The bus was old but charming, its seats faded from years of sun and student trips. The windows rattled slightly with every turn, letting in warm gusts of coastal wind and the scent of salt and distant rain. Ethan sat by the window, his backpack tucked between his legs, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his shirt.
Joss slid in beside him, casual as ever, but his presence filled the space like sunlight.
"You sure you don't want me to drive?" Joss had asked earlier, voice low, eyes searching.
Ethan had shaken his head. "I don't want people to think I'm showing off. I just want to be... normal today."
Joss didn't argue. He just smiled, soft and understanding, and climbed onto the bus with him.
Now, they sat shoulder to shoulder, sharing a single pair of earphones. The music was mellow—something acoustic, something with longing in its chords. Ethan had picked it, but Joss didn't complain. He just leaned his head back, eyes closed, mouthing the lyrics like he knew them by heart.
Ethan watched him.
The way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. The way his fingers tapped lightly against his thigh in rhythm. The way his knee brushed Ethan's every time the bus hit a bump.
It felt like something out of a high school daydream.
They didn't speak much. Just exchanged glances, smiles, the occasional nudge when a lyric hit too close to home. Ethan felt his chest flutter every time Joss leaned in to whisper something—about the song, about the view, about how Ethan looked when he was lost in thought.
"You always get this serious face when you're thinking," Joss murmured, his breath warm against Ethan's ear.
Ethan turned, startled. "Do I?"
"Yeah. It's cute."
Ethan blushed and looked out the window, pretending to be fascinated by the passing trees.
The ride lasted four hours, but it felt like a heartbeat.
When they arrived, the students slowly spilled out of the bus, stretching, yawning, groaning about stiff legs and sore backs. The sun was high, casting golden light across the sand dunes and the distant glimmer of the ocean.
Ethan stepped down, arms overhead, shirt lifting slightly with the motion. He felt the breeze kiss his skin, the warmth of the sun settle into his shoulders.
Then he saw him.
Ashton.
Leaning against a sleek motorbike, sunglasses pushed into his hair, grin wide and easy. He looked like he belonged in a magazine—casual, confident, the kind of boy who knew exactly how to make an entrance.
He waved, cool and slow, like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
"Hey," Ashton called, walking toward Ethan with a swagger that made heads turn. "Surprised to see me?"
Ethan blinked. "How did you—?"
"I have my ways." Ashton's smile curled, eyes flicking to Joss, who had just stepped off the bus behind Ethan. Joss's jaw tightened, his gaze sharp.
Ashton's aunt owned the resort. She was hosting the university club for the weekend, and when Ashton found out, he'd asked to join. She agreed—extra hands were always welcome, and Ashton had charm to spare.
At the briefing, Ashton's aunt explained the clean-up plan, her voice warm and commanding. She handed out gloves, trash bags, and assigned zones along the beach. Then she mentioned room pairings.
"Two to a room," she said. "Pick your partners."
Ashton looked at Ethan, voice smooth.
"I'm getting a premium room. Care to join?"
Ethan hesitated, glancing at Joss.
"It's fine," he said. "Joss and I can take the normal one."
Ashton's smile didn't falter, but his eyes darkened.
They unpacked in their modest room—two single beds, a small balcony, the sound of waves just beyond the glass. Ethan changed into a loose tee and shorts, Joss into a sleeveless tank that showed off his arms and collarbones. They didn't speak much, but the air between them was warm, charged.
At the beach, the tasks began.
Ethan and Joss were assigned to the shoreline, collecting plastic waste and tangled fishing lines. They worked side by side, gloves on, bags slowly filling. Joss teased him about his "serious beach face" again, brushing sand off Ethan's arm with a grin.
"You look like you're hunting treasure," Joss said.
"I am. Treasure called microplastics."
They laughed.
But Ashton kept circling.
He passed by often, offering help, commenting on the view, lingering just long enough to make Joss tense.
"Need help with that bag?" Ashton asked, stepping close to Ethan.
"I'm good," Ethan replied, polite but firm.
Joss didn't say anything. But his movements grew sharper. His tone clipped. His gaze colder.
The tension simmered.
After hours of work, the beach was clean. Ashton's aunt invited everyone to her restaurant, where she served grilled seafood, fragrant rice, and fresh fruit. The food was incredible—spiced perfectly, rich and comforting. Ethan ate quietly, stealing glances at Joss, who kept his hand resting lightly on Ethan's knee under the table.
After dinner, they gathered around a bonfire.
The flames crackled, casting golden light on flushed faces. Ethan sat beside Joss, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Ethan leaned in, head resting lightly against Joss's chest.
The group started a game of truth or dare.
Laughter echoed.
Secrets spilled.
The bottle spun.
It landed on Ashton.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, grin wide and sharp.
"Truth," he said, voice smooth.
Someone smirked. "Who here would you kiss if you had the chance?"
The group laughed—light, teasing.
But Ashton didn't.
His eyes flicked to Ethan.
Held.
"I think you already know."
The laughter died.
The air shifted.
Ethan's breath caught.
Joss's hand stilled.
Ashton didn't look away. His gaze was steady, bold, the kind that didn't ask permission. He wasn't just answering the question—he was making a move. A declaration.
Joss's jaw tightened.
His arm around Ethan pulled slightly closer, fingers curling against his skin like a silent claim.
Ethan felt it.
The tension in Joss's body.
The heat in his breath.
The way his gaze never left Ashton, even as Ethan leaned into him instinctively.
The bottle spun again.
It landed on Ethan.
"Truth or dare?"
The question hung in the air.
Ethan hesitated.
He could feel Joss's pulse against his side. Could feel Ashton's eyes on him, waiting, daring.
Before he could speak, one of his friends stood up, stretching with exaggerated drama.
"Okay, okay, it's late. We're supposed to rest for tomorrow's second round. Let's not get too wild."
Groans echoed.
Relief rippled through the circle.
But the tension didn't break.
Ashton stood slowly, tossing his empty bottle into the sand, eyes still on Ethan.
"Sleep well," he said, voice low, gaze flicking to Joss with a smirk.
Joss didn't respond.
He just stood, took Ethan's hand, and guided him away from the fire.
They walked in silence.
But the silence wasn't empty.
It was thick.
Heavy.
Full of everything Joss hadn't said.
Full of everything Ethan had felt.