He looked more relaxed than Josh had ever seen him — mouth tilted in that small not-smile he did when he was trying not to laugh.

Josh hesitated for half a second. Then Tyler looked up, spotted him, and something in his face softened.

He walked over, hands in his pockets. “You made it.”

Josh held up the chips. “I bring offerings.”

Tyler huffed a laugh. “You’ll be forgiven for not bringing mango this time.”

Lexi looked over from the fire. “Ooooh, the smoothie boy returns.”

“Oh god,” Tyler muttered under his breath.

Josh just grinned. “That’s me. Local smoothie courier and part-time whale sympathizer.”

Tyler shook his head, ears turning red. “Ignore her.”

“I’m delightful,” Lexi said, already walking off with someone else’s marshmallow stick.

Josh followed Tyler toward the bonfire, where someone was poking at logs with the dedication of a camp counselor. The sky was streaked coral and lavender, the ocean behind them a dark ribbon. It was the kind of summer night that made everything feel slightly unreal.

Tyler gestured toward a patch of sand and they sat, knees tucked up, watching sparks float into the air like lazy fireflies.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Josh said, voice a little quieter than usual.

Tyler didn’t look at him. Just nodded. “It felt weird not to.”

They sat like that for a while letting the background blur into a wash of laughter, music, the pop of firewood.

Josh eventually leaned back on his hands. “I always forget how loud stars are out here.”

Tyler blinked at him. “Loud?”

“You know,” Josh said, gesturing upward. “Not actual sound. Just… there. All at once. Like they’re trying to say something.”

Tyler tilted his head back, considering the sky. “…I get that.”

Josh didn’t press it. Just let the moment settle.

Across the fire, someone shouted, “S’mores!” and a chaotic rustling followed. Josh watched as Lexi tackled a bag of marshmallows and handed off sticks like a gremlin general. Someone offered him one — he took it, then broke the stick in half and offered the other end to Tyler.

Tyler hesitated — then took it.

Their fingers brushed, the contact for one second too long. Neither of them said anything.

The fire crackled.

Josh leaned slightly toward him, not touching, but close enough that their shoulders warmed in the same glow.

“You ever feel like you’re waiting on something, but you don’t know what?” Josh asked suddenly, voice just above the flames.

Tyler turned to him. “Like what?”

Josh shrugged. “I don’t know. Just… something that hasn’t happened yet, but when it does, you’ll know. And things will make more sense.”

Tyler was quiet.

Then: “Yeah.”

Josh nodded, as if that one word was enough.

They roasted their marshmallows in silence after that. One of Tyler’s caught fire and he didn’t even flinch just blew it out and took a bite, chewing with the casual resilience of someone who’d accepted chaos as part of the deal.

Eventually, people started packing up. Someone dumped a bucket of water over the fire, sending steam curling into the dark, and the circle began to dissolve.

Josh stood, brushing sand from his jeans. “Should I go thank your supervisor for not kicking me out?”

Tyler huffed a quiet laugh. “Pretty sure Lexi counts as my supervisor, unfortunately.”

“Ah, yes. The jellyfish trauma expert.”

They walked to the lot side by side, the kind of walk that didn’t need to be filled. Their steps fell in sync. Neither of them seemed in a hurry to reach the cars.

Tyler kicked a shell off the path. “You free tomorrow?”

Josh glanced over. “Depends. Are we talking another smoothie run or something more dangerous?”

Tyler gave him a sidelong look. “You ever been paddleboarding?”

Josh blinked. “Like… on water?”

Tyler smiled, barely. “Where else?”

Josh laughed, shaking his head. “Okay. Sure. Let’s risk me falling into the ocean AGAIN in front of you.”

Tyler shrugged. “You might surprise yourself.”

Josh shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets, eyes soft. “You keep saying that.”

Tyler didn’t reply right away.

But he smiled, not the careful kind.

Chapter 10: Wading

Summary:

Just an ordinary day

Notes:

over a thousand hits is crazy. thank you all so much <3

indigo_slowtown on twt

Chapter 10

The beach woke up slow.

Tyler climbed the tower before the sun finished baking the sand, rescue can thumping lightly against his calf. He set down the clipboard, checked the flags (yellow for moderate surf), and scanned the water. The morning was a soft hum—gulls, early strollers, a jogger with a discman clipped to his waistband, the ocean pushing and pulling like it had all the time in the world.

