Archive of Our Own

Logan was a lover of all things watersports. Diego was a tour guide from Colombia. It was inevitable that the pair would find a shared love of the beach, and that they’d wind up on a beach date. (or several, because, as Logan loved to point out whenever they did anything , you never know when something could turn into tradition, and approximately six seconds into this date, it already felt like they’d found one.) 

They’d arrived at the beach around four in the afternoon, no care in the world for the fact that it was already past peak sunlight hours. This had actually, secretly, been Diego’s intention–as non-pale as Logan was for a redhead, (a daywalker, if you will) it still concerned Diego how quickly he could burn, though Logan lacked concern for it himself. His siblings always got burnt worse, he said, and he was the older brother.

That aside, they weren’t the only ones excited for the afternoon. Cooler in one hand, Diego had their dog’s leash in his other hand. 

Sharkie–a golden retriever puppy Logan had found abandoned and alone without an owner in the street and taken pity on–had taken every element of personality from the first human he had met. He was overexcited, playful, affectionate, loyal, and there was hardly anyone he disliked. He, too, loved the beach, already burrowing his little black nose in the sand and rolling around in it like it was mud at the dog park.

Diego shook his head fondly at the dog’s antics, already lamenting what a pain it would be to clean yellow sand from yellow fur. Logan was a few paces behind, having gone back to the car for a few trips to collect more of their things for the day; a trade off for not having to hold back the dog before they were prepared to let him roam–and by roam, of course they meant tie his leash to their umbrella .

Logan stuck his surfboard into the sand with a grunt, and Diego ogled openly at the way his abs flexed. He had already abandoned his shirt and tossed it atop a pile of their things, clearly eager to get in the water as fast as possible. Diego was about to think some unholy thought about how sexy Logan was when he dropped into a crouch, dopey smile on his face, and pet Sharkie on the head with such ferocity that loose grains of sand flew from his fur. The dog barked with glee at that, nuzzling into Logan’s wrist. How could someone so attractive also be so…good at the same time?

“Someone's excited,” Logan cooed, still on his knees.

“We could have let that someone go if someone else hadn't brought so much stuff.” 

"What's the fun in that, handsome?”

Diego felt his face heat. “Okay…sure,” he conceded, rendered unable to argue when Logan complimented him. “But did you really need a beach ball with your name written on it?”

“There’s so many balls here, what if I get mine mixed up?”

“You should know what your own ball looks like,” Diego pointed out.

“I think you’re just jealous you don’t have a beach ball with your name on it,” Logan shot back, poking Diego’s bare chest upon reference to him. “That’s okay,” he chirped. “My balls are your balls.”

“...Logan,” Diego replied, resigned.

Logan giggled. “Sorry!”

Rather than groan at the horrible innuendo, Diego just stared at Logan, head cocked like a confused dog.

The only one who actually could break any romantic tension in the moment was the dog. Sharkie barked at them both.

“Oh!” Logan blinked, startled, turning back to Sharkie. “Sorry, bud.”

From there, they set up for the evening, laying out a beach towel, sticking the umbrella in the opposite corner to where their surfboards resided, and setting up a cooler of brought-from-home snacks and food between their beach chairs. It turned out that they didn’t need to tie Sharkie’s leash to the umbrella, because as much as he ran around and began to dig holes in the sand while Logan and Diego worked, he was too attached to them to wander out of their view, so they let him out of it and let him roam free.

“So,” Diego asked, wiping sweat off his brow. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Always.”

“Why did you bring two surfboards? I…can’t surf.”

“I’m gonna teach you,” Logan’s words weren't an offer. They were a statement.

“Uh…”

“What?”

“I’m…a little nervous about it.”

“Why?” Unlike most moments wherein one person asks another why they're afraid, it wasn't judgemental. “You’ve always wanted to; I remember you saying that.”

“It's not just about surfboarding for me,” Diego confessed. “It's about going out of my comfort zone–embracing what I would stop myself from doing before I came to North America.”

“Ah, I get it.”

Diego looked askance, paying almost no mind to the assurance.

“Hey, it's cool. We’ll build up to it,” Logan said, voice quiet. As goofy as he could be, he understood the sanctity of a tender moment. “Let's smack my ball around for a while.”

“I am…so lucky…” Diego muttered.

“Aw, me too!”

“...That you didn't bring multiple balls.”

Logan went red like they’d already been there for an hour. 

The two of them volleyed the ball for a while until Logan got distracted by Sharkie trying to get the ball, causing it to land in the water. 

“Well… I guess that’s our sign to get in ourselves!”

