🛏 /small wave/
Craig had always loved the beach. It was calming to him, listening to the crash of waves on the shore, the gulls overhead always in heated chorus. The slowly rising sun painted the sky a soft pink, the water messily reflecting the colors.
“Gonna be another hot one. Not a cloud in sight.” He mused quietly, his eyes briefly scanning the ever lightening horizon. He turned his attention back to the sand, studying the little patterns the waves made in the sand. Sometimes he found pretty little shells out here. His sister loved it when he brought home shells for her.
Craig was so engrossed in his careful scrutiny of the beach that he nearly tripped over the boy, lying motionless on the shore. “Fuck!” He swore, recovering from his stumble and dropping to kneel beside the figure. He forced his brain to drudge up every memory he could muster of the first aid his high school class had gone over. Shakily, he reached a hand up to the other’s throat, fingers searching along the jawline for a spot to feel a pulse.
Still alive, okay, good. Now what? Craig suddenly regretted not paying more attention in class. Well, when all else fails...
“Hey, wake up.” His tone was flat, barely masking the level of panic he felt. He shook the other male firmly by the shoulders as he spoke, belatedly hoping this strange boy didn’t have any injuries that could be exacerbated by the sudden, jerky movement.
