𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 (𝘔𝘶𝘻𝘢𝘯 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 - 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗹𝗳

THE LONE WOLF.

He kept his promise. You two were alone now, your bare feet on the sand and your gazes transfixed on the Ocean in front of you. The ride to that special little place of his, he had mentioned on your way to the highway, had been two hours long, but it was worth the wait. The soft breeze caressed your skin, as you smiled softly at the way the waves hit the shores regularly, almost embracing it, before retreating.

"I would have never thought of you as a beach person" you joked, averting your eyes from the waves to look up at him.

Muzan did not seem fazed by your remark, his hands were tucked into the pockets of his pants, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, his necktie was unusually loosened around his neck and some dark ray-ban were shielding his eyes from the scorching sun bathing you both. He looked out of character, but he was handsome regardless.

"And you'd be right. I'm not a beach person. I hate the sand. And the Sun too, to be fair. — he stated calmly, grimacing, as his gaze flicked down towards the grains embracing both of your feet — Yet, no one knows about this place. Not even my bodyguards. It's a good place to disappear in for a while" he said, causing you to gawk at him.

Muzan had a bounty over his head. Even if he could clearly protect himself, you thought he still needed his flunkies to watch his back. It was rather bold of him not to inform his subordinates about this hideout. However, you chose not to be argumentative, for once, and opted for a simple shrug of your shoulder, as you began to amble down the desolate beach. It was better to enjoy this little moment of peace, until it lasted. Finally being able not to think about the medias, guns, knives and Muzan's bodyguards, you sadly realized  it was beginning to feel like a foreign experience. You were definitely stressed out and this little break he had miraculously allowed you to take was one of the best ideas he had ever come up with since you two met. You wondered if it was just a way to wash his hands for having stood you up, instead of a romantic thing such as 'I want to know you better', quoting him.

"So you hate the sun, huh? Does it mean you like the rain?" you asked him casually, some strands of your hair whipping your face as you looked back at him.

You heard him sigh "I don't particularly dislike it. But the sun definitely irks me" he replied flatly, following you from a close distance.

You, on the other hand, hated the rain. You hated it with a passion. It was not always like that. The day your parents died was pouring. You still vividly remembered the way the water dripped down your face, making your hair heavy, your clothes uncomfortably sticking on your flesh, as you dashed outside to check on your father.

It was true that your memories about that night were blurry, but some details could not be simply be washed away. They were all you had.