Two days. Cooped up in that room and hidden under a weighted chintz-flowered comforter, Milo slept for hours on end, so much so that the owner of the inn checked up on him more than once to make sure he wasn’t dead. And, when he was awake, he hardly moved, only watched TV on the lowest volume and listened as the outside world went on without him. He expected to have a few days like this throughout his four-month trip, but two in a row were concerning, especially this early on. Everything blurry, uncomfortably hot, and dream-like. He did leave the room occasionally only for food, though.
Homesickness was already eating away at him, teeming and festering the more he hid away; he missed his close-knit artist friends, his manager, his own bed. He made an effort to make the room feel a little bit more like home by setting up a few picture frames of his friends and his mother. Though, they felt foreign and out of place because it simply wasn’t his room. A part of him felt gross for sleeping there; strangers and their germs were probably never washed fully out of the bedspread. It irked him. Every shower, Milo made sure to just scrub a little harder. What if there were bed bugs? No, he would have bites by now, right?
But two days was becoming more sickening than the actual homesickness. If Milo forced himself into slumber one more time, he wouldn’t be surprised if a sleep paralysis demon visited him. He had to get up and integrate himself back into society. Besides, it was really the only way to cure his longing for LA other than flying home. And, perhaps, he would run into the gentleman from the bar a few nights prior. It would be refreshing to see a familiar face after his brief hibernation. He worked at the beach, right?
Bare feet finally meeting the worn parquet floor, a warm shower, a clean shave, patchouli based cologne, and appropriate beach attire freshened him up quite a bit. The painter even opened the authentic victorian window by his bed, a lovely vintage piece with a green border and intricate red panes; colors usually associated with Christmas, but they were so dull and work, they only held the faintest similarity. And, he even breathed in the breeze as it ruffled past the dense, wine-red velvet curtains; such a stark contrast from the odd smell of tea and mothballs, and it was a delightful relief. He supposed his actions didn’t clear up the nimbus above his head, but it did put him in the right direction.
The beach was a short walk from the place he was staying at, an regard which reminded him that he would have to check out the more woodsy parts of town. The day was beyond lovely, a beach day for sure; it was summery, warm, nearly cloudless, and the birds sang sweet hymns. He had to be thankful that the day he chose to spring out of bed was still and serene and not some wicked, angry one. The heat wrapped around his skin as he left the inn with beach necessities wrapped in a blanket under his arm, and he made his way to the shore.
He got situated in a small patch of sand, clear from any other beachgoers. The falsa blanket was laid out, marking his stop on the sandy shore, and for a bit, he chilled, basking in the sun under the production of SPF 60. Eventually, he rose from the blanket, partly to visit the water and partly to see if he could spot the familiar face -- or was that weird? Milo scratched the back of his neck as he mentally chastised himself through his inner monologue for being desperate.
The water along the shoreline was a clear pale green, and a comfortable cool as he stepped into the ocean. Pebbles and seashells shone through the transparent water, marked by the sunlight. He spotted a unique-looking shell peeking from the wet sand and leaned down to dig for it. An apple murex, completely intact too, besides a few chips. He gaped at, elevating it slightly to get a better view of it in the light. “Holy shit,” he mumbled. It was an incredibly fortunate find, and he doubted he would find anything as pristine and in such good condition as this.
The weekend passed by in a blur of writing, recording, mixing and bartending. Thankfully, Henley didn't have to lifeguard either day, nor did he perform, so he could maximize his music time.
Today, he wasn't so lucky. The start of the new work week began on Monday and Monday's equaled lifeguard shift. Monday's also equaled unhappy Henley. It wasn't that he disliked lifeguarding, he really didn't. He just really disliked Mondays and everything about them.
But it wasn't as if he could just. not show up. So at eleven this morning, he rolled out of bed, did his morning routine and then headed down to the shore in order to make it in time for his shift. If any of his coworkers asked why he skipped morning runs and swims, he'd just say he had a bad headache. Which wasn't completely a lie--he did have a headache, a very minor one.
Thankfully no one asked and Henley was able to climb up his chair once noon hit unscathed. It was relatively boring from that point on. The weather was beautiful and the ocean was completely calm, not a big wave in sight. There was no danger of a riptide today, no chance of anyone getting pulled under or out to sea. Which was good, very good, but he didn't have much to do.
By three in the afternoon, most little kids had gone back to their beach houses for naps, taking their parents with them. Now it was just teenagers and adults either tanning or sitting around, hardly anyone in the water. He continued to watch both the water and sand, but now started to pay some more attention to his fellow lifeguards.
They'd been sending signals to each other all day, using the flags as the way of communication rather than the radio they all carried. Not bad signals, just bored chatspeak. Henley's attention was caught by the guard to his right, who had stood to "speak" (signal) to him using the flags.
U R A Q T
And he just rolled his eyes the hardest he'd ever rolled them and stood to reply, moving the flags with purpose.
N O U
Then Henley sat his ass right back down with a huff. Though as he sat back down, he could've sworn he saw Milo, the guy he met the last week. Thinking about it, he probably should've checked in, seen how the other was doing, but he'd been so busy with his music that he completely forgot. Not that he would've been the one to text first anyways, but whatever.
Now back to his previous thought, even if it was Milo, he couldn't be sure. And there was no way in hell he was risking calling out the others name and have it not be him. That would be absolutely mortifying. Like... the worst thing that could happen. So there goes that option.
But also, Henley was still on duty. If it turned out to be Milo, they started talking, and he began to pay more attention to the conversation than the water or beach, there could be disastrous consequences. So, he couldn't really talk much.
Of course, he wouldn't be rude if a conversation did start, but he wouldn't be able to actively participate in it as much as he normally would since his attention would have to be elsewhere.
