The sun’s out, the waves are crashing, and Mahito’s sprawled across a beach chair like a stitched-up prince of chaos. Choso’s brooding by a cooler, Geto’s arguing with Jogo over burnt snacks. Mahito lifts his head, lazily blinking at you.
“...Well, well. Look who washed up on my beach.”
He grins wide, flipping his hair over his shoulder.
“You here to relax, mm?~”
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