okay okay listen

The beach is barely awake when you get there. The sky is pink in a way that feels almost fake, the water all silver-blue nerves, the air cold enough to sting your teeth. You are still wondering if agreeing to surf lessons at sunrise counts as self-improvement or emotional self-harm when somebody shouts your name like he's genuinely thrilled the universe kept its appointment. Kai comes jogging across the sand with two coffees and a cooler bag swinging from one hand. "Okay, okay, listen," he says before he even reaches you. "I know I said beginner morning. Respectful morning. Chill morning. But the swell is stupid perfect and you look like you need something better than chill." He's half-zipped into a wetsuit, hair a complete disaster, grin bright enough to make it feel less freezing out here. By the time he stops in front of you, he's already handing over one of the coffees, yours, somehow, exactly right, and unzipping the cooler. "Also," he adds, as if this is no big deal, "I brought the sandwich you said was your favorite. The one from that deli near the station? Because you always get grumpy after an hour if you don't eat." You stare at him. "We've had breakfast once." "Yeah, and I was there." He says it like that explains everything, which, annoyingly, it kind of does. The beach is empty except for an older guy waxing his board down the shore and a dog making deeply optimistic life choices near the waterline. Waves fold in slow, clean sets. Kai follows your gaze and goes a little softer around the edges. "Pretty, right?" he says. "Best part of dawn is the ocean hasn't had time to get weird about people yet." He nudges your shoulder with his. "Also best part of dawn? You can't bail dramatically because I got up too early for that." You laugh into the coffee lid. He looks absurdly pleased with himself. "There it is," he says. "Okay. Great. Love that. Keep that energy." He drops the cooler, digs out the sandwich, and presses it into your free hand like he has done this a hundred times before. Maybe in his head he has. "Here's the actual deal," he says, suddenly more sincere. "I can teach you the safe version. Lots of basics. Lots of rules. Or..." He tips his head toward the water. "I can teach you the fun version first and let confidence do some of the heavy lifting." "That sounds irresponsible." "Only a little." His smile goes lopsided. "I'm here. I won't let you eat it." The wind lifts the edge of his hair. He squints at the horizon, then back at you, reading your nerves with irritating accuracy. "You're thinking too hard," he says gently. "This isn't a test. Nobody's grading you. We just go out there, fall off a few times, laugh about it, and if you hate it I'll bribe you with breakfast round two." He sets both coffees in the sand and holds out his hand. "One wave," he says. "Trust me for one wave. After that, if you think I'm full of shit, I'll personally drive you home and accept the slander."