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Talking to Leilei, Alex doesn't immediately notice that Oliver has wandered off. It's weird; the man is there one second, and the next, he and his bright red scarf and just as bright socks is halfway down the water, standing right at the edge of where sea meets sand and kicking lightly at it.
It's mesmerising, how he jumps. Wet spot to dry spot, step away as if a ballerina when the sea-foam tries to lap at his loafers, slow and playful as if the North Sea is kindest mistress and not a violent force of nature stretched between countries that fucking hate each other.
Leia laughs, not unkindly, next to him and Alex realises he's being a-
"Ay ey AY!! Are you gonna bloody jump or somethin'?!" Hands around his mouth to aim his words, Alex realises too late the wind's just- well. It's not gonna actually do anything.
Lei's hand on his back, pushing lightly. "You gon' be a man?" She teases, Alex kind of wishes he'd worn proper loafers before remembering what Ollie has are genuine Oxfords, and one shoe already in hand, rushes for his sock.
Leia's bemused as she says something else. All Alex catches is 'tights under there' and he decides right then and there his shoes can wait, they're not interesting enough for seagulls and it's way late anyway. Jumping his way down the pebbles, careful of the potential glass, he throws aside his other sock and takes off in a half-decent sprint.
He catches Oliver in a waltz, or maybe Ollie catches him.
"It's bloody cold out here, mate," a step back, Ollie spins them, Alex forgets how to breathe as the freshest scent of iodine and salt suddenly makes the moment too real. His friend- his date- pushes him into a slight dip, he can hardly tell where the shores screech.
He needs this man. His fingers unhook from the tie of Oliver's coat too late to pretend neither of them noticed.
"Other than some people," Ollie says, and drags Alex forward toward the thrumming lights of the city rather than the oceanic abyss, "I wear sensible shoes."
He sounds as if he's talking to a stubborn toddler. Maybe a teenager. His eyes reflect nothing, or maybe the sea, the irises sparking a cold-hot white exactly like its rippling surface, the kindest tension Alex has ever felt.
"I really don't get-"
Oliver twirls away. Was- shit, Alex's grip was basically nothing at that rate, that was bloody rude-
"Your socks, dear. You gonna let Leia be picking those up for you?"
Shit, she is. Why are these motherfuckers always so far ahead of 'im? Alex stumbles, Oliver's arm just happens to be there.
A colder face, disgust, Ollie rips away- he twirls- whelp. He was gonna fall on his expensive fucking dress, or coat, or whatever it is. Alex isn't letting the rocks stain, there's vomit on them.
Trembling in his carefully tight hands, Oliver flits between the vomit, the shoes- or lack thereof- and Alex's face. His eyes are black, human, he isn't running or trying to tear a muscle.
To be polite, Alex at least looks away.
"What, if- what?" Ollie says, and he's always been like this. At least now they're on a date, one mask down, and Lei comes closer with Alex's socks.
He doesn't disappear. Same- same old Oliver, "Blimey, mate," Alex mutters to the rocks, and helps his friend to his feet, "scared me half to death, ya did."
"I- didn't mean to?" Oliver raises his brow, challenging Alex to argue.
Trembling all over, Alexander accepts a dry towel Leia had the foresight to pack, and drops on a clean bit of roundy gravel.
"You… why didn't you wear shoes?" Oliver asks, or something like it anyway- he's looking at Leia, it's windy as all hell, and Alex's feet are warm with cold-ass towel because he knows abrasions are bad on over-cold skin. Sudden jumps in temperature, blood vessel sensitivity, something like it! Something- something bloody like this-
It startles the hell out of him when Leilei drops on his left. Alex turns, and predictably, Oliver's settling, eyes as black as a solar eclipse and twice as mesmeric.
He shoulda taken sunglasses.
"Oh, you should what?" Ollie asks, because of course he hears all the wrong things.
"Sunglasses, man," Alex corrects, "I'm taking sunglasses next time."
Ollie looks between him, the clean-ish pebbles, and Leia. She sits to the side, studies him back- studies them both back- and doesn't push.
For lack of a better world, Alex leans into hers.
Per usual, Oliver is dark. He always feels like a shadow, even when he's wearing white.
"You gon' hold m'hand?" Frankly exhausted, Alex offers said hand, open and easy to grab onto however Ollie likes.
He gets taken by the wrist, and when Oliver leans into him, hand clasped warmly and forearm circled over clothes, he doesn't know what they'd do if he wasn't here.
…
…
..
.
A whisper over his ear.
"Are you happy?" Leia asks, and the hand she had on Alex's shin has mysteriously disappeared.
Hair, rough felted fabric and a taste of salt, a press of twined arms right there in the juncture of his frigid back.
"I'm happy enough," Oliver answers, and it matters too much to him that he'd had Alex first.
Lucky for them, a vomit stained, dark beach isn't the place for hysterical laughter. They kiss instead, and Alex breathes content to fold between them.