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He made a noise in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "I'm sure." He glanced at Finley and grinned, then focused again. Luckily, the beach wasn't far. "If you'd like, you can find music that you want to listen to."
"Alright. Well, we're here anyway." He parked, turned off the car and turned to look at Finley. "You sure you want to do this? I can just drive you back to the shop if you're not sure."
Kalian appeared behind him and laid out a plain white blanket, getting out the basket he had for food and such and the small cooler with drinks. He set each thing in different corners, laid out two towels on the blanket, and stretched out on his towel. "The water looks stunning."
He crouched on his knees on the blanket, slipping off his own shirt. Someone nearby - a good-looking African American woman - gasped at the sight of his tattoos, the delicate-looking vines on his spine, hips, back, and ribs shocking her. Kalian winced, turning his head so his face couldn't be seen. He hated going out in public without a shirt on. He was barefoot, so he stood straight and tall beside Finley. "Mind if I join you?"
As Kalian walked by, people stared. He could feel their eyes hot on his back, hotter than the sun, and he felt his face rise with a blush. A few did catcalls, whistles, and he knew those few were men feeling adventurous. There were some who did call out to him, "I like your tats!", "Cool ink!"
He hated it. He hated that he attracted attention. He wasn't beautiful, or handsome, or glorious - he was ugly, and horrible, and vile. Why was something as wonderful as Finley holding his hand so comfortably, dragging him across the sand, into the ocean to play with the waves?
A few adventurous fingers slipped from Kalian's hand to run up his spine and Finley smirked, "You're blushing," he stated as they reached the water's edge, "Not a fan of people paying attention to you?"
"Not at all. Especially because they don't know what my tattoos mean to me." His face was still hot as his feet dug into the sand, warm and squishy under his toes, the water lapping at his toes - which were painted dark magenta - before retreating.
"Just ignore them," Finley suggested, bending down to stick his hands in the water as it rushed to meet them, "They don't know sh!t. It's not their business anyways."
He stepped farther in, the water at his shins now. He drew a lip between his teeth and nibbled on it. The water was cool, but not cold. He inhaled slowly, exhaled more slowly, and felt calmer. "Alright. Just ignore them, right?"