He dropped his hand and turned his gaze to the ocean, jaw tight.

Around you, the beach had grown quieter. The others had drifted—some wading into the surf, others wandering toward the food stalls further down the boardwalk. The palm tree above cast a small, jagged circle of shade.

Wanderer sat beside you. Close, though he pretended not to notice.

Minutes passed.

His breathing slowed.

The irritation on his face smoothed, piece by piece, until there was nothing sharp left. His hat tilted forward. His head dipped.

He was asleep.

Unbelievable.

A person who bristled at every word, who wore distrust like a second skin—he had relaxed enough to doze off beside you.

When you shifted, his hand caught your sleeve.

A few breaths later, his head leaned against you.

Silence. The waves. The distant shouts of your friends.