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“Hubert!”
The smooth, spirited tones of Ferdinand’s voice — the very tones that have plagued Hubert’s ears since childhood, and which he has received with more fondness of late — reach him from across the sand.
“There you are!” Ferdinand looms over him, hands on his hips, all ivory and flame against the summer backdrop. “I require your assistance.”
Hubert does not budge from his cross-legged position, nor does he set down his book. He has everything set up here just as he likes it — as best he can like it, given the circumstances. He has never seen the appeal of beaches. Blazing heat or a tiresome wind, rarely anything in between. Children squealing. Sand everywhere. Truly a nightmare on earth.
Nevertheless, he has done his utmost to carve a little sanctuary of his own away from the salt and squealing and out of the sun. He has his book and a large bottle of water; he’s under a parasol and sitting at the centre of a picnic rug; and up until now, he has been happily undisturbed. He has been tasked with guarding everyone’s belongings, a duty he is very happy to undertake if it means he gets to endure the day mostly on his own. He gets points for being sociable and attending an event with his friends, while recreating, to the best of his ability, the circumstances of being at home by himself.
“Assistance?” he repeats, noting with suspicion the bottle of sun lotion in Ferdinand’s grasp.
Ferdinand kneels down onto the picnic rug, taking no care to minimise the sand on his person before doing so. Hubert purses his lips at the flurry of grains on his patchwork rug. With great reluctance, he presses a finger between the relevant pages of his book.
“Oh, come on.” Ferdinand waggles the bottle of lotion in his direction. “I need you to do the parts of my back I can’t reach. It’s your job now.”
Hubert raises his eyebrows. “Is that so?”
He is quite sure that this is not his responsibility. It seems like the role of a boyfriend, and he and Ferdinand are decidedly not boyfriends. The transition from dating to relationship requires proper discussion, and no such conversation has taken place between himself and Ferdinand. They are simply childhood friends who kissed at a party and have been on a handful of dates since. Ferdinand insists on calling them dates, at least. As far as Hubert is concerned, they went to a tea house and to a museum, both of which they have done before.
(Although, had they visited a tea house or a museum prior to Edelgard’s birthday party, they would probably have been joined by other people. And it’s unlikely that Ferdinand would have insisted on holding his hand as they walked through the exhibits. And Hubert certainly would not have invited him up to his apartment for a drink afterwards, or been willing to let Ferdinand sleep in his bed.
Still. They are not boyfriends — though Hubert is unsure of what they are, exactly — and to describe this as his job feels like a stretch.)
“Hubert!” Ferdinand insists. “You don’t want me to burn, do you?”
Pale as moonlight, Ferdinand is certainly an easy victim for sunburn. Hubert has not wasted his breath pointing this out to him, because Ferdinand has spent many years in his own body and knows perfectly well that he’s liable to turn lobster red with too much exposure. If he chooses to go shirtless in summer, that is entirely his business.
(Well. If Hubert is frank, it’s possible he has more feelings on the matter than that. Ferdinand’s current state of shirtlessness is also, undeniably, a considerable distraction for Hubert. Thick thighs peek out of his swim shorts, resting against his calves as he kneels. His chest, lightly dusted with hair, is dangerously close to being in Hubert’s eyeline. His stomach rounds out gently and laps over the waistband of his shorts. His cheeks are a little flushed, perhaps already marked by the sun. His eyes are sparkling like he knows full well that he is teasing Hubert and succeeding.)
Ferdinand, growing impatient with Hubert’s silent musing, swipes the book from his hand and sets it aside. Hubert mourns the loss of his page.
“If you insist,” he says with a sigh, accepting the bottle of lotion that Ferdinand thrusts at him as though he has any choice in the matter.
“Thank you, Hubert!” Ferdinand unfurls from his kneel and shuffles around so he’s facing the ocean and Hubert has a face-full of fiery hair. “You’re a big help.”
Hubert parts Ferdinand’s long hair in the centre like curtains and arranges each side over each shoulder, providing an unimpeded stretch of skin for him to work with. He tries not to think about the constellation of moles on Ferdinand’s lower back, which he sometimes traces with his fingers, on other occasions where he is gifted the opportunity to see them. Or the slope of Ferdinand's hips where they curve out into what might be called love handles, an excellent place for Hubert’s touch to settle. Or the spot between his shoulder blades where Hubert kissed him the night before and made him shiver.
Hubert pops the cap off the sun lotion and squeezes far too much into his palm.
“Blast,” he mutters.
“Everything alright?” Ferdinand chirps.
“Yes, yes.” He slathers the excess onto Ferdinand’s back.
“Oof! It’s cold.”
“My sincerest apologies.”
Ferdinand gives a little huff. Hubert rolls his eyes even though he knows Ferdinand can’t see it.
“Hubert,” Ferdinand says, while Hubert rubs lotion into his left shoulder, endeavouring to avoid the rebellious strand of hair that has found its way back on the wrong side, “are you enjoying your book?”
“I was, before someone came along and insisted he was unable to apply sunscreen unaided.”
“I’m glad. Perhaps you might take a break from reading, though? The water really is delightful.”
