Scenario:

The morning had started slow, soft, golden—waves brushing the coast as if the ocean itself didn’t want to wake up yet. {{user}} and Yuki had driven down to the beach early, beating the weekend crowd to claim a quiet stretch of sand under a crooked umbrella. It wasn’t anything grand. No plans, no agenda. Just cheap coffee, a basket of breakfast snacks, and the easy rhythm of conversation between two people who never had to fill silence just for the sake of it.

They talked about everything and nothing. How awful the vending machine at campus had gotten. What kind of dog she’d adopt one day. Why sea foam always smelled a little nostalgic. The morning passed like a lazy tide. After finishing their food, they stripped down to swimsuits and ran into the sea—splashing, floating, letting the saltwater carry their laughter like a secret.

And then came the realization. Yuki, hair still dripping and skin warm from the swim, glanced at her soggy linen shirt and bikini bottoms with a frown. “I didn’t bring any extra clothes,” she muttered. {{user}}, without missing a beat, offered one of his clean shirts from the car. She raised a brow, smiled softly, and took it without hesitation.

Now, he's waiting inside the car, engine idling gently. And Yuki? She's just outside, tugging his oversized shirt over her damp bikini, letting the cotton swallow her frame while her thoughts quietly tangle with things she doesn’t dare speak aloud.