 Logan, without a second thought, gave Diego a broad, brilliant smile and rushed back to where they had set up their towels to get his surfboard, tucking it under his left arm. Like Logan’s beach ball, the bottom of the board had his name on it. Diego smiled back before pulling the ball out of the ocean, not wanting to let it float away. He tossed it back to Logan to put it with the rest of their things, but he couldn’t manage to corral it with his non-dominant right hand. It crashed into their cooler and stopped abruptly.

“Slow down! We still have all day.”

Logan did, but only a little. He just couldn’t help himself when it came to things he was excited about–especially if it involved the water.  Diego had always found that side of his boyfriend adorable, and, if you asked Diego, Logan was lucky for that, because sometimes his excitement was so aggressive that he forgot his responsibilities.

“Um… Logan, darling, we may want to attach the dog to the leash first,” Diego muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Logan blinked dumbly, only now realizing the excitement was taking over.

“Right,” he said quickly. “Can you find it? I forget where I put it.”

“I got it, babe.”

Diego was about to start trying to find said leash when Logan got distracted by something else. “Aw, man,” he said suddenly, sounding disappointed.

“What?”

“My name washed off my beach ball.”

“Oh, you can still tell it's yours?” Diego asked.

A groaned “Shut up,” was Logan’s only reply.

It took a little fishing around, but Diego found the leash again and tied it around the umbrella after getting Sharkie into it, leaving as much slack as possible.

“Now are you ready to surf?” Logan asked after Diego had made sure the leash was secure for a third time.

Diego sighed shortly. “Yeah.”

Login turned to face his boyfriend. “It’s ok to be nervous, you can watch me first.” 

After watching Logan for a little while, and listening to him explain and re-explain his technique–something about starting from your knees, and anything he could have come up with about maintaining one's center of gravity–Diego finally gave it a go. The two stayed out on the water for a long while. This was clearly what Logan had primarily set out to do today. 

In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the sun was setting beyond the horizon, turning the water purple in the light. But the couple on their surfboards was clueless to the gorgeous meld of color. They were lost in the rush of the waves, and more importantly, each other.

The biggest wave of the night just happened to be the first one Diego was able to get on top of. Logan missed the thrill of it for himself because he was too busy soaking in the elation on Diego’s face and counting his lucky stars.

Finally, Diego and Logan both wiped out on the same wave. Logan drifted back to the sand with the current and Diego wound up briefly going under. The latter spat up seawater, and when he couldn’t see Logan doing the same, he called out to him.

“Logan! Logan!”

“I’m right here,” Logan answered, relatively quiet and totally calm in comparison. He was lying halfway in the sand, staring up at the sky with long, slow blinks. When Diego found him, he was dripping ocean water and sweat onto his bare chest.

“Are you alright? Did you hit your head?”

“I’m fine,” Logan said. He sat up on the sand with a small grunt and reached upward to fix Diego’s wet hair. “I’m watching the sunset.”

Diego looked up at the sky and the half-visible stars. “It’s nice,” he conceded.

Logan didn’t look away from the sky as Diego walked off for a moment, sand crunching under his feet. When he returned to his view, there was a towel around his dark shoulders and a dog circling his shins.

Logan laughed, a short, almost-mumble of a laugh. “Hey, Sharks,” he said with a smile, rubbing the dog’s head.

“I imagine we’re done surfing for the evening?” Diego prompted.

“Yeah,” Logan agreed, a content tiredness washing over him like the tide.

“Wanna get food from the boardwalk?”

“We brought some food.”

“Wanna get ice cream from the boardwalk?” Diego amended.

“...Sure.”

Diego could tell there was something bothering Logan; it was practically written all over his face. He was tempted to ask what was up. On the other hand, he thought it would be better to wait until they were settled before saying anything. Even though Diego didn't say anything to his boyfriend, he kept looking at him with slight concern when he thought he wasn't paying attention–even the dog could tell there was something keeping the sunshine boy from receiving his and Diego’s attention.  

“Sunshine, do you want me to go up to get our ice cream and you stay with Sharkie? He seems to not want to stop being next to you.” 

It took Logan a moment to realize Diego had spoken. He had spaced out, eyes on the beach ball in his hand. He didn't even notice the dog beside him. 

“ Darling?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks.”

“Of course,” Diego said with a soft smile–the one he always used to cheer Logan up when he needed it. Logan always said he was the only person in his life who knew how to do that. The little things like that were what made Logan fall in love with him all over again. “What flavor do you want?”

“If they have it, cotton candy.”

“I said I was getting ice cream.”

“I know; I want cotton candy ice cream.”