Lexi arrived a few minutes later with a mesh bag of fresh whistles and a sunhat she insisted was “ironically huge.”

“You look less haunted,” she said, tying her hair back. “Did fire therapy help?”

“It was a bonfire,” Tyler said, eyes on the water. “And yes.”

“Uh-huh.” She squinted up at him. “Paddleboarding after? Don’t drown your date.”

“He’s not—” Tyler cut himself off. “I’m teaching someone basic balance. That’s it.”

“Sure, boss.” She saluted, not hiding her smile, and trotted down to check the swim line.

Tyler breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, and kept counting heads.

⸻

Josh’s apartment stayed quiet long enough for him to pretend the whole world forgot him. He sat at the tiny kitchen table with a bowl of cereal going soft and a stack of biology notes that had turned into coasters. The flip phone lay facedown by his elbow like it might bite if he looked at it too often.

He flipped it open anyway.

Nothing yet.

He snapped it shut and dragged his notebook closer. Title at the top of the page: North Atlantic Right Whale—Migration + Vessel Strikes. He drew a tiny whale in the margin with a speech bubble that said, ow.

He snorted, then rubbed his eyes and tried again. Two sentences landed. A third stalled. He pushed back from the table and went to the sink, rinsed a mug, poured coffee, tasted soap, didn’t care.

On the way back, he caught himself in the hallway mirror—blue mohawk stubbed up, sleep-crease across his cheek, the faint yellowing edge of a bruise near his temple. He tilted his head, considering.

“Functional,” he told his reflection. “Barely.”

The phone buzzed. He nearly dropped the mug.

***shift’s chill so far. flag’s yellow.***

**dont get cocky baywatch**

***not my brand***

Josh grinned and set the phone down like it might explode if he held it longer.

He underlined vessel strikes twice, tried not to think about Tyler’s mouth quirking when he said things weren’t his brand, and actually got a paragraph out before the coffee went fully cold.

⸻

By midmorning the sand sizzled.

Tyler rotated through his mental checklist: rip currents, shore break, swim zone drift, the kid with the red bucket who kept wandering, the group of teens daring each other closer to the rocks. He blew the whistle—one blast, then a firm arm wave—and the teens detoured with exaggerated groans.

The day sharpened around noon. Waves came cleaner. The crowd thickened. He did the dance he knew by heart: scan left, scan right, count, re-count. He hopped down twice to walk a worried parent back from the line, grabbed a lost kid’s hand and found her dad by the snack stand, waded in knee-deep to help a beginner stand when the shore break knocked him sideways.

Every so often, between breaths, Tyler’s mind slid to evening. To water flat as glass, boards nosing over line-traced swells, the push-pull of teaching someone how to stand and not be swallowed when the wobble came.

He checked the time. Three hours to go.

His phone buzzed again, muffled in his bag.

***finished whales. might graduate 2040***

**bring that degree to the south jetty at 6**

***yes, sir***

He tucked the phone away, the word sir flickering through his chest like static. He blew a single whistle blast just to make sure it left.

⸻

Josh printed his draft at the little copy place off the boardwalk because his own printer had decided ink was a myth. The clerk handed him the warm pages with a bored nod. Outside, the air smelled like fried dough and sunscreen. He ducked into the corner market for two bottles of water and debated the cooler. Mango smoothies were probably pushing his luck—plus, he didn’t want Lexi to announce anything again like she was on a stage.

Back home, he tossed a towel, the waters, and a hoodie into a canvas bag and stared at the clock.

He had too much time.

He tried to read his conclusion paragraph out loud and winced at his own voice. He tried the couch. He lasted nine minutes. He tried to nap. His brain laughed.

He opened the flip phone.

**u still good?**

***yep. 6. south jetty. bring balance + humility***

**can i bring snacks instead**

***acceptable***

——

 

Josh zipped the hoodie halfway, slung the canvas bag over his shoulder, and locked up behind him. The late-afternoon sun threw long shadows across the boardwalk, the air still thick with salt and heat.

He flipped open the phone one more time.

**on my way**

***good. tide’s perfect. don’t be late***

Josh snapped it shut, smiled to himself, and started walking toward the water.

Chapter 11: Paddleboarding

Summary:

Tyler teaches Josh to paddleboard.

