"Here it comes, the little bastard," Nate mutters in triumph.
I finish pulling the thorn out because my nails are longer than his, happily flicking it into the bushes to join its thorny friends.
"Thanks for the help," I say, rubbing at the tender skin.
"Any time." He gets off the bench. "I would give you a lollipop for being such a champ, but a beer will have to cut it."
"A champ? You called me a baby!"
A laugh rolls out of him. "You want the beer or not, baby?"
I cross over to join him by the railing, and he hands me a bottle from a half-empty six pack I assume he swiped from the kitchen.
"Fine. I admit, my pain tolerance is pretty pathetic," I mumble.
He's relighting the cigarette he had put out. "In hindsight, this probably would've helped with that."
I don't get what he means until he offers it to me, and my body stills when I realize it's not a cigarette at all. "Is that... a joint?"
"Yeah. You want?"
I fervently shake my head. "I don't do drugs."
He withdraws the offer, reading over my face with a hint of amusement. "All right. Not like I'm gonna force you."
"No, I know," I stumble out. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound judgy or anything."
Nate puts the joint between his lips and gives a pull. "Doesn't take much, does it?"
"What?"
He blows a cloud of smoke in the other direction. "Getting you all worked up and worried."
"I'm not worked up," I defend. "Or worried. I just didn't want to offend you or make it seem like I was..."
My voice fades when he cocks his head, his expression smug. I'm only proving him right.
"Okay, fine. I'm a worrier. I try not to be, but it's like..." I press at my temples, searching for the words. "It's like there's worry weeds growing on my brain. If I pick one, another one just sprouts up. I can never get the root out."
Nate gives me a sympathetic smile. "Sounds rough."
"Yeah, well, it's not exactly a blast. But I guess it's just how I'm wired."
"Mm." He flicks ash over the railing. "Can't say I have worry weeds on my brain, but maybe like, worry flowers that die and fall off."
I look at him, intrigued. "They die? How?"
He shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't know. It's like breathing or your heart beating. You don't really think about it, it just happens. Worrying about shit I can't control is self-torture."
"Tell me about it." I pick at the label on my beer, feeling a bit envious.
I've tried so much to reduce my anxiety - relaxing bubble baths, chamomile tea, even those meditation videos on YouTube. But they can only help so much. And reading the comments from people who swear their stress is gone forever? It feels like they're living on a different planet.
How do they just wipe away a part of themselves like it's nothing? It seems like some kind of magic trick that I can't master.
I watch Nate take another drag, and an inexplicable urge swims up. I might regret this, but I'll worry about it later.
"I changed my mind. I want to try it," I tell him, nodding to the burning ember.
He gives me the side eye. "Why do I suddenly feel like I'm in an old after school special? This is peer pressure 101, DeMarco."
"You're not even pressuring me," I argue.
He looks thoughtful. Skeptical. "Nah, Rob will kick my ass if I corrupt you. Have you seen my brother? I'd like my face to stay intact."
I set my bottle on the railing ledge. "Trust me, Rob might actually thank you. He's the one who wants me to let loose and have more fun. Being corrupted by you could be pretty fun."
He gives me a measuring look, his mouth slowly curving. "All right, but only one hit. I don't want you thinking your legs are paralyzed or something."
My brows knit together.
"I might've smoked too much my first time and thought my legs were paralyzed," he mumbles. "While I was standing."
I let out a nervous laugh. Please let me walk away from this with functional limbs.
Nate passes me the joint. "Okay so I'm going to light it, all you gotta do is take a deep pull, down your throat, not just your mouth. And then hold in the smoke for as long as you can. But you're going to cough, so it won't be too long."
"How do you know I'm going to cough?"
"Shiny untouched lungs? You're gonna cough."
He holds the flame to the tip, and I follow his guidance, the paper crinkling to ash as I suck in. It tastes weird and earthy, and it takes approximately five seconds for me to let out that inevitable smoky cough. My chest tightens, my heart feeling as if it's banging into my bones with every cough I'm failing to suppress.
Nate takes the joint back and puts it out on the side of his beer while I grab my own, swallowing a gulp to ease my burning throat. The fizziness makes it burn harder.
"You okay?" I hear him ask.
I clear my throat. "Never better."
He laughs quietly, and I freeze when he reaches over and wipes a tear from my cheek. I've got a headrush and my heart is still thumping, but I don't know if it's from the weed, the coughing, or him. He doesn't linger, but the prickling on my skin does.
"Feel anything?"
"No," I say quick, breaking from his eyes to look out at the sea. "I mean... maybe. Kind of."
"Maybe kind of. Well, that's something."
We stand in silence for a while. I don't know how long. It feels like my sense of time might be a little warped, but I've been staring at the sand dune in this unknown stretch of time. With the way the moonlight hits it, you'd almost think it was snow.
