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ARLO DOESN’T USUALLY DRINK— in fact , he usually says he doesn’t drink at all. a white lie. just a little one. he doesn’t drink drink. not like the long line of alcoholics before him. but he’ll have a beer , on occasion. particularly when kai or denny or river are around to shove a fresh-from-the-cooler bottle against his chest with a pat on his cheek ; their grins just slightly different versions of a matching set.
so , he doesn’t usually drink... but tonight he’s having a beer and it feels like a shard of ice in his bare hand so he sets it down on the sand next to him and he leans back against the old fallen log behind him. he’d come with friends but , as was usual of them , they’d managed to drift off in separate directions. it’s an easy thing to do , in the early summer , surrounded by a crowd of faces ; some familiar , some new , most of them drunk. arlo figures they’ll come back eventually and , if not , well ; he’d probably start hearing his name in the sound of the waves crashing off in the distance and have to go get his board.
for now, though, he’s content to sit and watch the party ; occasionally lifting his beer to take a sip before setting it back down on the sand. in fact , he’s able to fall into a comfortable rhythm , watching the fire pop and hiss while sipping his drink. it’s almost peaceful.
but arlo knows peace never lasts too long , not in coston.
when someone sits down next to him , he turns to look ; almost frowning , but not quite. ❝ that spot’s taken. ❞