Notes:

sorry i know this is a shorter one. i kinda went on a little break for a bit. chapter 12 is coming right after though!

The ocean had settled into a rhythm by the time Tyler unstrapped the paddleboards from his car. The tide lapped in and out, steady and inviting, the late sun glinting off the water like broken glass smoothed down. Josh stood beside him, hoodie tugged over his head, hair sticking out in messy blue tufts.

“Okay,” Tyler said, hefting a board. “Rule one: balance is everything. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, eyes up. Don’t stare at your feet unless you want to meet the water fast.”

Josh smirked. “You sure this isn’t just you setting me up to look like an idiot?”

Tyler deadpanned. “You’ll manage that part fine on your own.”

Josh laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Harsh. I brought smoothies.”

Tyler’s mouth tugged upward despite himself. “And for that, I’ll try not to laugh too hard when you fall.”

They carried the boards down the sand, the weight awkward for Josh until Tyler shifted closer and grabbed one end to steady it. Their shoulders brushed briefly. Neither mentioned it.

On the water, Josh wobbled immediately, windmilling his arms. “Whoa—okay—gravity hates me.”

“Bend your knees,” Tyler called, calm as ever, standing solid on his own board. “Looser. You’re fighting it too much.”

Josh stuck his tongue out in concentration, adjusting, wobbling again, then—miraculously—finding his balance. His grin split wide. “Holy shit, I’m doing it!”

“Don’t celebrate yet,” Tyler said, but there was warmth in his voice.

Josh lasted about two minutes before the board tilted too far and dumped him straight into the surf. He surfaced sputtering, hair plastered to his forehead, but laughing hard. “You jinxed me!”

“You leaned too far forward,” Tyler corrected, offering a hand as Josh clambered back up. Their palms slapped together, slick with seawater, and Tyler hauled him onto the board like he weighed nothing.

They spent the next hour circling the jetty, Tyler pointing out where the current shifted, where the rocks made the water buck strangely, Josh alternately finding his rhythm and falling in again. Each time, Tyler was there—steady, patient, grinning despite himself at Josh’s relentless commentary.

“This counts as cardio, right?” Josh puffed after his fourth fall.

“Depends,” Tyler said. “Do near-drownings burn calories?”

Josh laughed so hard he almost tipped over again.

⸻

By the time they returned to shore, the sky had dipped into shades of orange and pink. They hauled the boards across the sand, Tyler moving with easy familiarity, Josh dragging his a little sideways until Tyler reached out, straightened it, and patted the edge like it needed manners.

“See? Even the board listens to you,” Josh teased, breath still uneven from laughing.

Tyler rolled his eyes but smiled. “Can’t say the same for the guy using it.”

Josh bumped his shoulder. “Rude. I only almost fell, like, five times.”

“Six,” Tyler corrected. “But who’s counting.”

They stowed the boards by the rack, neither in much of a hurry to leave. Tyler leaned against his car, arms folded, watching the sun dip lower. Josh fiddled with the strap of his bag, shifting from one shoulder to the other.

“This was… fun,” Josh said finally. He kicked lightly at the sand near his shoe. “You make it look easy.”

Tyler glanced at him. “You did better than you think.”

Josh ducked his head, but the grin that slipped out gave him away.

For a moment, the air between them was all salt and quiet, the ocean still moving even if neither of them did. Tyler’s chest felt lighter than it had in weeks. Josh looked like he was trying not to smile too hard.

“I’ll, uh… see you soon?” Josh asked. It sounded like a question, but not one that needed an answer.

“Yeah,” Tyler said. And he meant it.

Josh’s grin widened, quick and bright, before he turned toward his car. Tyler watched him go, the corners of his own mouth tugging upward without his permission.

When the doors slammed shut and the engines turned over, neither of them pulled out right away.

Both sat for a moment longer, lingering in the quiet, carrying that same small, impossible-to-hide glow.

Chapter 12: Dinner

Summary:

Tyler gets home late from his paddleboarding and has a tense conversation with his parents. He seeks comfort from someone he knows will give it.

Dinner was on the table the second Tyler stepped through the door. His mother’s timing was always exact, down to the salad already dressed, the rolls still steaming, and his father’s careful plating of chicken breasts like each one was a prize cut.

