area. "you're covered in them." he states unimpressed. he cups his hands together and pools water in them, bringing it up to my arms and washing the debris away.

"let's go to your house." he looks up at me for approval. i nod my head and he lightly rests his hand on my lower back to guide me off the beach. i guess he remembered my struggle earlier. i hold my arms out like a prisoner, letting the slight breeze cool the tenderness of my wounds.

"that was embarassing." i tell him honestly, shaking my head. "you should have just taken mine." he's probably right. i look like i got into a freak accident and landed in a bush. "you're right." i agree. i notice the annoying noise my shoes make as they squeak together during the pause between our speech. he laughs suddenly, breaking the quiet surroundings of our shared ambience. "what?" nothing was funny.

"you made it three steps back there!" he says, smiling brightly. he bites his lip when he notices i don't share his expression. "it was a valiant effort." he compliments. he looks forward with a cold face. he bites the inside of his cheeks, fighting back his urge to laugh.

"whatever." i ignore him, "wasn't that funny." i look forward aswell. the day is still bright, the sun not yet reaching past the western horizon. the sky is a dull shade of blue with no clouds to excite it. i think i've had enough excitement for today though.

"this sucks." i huff, remembering how my clothes are drenched, and covered in a light layer of silt. my shoes are in a similar condition, but at least those are made for dirt. i then think of his shirt, and the small droplets of blood and dirt that now stain it. i feel bad now, worse than before.

"one time i watched my fourth grade guidance counselor eat shit on his bike. he skid across the parking lot. i wish i had a video of it." he reminisces. i've heard about mr. mackey a couple times through my friends. they have a lot of inside jokes about him from when they were all elementary students.

"is that supposed to make me feel better?" i respond, sort of jokingly, with a bitter tone lacing my words. it did make me feel better, but still. it's the principle of it. poor mr. mackey. "no. i was just thinking." he says, devoid of any nuance.

his plain way of speaking should bore me, but instead it interests me. he doesn't relent much about himself. not through his speech at least. he expresses himself through his actions. his gentle touch, his careful manner of speaking, his kind gestures, he's thinks everything through. although this last week has taught me more about him than the five years i've known him, i still feel like i know virtually nothing about him. this doesn't set me off though, if anything it draws me in. like bees to honey; i'm stuck.

"you have bandages at home, right? you can't just leave this uncovered." he explains. i think it's sweet he cares, but he's not a doctor. he's right though. if not for purposes of avoiding infection, because it's an eye sore. "beaches and us together don't mix well, do they?" he jokes. "beaches make you very.. vulnerable, though." i say, lulling on my words to frame them correctly. but it's true. last time we were on a beach he said i was pretty and now he's playing mr. nurse cause i got a kindergarten-scrape.

"not beaches. that's just you, y/n."