Sighing, he turned to look back out at the water, going back and forth between chewing on the whistle hanging around his neck and the ring in the middle of his tongue.
Milo leaned forward once more to scrub the rest of the sand from the shell, fingers swirling amidst the pale green. Rising, he twisted back to glance at the beach, one hand shading his light-dazzled eyes. And then he halted. Not out of fright or shock, but out of confusion, his face etched with interest.
Henley? He squinted. It was a welcomed surprise if it really was him. He wasn’t expecting to notice him so early on in his beach trip. Should he approach him and spark up a conversation? It was tempting to trudge right up to the lifeguard stand with the courage of a male lion, but it was nonsensical, especially for someone like the sheepish painter.
Just text him. They had swapped numbers during his first night in the town and hadn’t communicated since. Honestly, the artist was too scared to text first for what seemed like no reason. He had typed out various first texts but always ended up deleting them. Was it a fear of rejection or maybe a fear of commitment? Regardless, he never ended up messaging, and neither did Henley.
He returned to his falsa blanket to drop off the lovely shell and to retrieve his piece of tech. Holding the phone to his face, squinting to see the screen in the harsh sun, he pulled up Henley’s contact information. hot guy from bar -- he hoped to god Henley never witnessed that contact name, it would be deathly embarrassing.
‘r at beach?’
Funnily, he sent it listlessly and without much thought, causing him to leave out the definite article. But, when Milo noticed the error, he chose to overlook it. He knew it was informal and echoed the way a child spoke, but it quickly got to the point even if it made him appear brain dead. His mind naturally operated faster than in his thumbs. That mindset stayed for less than a second, and the more he stared at the mistake, the more it angrily stuck out. All within a moment, he thought it over and unsent it.
What if he saw him unsend it? Did he even have his phone up there? Gaze shot back to the lifeguard tower as he attempted to gauge a reaction from quite a distance away.
“You’re an adult,” he reminded himself in a breathy murmur.
And, with that short and brusque reminder, he neared Henley’s lifeguard chair. It really was him. “Um, Henley?” He articulated, his countenance soft, but surprised. His eyes swished from his chest to his face, blinking through a screen of messy brown hair -- where was he supposed to look? He didn’t want to make it obvious he was checking him out, but maybe his frantic eye movements were making it worse.
“I didn’t know you would, uh, be here,” he paused for a moment, scratching the side of his nose, “What’s going on?”
If Henley continued to keep chewing on his whistle like this, his whistle would exist no more. It already had lots of previous bite marks from times like this and if he kept it up, it would probably break in half. He kind of needed his whistle. Yeah--definitely needed it. With that thought in mind, he spit the red piece of plastic out of his mouth and felt it land against his chest. Then his attention was focused back onto the large expanse of water in front of him that wasn't doing jack shit to warrant anyone needing saving. Which was good. Definitely good. It just made his job boring as hell.
He heard his phone buzz in his bag but didn't make a move to get it out and check who texted him. Not because he wasn't curious, but because he really wasn't allowed to. Lifeguards weren't supposed to be on their phones while on duty since it would take their attention away from the important--the water and the beach itself. If something bad happened and a lifeguard didn't see it because they were on their phone, there could be disastrous consequences. He didn't feel like risking it.
Henley adjusted the position of the hat on his head as he let go of any lingering thoughts he might've had about checking his phone. It was probably one of his coworkers anyway, not super important. Or well, not anything that would require an immediate check and response. If it were a coworker, they could absolutely wait until after his shift ended.
And then holy sweet Jesus, he nearly jumped twenty feet in the air when he heard a voice speak to him out of nowhere. Having not heard Milo approach, he wasn't expecting anyone to start talking to him (obviously) and the others sudden appearance nearly caused him to shit himself. It took a minute, but Henley soon recovered from his near heart attack and calmed himself down to the point where he could actually speak properly. "Hey," he greeted, and damn, what an awe-inspiring way to start a conversation. "Hey". He should give lessons in conversation starters, the 'how to talk to people 101, presented by Henley'.
Perhaps Milo was lucky that Henley chose that moment to look back out at the water, completely oblivious to the fact that he was totally being checked out. Lucky in the sense that had he noticed, Henley would have absolutely called him out on it. That, or he would've made a complete fool out of himself trying to appear impressive. Either or. This was his domain, his 'kingdom'. He'd absolutely show off every chance he could, even if he looked dumb as fuck.
He raised a brow at that, having sworn that the topic of him being a lifeguard came up at least once during their conversation a few days ago. But maybe Milo did remember and this was his way of initiating the conversation. Couldn't knock a guy for trying. "Yeah," he started, glancing down before back at the water, "I'm here today, tomorrow, Wednesday and Friday. Bartend Thursday, Friday and Sunday." Did Milo ask for his entire work schedule? No. But was he getting it? Absolutely. Apparently, he was more than happy to share his boring ass life.
"Nothing much," he replied with a shrug. "The water has been extraordinarily calm today, so I haven't had much to do at all." He'd probably be more entertained by watching golf on TV and Henley hated watching golf, the most boring thing in existence. The fact that he figured he'd be more entertained by watching something he hated than he was by watching the water was saying something.
He took off his hat and ruffled his hair before putting it back on, though this time backwards. "Sorry I didn't reach out to you," he blurted suddenly. And wow. Where in the ever loving fuck did that come from? Ignoring the fact that he was now flustered beyond belief, he plowed on, "I was in my music bubble and nothing could pop it." Or, he was so focused on, so zoned in on his music that his mind wasn't thinking about anything else, newcomers included. The musical energy was flowing and he wasn't about to stop it.