“You’re late,” his mother said, not unkind, but pointed. She didn’t look at him when she said it, just kept adjusting the serving spoon like it mattered.

“Sorry,” Tyler muttered, slipping into his seat. “Beach was busy.”

“Busier than family dinner?” she asked.

His dad cleared his throat, taking the head of the table. “He’s here now. Let’s eat.”

They bowed their heads. Grace came first — his father’s low, practiced voice rolling through words Tyler had mouthed a thousand times. When he lifted his head again, his mother was already watching him.

“So,” she said, ladling vegetables onto his plate. “Wednesday nights are starting up again at church. Bible study’s covering Corinthians this month. You should come.”

Tyler shifted in his chair. “I’ve got late shifts.”

“You can ask for one evening off,” she said, tone soft but firm, the way she always framed non-negotiables. “It would be good for you. Pastor Miller said he’d love to see you more involved.”

His dad chimed in, between bites. “And the youth group is planning another service project. You’d make a good leader there. Looks good on applications, too.”

Tyler stabbed at his asparagus. “I’ll think about it.”

His mom smiled, like that was as good as a yes. “And I spoke with Mrs. Callahan today. Her daughter just got back from her semester abroad. You remember Emily? She’s been asking about you.”

Tyler’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Asking… about me?”

“Of course,” his mom said brightly. “She said she always admired how disciplined you were. Maybe she’ll stop by on Wednesday.”

“Mom,” Tyler started, but his dad was already nodding.

“Wouldn’t hurt to get to know her again. She’s a good girl. Comes from a solid family.”

Tyler pushed his food around. The walls felt closer than usual, the kitchen air heavy with garlic and expectation. He nodded because it was easier, because fighting it meant a longer lecture.

The rest of the meal passed in that same rhythm — small talk wrapped around pointed suggestions, questions that weren’t really questions. By the time he cleared his plate, his chest felt tight.

“I’ve got a report to finish,” he said, standing.

His mother touched his arm as he passed. “We only want what’s best for you.”

He nodded, but didn’t trust himself to answer.

⸻

Upstairs, the quiet pressed just as hard. His room was orderly, almost staged — everything folded, everything lined up. His flip phone sat on the nightstand. He opened it, thumb hovering.

**you up?**

The reply buzzed back almost instantly.

***Always. What’s up***

**need to get out for a bit. you around?**

***Porch light’s on***

That was enough.

He slipped out as quietly as he could, sneakers barely making a sound on the stairs. His parents’ voices carried low from the living room — something about Sunday plans — but no one stopped him.

⸻

Josh’s porch light glowed soft yellow against the night. He sat on the steps, hoodie hood pulled up, a chipped mug cradled in his hands.

“You look like you escaped,” Josh said as Tyler sat down beside him.

“Something like that.”

They didn’t speak for a while. The ocean whispered somewhere beyond, moths circled the porch light, and the ceramic mug steamed between them.

Josh nudged it toward him. “Tea. Lemon. Not terrible, promise.”

Tyler took a sip, handed it back. “Not terrible.”

Josh studied him for a second. “Dinner that bad?”

Tyler exhaled, staring at the street. “They want me at Bible study. Wednesdays. Service projects. And there’s this girl…”

Josh tilted his head. “This girl?”

“Emily. Old family friend. Apparently she’s asking about me. My mom thinks we’d make a nice match.”

Josh’s smile was small, careful. “Do you think you’d make a nice match?”

“No,” Tyler said flatly. Then softer: “But it doesn’t matter what I think.”

Josh leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the sky. “That’s heavy.”

Tyler swallowed. “Feels like I don’t get to just… be. Like every part of me’s already assigned somewhere.”

Josh was quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted closer, until their shoulders brushed. “You’re here now, though.”

Tyler glanced at him, startled. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

The moth thudded once more against the porch light, stubborn. Tyler looked away, embarrassed at the warmth rising in his chest.

Then Josh did it — tilted his head and let it rest lightly against Tyler’s shoulder.

Tyler froze. His whole body went tense, breath caught in his throat.

“Relax,” Josh murmured. “I’m not gonna bite.”

Tyler let out a shaky laugh. “You can’t just… do that.”

“Why not?” Josh asked, voice light, but there was something steady beneath it.

Tyler didn’t answer. He just sat there, cheeks burning, pulse pounding, until slowly — carefully — he leaned back, just enough to let the weight of Josh’s head stay where it was.