"You said Rob wants you to have more fun." Nate brings my attention back. "Is that part of the promise you made to him? About getting out of your comfort zone?"
"Yeah. He thinks I need to make more memories... put myself out there."
"And you don't think that."
I blow air out my cheeks. "Keeping to myself, predictability. I like it. But I think I like it too much sometimes. When I look back in ten years, nothing will stand out because it's all the same. That's why I made that promise to him in the first place. I know he's right."
Nate turns to me, resting his elbow on the rail. "What makes the cut for a good memory, then? Learning to surf?"
"Oh, most definitely." I smile. "Anything out of the ordinary of my very ordinary life."
"What about tonight, is it extraordinary enough?"
"I don't think I'll forget smoking weed for the first time with Nate Miller."
"Nate Miller." He shakes his head, eyes glinting with humor. "You say my name like I'm a fictional character or something."
Him pointing this out makes my face hot. "I guess with those stories I've heard, and never talking to you before this week, you do sort of feel fictional."
"I don't want to be," he says softly, and he's looking at me so intently I think my pulse has surged. "How can I make myself real for you?"
I'm not sure if it's a rhetorical question, because his hazy eyes drifted to my lips while he was talking, briefly, but long enough to send my brain into malfunction. If he kissed me right now, I wouldn't pull away. I'd kiss him back.
I'd thread my fingers in his curls and I'd let his hands run wild and I'd wake up tomorrow knowing exactly how he tasted, and the certainty of that thought terrifies me. So I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head in order for me to run from this. Literally.
"Race me down the sand dune!" I dart off the deck, pulling my shoes off as I go.
"Wha—?" I hear him calling behind me. "You had a head start!"
The dune is steep, and my legs are on the verge of collapse because they're going too fast for my body to keep up, and I immediately realize how terrible unsober running is. I lack enough grace as it is. But I can't stop going, and the fact that I can't stop only makes the thrill heighten.
I look over my shoulder at Nate catching up. He's laughing. I think I'm laughing too. It all sounds like music and waves. Close to the bottom, my legs give out and I slide on my butt for the last few feet, the sand gathering and bringing me to a stop. Nate skids down in front of me.
"How did that help making me real?" he pants.
"Who says this had anything to do with that?" I dust off my sandy hands. "I just felt like winning a race, which I did."
"You cheated!"
"Hm. Doesn't sound like me."
He clicks his tongue. "Okay, I see how it is."
From where I'm sitting and the position he's standing in, there's a perfect speckling of stars framing his head. He leaves the frame and sits next to me, the landscape of the wide beach coming into full view. I forget to breathe for a second.
"Whoa. It looks even better up close," I say, soaking it in.
"What does?"
"This. The beach."
"Wait, what?" I feel his eyes on me. "We haven't even had our first lesson and you're already falling for the beach? Guess I won't have to try so hard to sell you on it now."
"Easy, Miller." I scoff. "I only like this one because there's nobody here, and it's not hot and loud. And the light makes everything better. Don't you think it looks like snow?"
He joins me in looking over the picturesque backdrop. The sand is smooth and untouched, the ocean is the only source of movement, and the moonlight is washing a pale blue tinge over everything. I've never felt so comfortable being on a beach than I am right now.
"Yeah, sort of," Nate muses. "But I'm probably not the best judge because I've never seen snow up close."
"Really?" I stare at him like he's from another dimension. "So you've never gone sledding or built a snowman or made snow angels? Or had a snowball fight?"
"Nope."
He's totally unfazed, but I suddenly feel sorry for him. "Well, you can do at least one of those now."
Nate gives me a puzzled look.
"Pretend it's cold," I say, scooting away from him to make space. "And pretend the dune is a snowy hill we just sled down. Like Calvin and Hobbes."
He chuckles, watching me lie flat. "Okay."
"Now do what I do and pretend I don't look weird doing it."
I spread my arms and legs out and start making a snow angel, and Nate lies back and does the same. The texture is all wrong, but when I close my eyes, I try my hardest to imagine the snow freezing my back and my sweeping movements carving through iciness. I stand up carefully, jumping out of the angel not to mess it up.
Nate is sprawled out with a big grin on his face. "I feel stupid."
I smile and offer my hand, heaving him up so we can look at our work.
"Might've been better in harder sand," I mutter.
Nate laughs softly. "We can just pretend those are non-deformed, non-sand angels."
"They're not totally deformed."
"Exactly. They're perfect snow angels on a snowy hill we sled down, aren't they?"
I give a satisfied nod, and without another word, we leave the dune and start walking along the beach together.
˚ˑ━━━━━━━༄ؘ༄ؘ༄ؘˑ━━━━━━━ˑ˚
a/n: thanks for reading, please remember to vote! ♡