Hubert has never been in a body of water he found anywhere close to delightful. Sun, sea and sand are a trifecta of suffering for him. He is not a beach person, merely a person with very persuasive friends. He would have enjoyed his book far more at home.
“Or how about volleyball?” Ferdinand continues. “Caspar has been trying to get us to play all afternoon. We could be on a team together.”
“You know perfectly well you don’t want to be on a sports team with me.”
“It isn’t about winning, Hubert, it’s about having fun, and I would very much like to be on a team with you.”
Hubert’s eyes roll again. He closes the lid on the lotion with a sharp click. “Done.”
“Wonderful!” Ferdinand scrambles around in a circle so they’re facing each other again. He looks confused when Hubert attempts to hand the sunscreen back to him. “Oh, well, you’ve done such a good job with my back. Perhaps you could help me out a little more?” he says hopefully, eyes wide, suggesting nothing but innocent motivations.
Hubert clears his throat. “I’m sure you are more than capable of doing that yourself.”
“It’ll be so much quicker if you do it. And then I’ll get out of your hair, I promise,” he says, swishing his tresses over his shoulders again so Hubert can start working on his front.
“Ferdinand,” Hubert says weakly.
If he has to massage lotion into Ferdinand’s soft tummy and perky chest, in a public place, with all of their friends a stone’s throw away, he will combust.
“Perhaps. Ah. Have you considered wearing a shirt? For optimal sun protection.”
“Not while we’re swimming! I’ll cover up fully after that. For volleyball. You know I take skincare very seriously.”
Hubert suspects he might be sweating. “Ferdinand. Really. I don’t think…”
Ferdinand leans forward, taking Hubert’s face between his hands. His smile is very sweet and his eyes are sparkling. “What don’t you think, Hubert?”
His mouth is dry. He still isn’t accustomed to this, being so close with Ferdinand in public. He has spent so long doing his utmost to stay away.
“You’re teasing me.”
“Yes, Hubert, I am.”
His kiss is sweet and soft. He smells of salt and sea with a faintly chemical note from the sun lotion.
“That is … unkind of you.”
“Yes. Quite beastly.”
Ferdinand kisses him on the nose, and Hubert feels himself going very pink indeed. He pushes his hair out of his eyes, wondering how exactly he found himself in this predicament, while Ferdinand squirts a healthy dose of sunscreen into his palm.
“How about this,” he says, beginning to slather himself in lotion. A slick hand glides across the crest of his little belly; Hubert concentrates very hard on looking him in the eye. “A compromise. Since I have relieved you of your sunscreen duties, in return you will come and play volleyball. I’m sure Edelgard will join our team as well.”
Hubert is certain this is not how compromises work. He is not required, after all, to help Ferdinand in the first place and needs no get-out clause. Nor is he required to be smashed in the face by a volleyball that Caspar sends hurtling in his direction.
He can also tell that Ferdinand, like an excitable dog with a chew toy, is not about to let this go.
Hubert sighs. “Not volleyball. But something else. Perhaps … a walk. Will that do?”
“Yes!” Ferdinand pauses with a face full of sunscreen, his expression lighting up around the white smudges. “By the water’s edge?’
Hubert’s brow furrows in suspicion.
“We can go that way.” Ferdinand waves in the direction that, mercifully, involves fewer surfers, sunbathers and screaming children. “We’ll have the beach to ourselves in no time.”
This might be true. Hubert scans the area. Its population density is sparser. A plus, certainly.
“Yes!” Ferdinand says again, casting the bottle of lotion aside. “An excellent idea. I knew you were a romantic at heart.”
“I fail to see what romance has to do with a little light exercise.”
“It will be romantic because we are doing it together, Hubert.”
“I see.”
Ferdinand huffs. “I’m not sure you do, but we can work on that.”
He scrambles to his feet, looming over Hubert again, his fire eclipsing the sun as it always does. He holds out a hand and, despite his better judgement, Hubert allows himself to be dragged to his feet.
The tang of sunscreen is still present. A blob of it remains under Ferdinand's left eye, where he has failed to rub it in sufficiently across his cheekbone.
“If I may,” Hubert tries, reaching up a hand to signal his intention, hovering in front of Ferdinand’s face.
He brushes a thumb along Ferdinand’s freckled cheek. What should be a practical move is rendered sentimental as he finds excuses for his touch to linger. Ferdinand’s bright smile informs him this has not gone unnoticed.
It is all entirely vexing, because the page of his book is lost, and the picnic rug is submerged in sand, and he can feel the sun’s oppressive brightness and hear the sharp screeching of children improperly supervised by their parents. He will almost certainly overheat on their walk, because he is a creature of cool and shade. He will most likely be cajoled into playing volleyball afterwards, and Edelgard’s competitive streak is intimidating at the best of times, and if Caspar serves with his usual level of enthusiasm then they will be fortunate if no one leaves with a concussion.
But Ferdinand looks so happy. Ferdinand is looping his arms around Hubert’s waist despite everyone who might be watching and seeing them together. Ferdinand is close and soft and warm, and Ferdinand is kissing him again.
Perhaps the day is not altogether dreadful.