They stayed like that, quiet, the night humming around them.

Eventually, Josh said, almost a whisper, “You don’t always have to be who they want, you know.”

Tyler closed his eyes for a second. Let himself believe it.

When he finally stood to leave, Josh followed him down the steps.

“You look less haunted,” Josh said softly.

Tyler almost smiled. “That’s your fault.”

Josh grinned. “Guess I’ll take the blame.”

Tyler lingered by his car, wanting to say something else, something bigger. But all that came out was, “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Josh echoed.

The drive home was quiet. But lighter.

Chapter 13: A meeting

Summary:

On a long beach day, Tyler balances his lifeguard duties while Josh drifts in and out of his orbit, bringing a smoothie and a dose of lightness. Between teasing from coworkers and quiet moments together, Tyler begins to feel the weight of expectation ease. As the day winds down, the two share a subtle but telling moment in the parking lot, leaving both with the lingering warmth of something new taking shape.

The sun was already punishing by the time Tyler settled into the tower, legs stretched out, clipboard balanced on one knee. The waves were manageable — steady sets, a soft breeze pushing spray off the tops — but the crowd was thicker than he liked. He blew his whistle once at a teenager bodyboarding too close to the swim zone, and Lexi groaned from her tower down the line.

“Control freak!” she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth.

“Alive freak,” Tyler muttered back under his breath.

Lexi just laughed.

Tyler adjusted his sunglasses and did another sweep. His skin buzzed faintly, not just from the heat. He had paddleboarding with Josh in his head still, the way Josh’s laugh carried when he almost tipped, the look on his face when he actually stood up, shaky but grinning like he’d won a medal. Tyler hated that he replayed it. Over and over.

He scanned left again. And froze.

Because walking toward the tower — purse on one arm, a little cooler dangling from the other — was his mom.

His stomach dropped.

⸻

She waved, smiling like this was a perfectly normal social call. “Honey!” she called up. “I brought you something!”

Tyler stiffened in the chair. He glanced down at the swim zone — fine. No one in trouble. He climbed down slowly, every step heavier than the last.

“Mom. What are you doing here?”

“I was at the market and thought, my son works so hard in the sun, why not bring him some proper lunch?” She popped open the cooler with a flourish. Wrapped sandwiches, a Tupperware of grapes, even napkins folded neatly. “See? Much better than those vending machine chips.”

Tyler rubbed the back of his neck, aware of every eye on him from nearby beachgoers. “You didn’t have to—”

“Of course I did,” she cut in, cheerful but firm. “You look thin. Have you been skipping Wednesday dinners? Pastor said he missed you at study.”

Heat rose in his ears that had nothing to do with the weather. “Mom…”

Before he could finish, a voice called from behind them:

“Tyler! Hey!”

Josh.

Tyler’s heart did a full somersault. He turned to see Josh jogging barefoot across the sand, hair bright in the sun, holding a paper bag from the taco stand like it was nothing.

And then his mom turned too.

⸻

“Well!” she said, eyes twinkling. “Who’s this?”

Josh slowed when he reached them, flashing a casual grin. “Just thought I’d bring Baywatch here some real food. You know, balance out all the salt air.” He lifted the bag. “Tacos. Best on the boardwalk.”

Tyler wanted the sand to swallow him whole. “Josh, this is—uh—my mom. Mom, this is Josh.”

His mom extended a hand. “Nice to meet you. Tyler never mentioned you.”

Josh took it without hesitation, his grin never faltering. “Guess I’m new to the roster.”

Tyler groaned. “Oh my god.”

His mom laughed politely, but her gaze lingered a second too long before she turned back to Tyler. “Well. Don’t forget Wednesday night service. The Henderson girl asked about you.”

Josh blinked. “The who?”

“No one,” Tyler said sharply, taking the cooler and shoving it toward the base of the tower. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll… see you at dinner.”

She gave him a knowing little smile, kissed his cheek, and finally walked off, leaving him standing stiff as driftwood.

⸻

Josh whistled low. “Smooth exit.”

“Shut up,” Tyler muttered, yanking open the taco bag.

Josh grinned, sliding onto the bench beside him. “So. Henderson girl?”

“Don’t.”

“Pastor’s study?”

“Don’t.”

