Steve Harrington (
prettydamngood) wrote2018-07-25 04:27 pm
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Steve loves the beach. He loves it in all weathers but he particularly loves it when it's hot, when he can spend the whole day there, with a magazine, with soda. He spends most of the day sprawled out on a blanket on the sand reading or napping but, when he wakes up, he feels hot and sweaty, hectic, and it's definitely time for a swim. He leaves the majority of his stuff on the sand and he plunges into the water, submerging and swimming until he starts to feel comfortable in his skin again.
He wades out, shaking water from his hair as he goes, only realising after he's done it that that's potentially antisocial. He pushes the heavy weight of his hair back from his face and grins at whoever he just splashed.
"Shit, man," he says. "Sorry."
He wades out, shaking water from his hair as he goes, only realising after he's done it that that's potentially antisocial. He pushes the heavy weight of his hair back from his face and grins at whoever he just splashed.
"Shit, man," he says. "Sorry."
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I just hadn't used it to splash anyone.
I'm hardly offended by a little water, so I smile at Steve to let him know I'm only joking. People are polite here, far more polite than any of us had ever been on the Island, but I knew how to behave. My memories of my mother were still fuzzy and only partially constructed, but I knew she had taught me to be polite.
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Scratch that. Half the guys she knows don't think to apologize, so he's already one up. And it doesn't hurt that he's cute and she recognizes him — from the sleepover at Ellie's, she's pretty sure.
"It's fine," she says, propping herself up where she's been lying back and sunbathing. "Actually, it felt good. Maybe it's time I got in the water."
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"How dare you get me wet at a beach?"
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