Always You, Summer

Summer Hayes stepped off the plane and into the embrace of Waikiki Beach, where the golden sunlight washed over her in a warm wave. Hawaii felt like a dream made manifest. Towering coconut trees, crowds clad in vibrant beachwear, and a golden sunset that spilled onto the fine white sand. The ocean shimmered like a million shattered pieces of gold foil, dancing in harmony with the glowing shore. Summer kicked off her shoes. The moment her bare feet touched the soft, powdery sand, a sensation traveled from her soles straight to her heart. With every step, it felt as if the sand were gently hugging her. Her cautious steps turned into a stride, and then into a joyful skip. "I’m here, Honolulu!" Summer shouted at the vast ocean. "I need to find out what magic this place holds... why does my heart tremble just by saying its name?" Suddenly, music drifted from up ahead. Drawn by the melody, Summer saw an open-air stage. Her spirits soared. She decided to grab an ice cream and head straight for the music. Moments later, clutching a towering, rainbow-colored ice cream, Summer rushed toward the audience area. But in her haste, she barely took two steps before she slammed straight into someone. Thud! A muffled sound. Summer felt like a runaway pony crashing headfirst into a solid human wall. She didn’t fall, because the "wall" caught her firmly. But the thing in her hand wasn’t so lucky. The rainbow ice cream—piled high like a precarious little mountain—followed the laws of inertia perfectly. It traced a magnificent parabola in the air before landing with a wet splat. Precise. Comprehensive. Unreserved. Right on the man’s chest. Time seemed to hit the pause button. Summer stiffly raised her head, her eyes trailing up the texture of the expensive fabric. Oh no, she thought. Disaster. The man she had crashed into was dressed entirely in white. It was the lazy golden hour of Waikiki, where tourists wished they could weld their bikinis and floral shorts to their bodies. Yet this man stood there in a crisp, snow-white, high-definition dress shirt without a single wrinkle. He was glowing. Not just from the sunset, but with a cold, pristine light born of extreme cleanliness. And now, that pristine white shirt was suffering an apocalyptic event. Red strawberry jam, blue blueberry jam, yellow mango jam... mixed with melting cream, the colors cascaded down the defined lines of his chest muscles, turning his shirt into an impromptu piece of abstract street art. "..." The man looked down, staring through his sunglasses at the sticky, wet, colorful mess that was currently seeping through the fabric and touching his skin. Summer clearly saw his chest heave violently. A blue vein on his neck pulsed. As an illustrator, she keenly sensed the aura radiating from him—it was the vibe of someone who wanted to destroy the world, or perhaps toss her into the ocean for a thorough wash. It was the prelude to a breakdown for someone with severe OCD. "You..." The man took a deep breath, about to speak. Strum— Just in the nick of time, the band under the giant century-old Kiawe tree plucked their guitar strings. A husky voice drifted on the sea breeze, mixed with the scent of salt: "Once there was a way to get back homeward..." It was The Beatles' Golden Slumbers. "Shh!" Summer’s eyes went wide and round. She immediately made a silencing gesture. The man’s words were choked back in his throat. She seemed to have completely forgotten that he was the victim here. With a face full of excitement, she dared to extend a cream-stained finger and press it vertically right in front of his lips. Ethan: ??? He looked at her in disbelief. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes widened in shock. Miss, you destroyed my shirt, splashed me with ice cream, and now you’re telling me to shut up? Summer completely filtered out his low pressure. In this golden sunset, on this foreign shore, the sudden song hit her emotional heart like a heavy hammer. "Listen..." Summer lowered her voice, her eyes sparkling as if filled with shimmering light. She said with excitement, "It’s that song... um, it is, right?" She even swayed her head to the melody, looking completely intoxicated: "The Beatles' Golden Slumbers! Wow, listening to this song under this sunlight... it’s just too perfect!" Ethan laughed. He actually laughed out of sheer anger. He looked down at the "rainbow" drying and getting stickier on his chest, then looked at the woman in front of him, immersed in the music with zero guilt. It was absurd. Yet, strangely... a little amusing. Summer hummed along, "Sleep pretty darling, do not cry..." before reality finally snapped back. Her vision refocused on Ethan’s chest. The sticky visual impact finally brought her back to earth. "Oh my god! Oops!" She finally remembered the disaster. She gasped. The shirt looked expensive. If the syrup soaked into the fibers and dried, it would be ruined! Panic set in. She tossed the empty cup into a nearby trash can and rushed back to Ethan. "Strip! Take it off! Quick!" Ethan froze. He instinctively took a half-step back, crossing his arms over his chest, and looked at her with one eyebrow raised. "Here?" He glanced around at the bustling tourists, the corner of his mouth curling into a playful, slightly roguish smirk. The OCD rage from moments ago was instantly hidden, replaced by a nonchalant teasing. "Miss, while I don’t mind showing off my body, this is a public place. Isn’t this moving a little too fast?" Summer didn’t catch his innuendo at all. Her mind was filled with saving the shirt (and saving her wallet). She looked serious, her hands even reaching out to undo his buttons. "What are you thinking? I mean take it off so I can wash it for you!" "Hurry, if the syrup dries, it won't come out! I paint for a living, I know how to remove pigments! I have professional cleaning agents, I promise I can wash it like new! Hurry, hurry!" Seeing he was wearing an undershirt, Summer reached out to unbutton his shirt. Ethan looked down as her hands approached. Her fingertips were slightly cool, their temperature seeping through the fabric. Zzzzt. A strange electric current shot up his spine. "No need. I'll wash it myself." Against the background music of Golden Slumbers, under the sky filled with burning clouds, Ethan—the severe germaphobe who usually frowned if anyone touched him—lowered his gaze. The anger seemed to vanish, replaced by a hint of awkwardness. "I was careless just now. I'm sorry, I was just so focused on the live music that I rushed," Summer apologized sincerely. "Mn. I'll handle it. I understand." He looked at the stubborn cowlick on the top of her head and said softly: "Since you are here to escape, you might as well go a little crazy."