Josh smirked, unwrapping a taco. “Fine. But for the record, I’m flattered she got me confused with your girlfriend.”

Tyler buried his face in his hands. “I hate you.”

Josh nudged his shoulder lightly. “Nah. You don’t.”

Tyler peeked through his fingers, caught Josh’s crooked grin, and despite himself — despite the lingering flush and the knot in his chest — he laughed. Just once, quick and breathless.

And for the next hour, as they sat sharing tacos and watching the waves roll in, it was easier to forget the cooler waiting at the base of the tower. Easier to forget Wednesday nights. Easier to forget that his mom’s voice would still echo in his head when the sun went down.
——

The tacos didn’t last long. Tyler tore through his in three bites, partly because he was starving, partly because chewing was easier than talking. Josh, of course, stretched his out, making stupid commentary about the ratio of salsa to tortilla like it was a science experiment.

“Don’t tell me you eat this fast at home too,” Josh said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Tyler shrugged. “Two sisters. If you didn’t eat fast, you didn’t eat.”

Josh chuckled, leaning back on his elbows. The sunlight caught in the edge of his hair, blue bright against the shimmer of the ocean. “That explains it. Survival instinct. Impressive.”

Tyler shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. He hated that Josh could pull that out of him so easily — hated it, and wanted it anyway.

⸻

The rest of the afternoon passed in that strange in-between way. Tyler went back up the tower, scanning the shoreline with his practiced calm, while Josh drifted in and out of the scene. Sometimes leaning against the tower base, sipping his soda. Sometimes wandering down to the shallows, letting waves lick at his ankles. Sometimes just sitting there, close enough Tyler could feel his presence even when he wasn’t looking.

Every so often, Lexi called something obnoxious from her post — “Don’t forget sunscreen, lovebirds!” — and Tyler threatened to reassign her to trash duty. Josh only laughed harder each time, which didn’t help.

⸻

By late afternoon, the beach thinned. Families packed up, dragging coolers and umbrellas toward the lot. The air shifted with the tide — saltier, cooler. Tyler finally climbed down, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake off the hours of vigilance.

Josh was waiting near the base of the tower, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. “So. You off duty, Captain Serious?”

“For now,” Tyler said. He grabbed his bag, slung it over one shoulder. “Why, you planning a debriefing?”

Josh smirked. “Nah. Just figured I’d walk with you. You know, make sure you don’t drown on dry land.”

Tyler rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

⸻

They followed the boardwalk toward the parking lot, sand sticking stubbornly to their calves. The late light turned everything gold. People passed with folded chairs, kids trailing kites, the air full of sea-salt and sunscreen and the faint smoke of a barbecue starting somewhere nearby.

Josh kicked at a shell, sending it skittering ahead. “Your mom seemed nice.”

Tyler’s jaw tightened. “…She means well.”

Josh glanced sideways. “She, uh, always drop by your work like that?”

“No. Just when she wants to make a point.”

“About?”

Tyler let out a breath, long and sharp. “Church. School. The usual.”

Josh nodded like he got it — like he wasn’t going to push further. That helped.

⸻

By the time they reached the lot, the crowd had thinned even more. Tyler stopped at his car, keys dangling in his hand. Josh lingered nearby, leaning against his own door, not quite ready to leave.

For a second, the silence stretched — heavy but not uncomfortable. The kind where neither of them wanted to break it.

Josh shifted, his hoodie sleeve brushing Tyler’s arm. And then, almost without thinking, he tilted his head sideways until it rested lightly against Tyler’s shoulder. Just for a second.

Tyler froze. Heat flared in his chest, straight to his face. His brain screamed to move, to do something, but his body stayed exactly where it was — solid, still, like the whole beach was holding its breath with him.

Josh pulled back just as quick, grinning crooked like he was covering something up. “Sorry. You looked like you needed ballast.”

Tyler swallowed, his mouth dry. “…You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah.” Josh shoved his hands in his pockets. “But you’re still smiling.”

Tyler turned toward his car before Josh could see the full truth of that. “Get out of here, smoothie boy.”

Josh chuckled, soft and unbothered, and climbed into his car. Tyler watched him drive off, the sound of the engine fading into the hum of waves beyond.

And for the first time that day, the cooler at the base of the tower and the weight of his mom’s words felt… lighter. Not gone. But lighter.