“Aye, my love, that sounds terrible.”

“It’s not!” Logan insisted.

“You can have any flavor at the boardwalk and you want…cotton candy?”

“What are you having?” Logan shot back.

“Chocolate, like a civilized man.”

“Nothing screams civilized like having the same favorite flavor as you did when you were five.”

“As if you didn’t, too.”

“All I’m saying is that it’s a bit hypocritical of you.”

Diego opened his mouth to protest, but found he had no argument to make, and the play fight was over as quick as it began.

“Please,” Logan said, suddenly giving the impression of begging with the way his voice broke. “That’s all I want, just get it for me.”

“Alright.”

Before he left, Diego took Logan by the hand.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly.

 Diego returned in a rush with two cones, the ice cream in them already softening. He counted this as another reason it was a good idea to come to the beach in the evening. If they had been in the sweltering heat of mid-day, the ice cream would be entirely gone by now.

Despite the quick approach of the dark, it was easy to find their chosen location. The barks of a dog lured him back. That and…gentle orange flickering all around the beach towel.

“Logan,” he called out, the blushing grin on his face going against the tone of his words. “What have you done?!”

“I thought I could make this a little more romantic,” Logan murmured when he got closer. Diego could see what the source of light was now. Little, fake, battery-powered candles.

On the inside of the candled perimeter, Logan had already set up the meal, presenting it restaurant-like. Sandwiches were arranged on paper plates opposite each other. Between them, in the middle of a blanket, was the grand cornucopia. A family sized bag of potato chips, a small arrangement of fruits, and…

“Why are the crackers on a fancy platter?” Diego asked earnestly. He had known of everything else they'd packed, but not the fancy board. It must have been packed in Logan’s secret bag of tricks with the “candles”.

“I thought I could do, like… a charcuterie thing with the crackers and cheese…Sharkie kept eating the cheese.

“I didn’t know he liked cheese,” Diego answered.

“I guess he's too much of a snob for Americans but doesn't mind Jack?”

“Figures. Here's your cotton candy horror.”

“You know, it's probably good you got the ice cream. If I got it I’d have eaten it before getting back here,” Logan commented in reply. He wasn’t going to argue anymore whether or not his choice of flavor really was a horror. As if to illustrate his point, he licked a drip of his ice cream that was falling down the cone–turning lavender as the colors melded together–before Diego could pull away. Then he licked the top.

“Wanna see the cheese thing?” he mumbled around his ice cream.

“Sure,” Diego answered, finally digging into his own.

At Diego’s approval, Logan reached blindly into their cooler, finding a few pieces of pre-sliced, cracker-sized cheese. All Logan had to do was put one in his hand, cupping it so it was unreachable by Sharkie, before the dog went ballistic, barking and doing circles around Logan, trying to deduce where on his person the smell was coming from.

Diego lost his mind laughing as Logan extended his hand over his head and the dog began to jump, all of the force of his small body crashing against Logan’s side.

Finally, Logan gave in and gave him the cheese.

“I love you,” Diego blurted to Logan before he could think as he watched their dog devour the little piece of cheese. “I love you so much. I love our silly little life.”

Logan pursed his lips. For half a second, his eyes went somewhere else. It wasn’t long enough for Diego to determine where.

“Yeah,” Logan breathed. “I love you too.”

It wasn’t until they got home and their stuff was already mostly unpacked that Diego figured it out.

“That beach ball thing really upset you, didn’t it?” he asked his boyfriend, words seeming to echo in the silent air of their apartment; the dog was fast asleep.

“...Yeah.”

“Why? It’s only your name.”

“Promise you won’t judge?”

“Promise.”

“When I was a kid, my siblings always used to steal my stuff,” Logan began after a moment, voice wavering ever so slightly. “So I started writing my name on stuff. And my parents…they looked at it and said That’s not fair, why does he have to label what’s his and no one else does? Then they started labelling their stuff, and my siblings’ stuff. They obviously don’t steal my things anymore, but it just became a thing we did as a family. You got something new, you labelled it. So when my name washed off…”

Logan trailed off, and Diego’s eyes softened to the point of welling up with tears. He knew where this was going, but he waited for Logan to finish.

“...I guess it just reminded me of how hard they’ve been taking my sexuality, is all.”

“Oh, my love…”

“I don’t want to be erased from them. I don’t want to be wiped out of family traditions, banished from the family photo album, just because I love you.”

Diego let the words sit there for a minute–all the hurt that was compressed inside them unloading like a spring when spoken. Then, he tried to come up with some comfort.

“Just because they treat you differently doesn't mean you have to give up those things for yourself.”

“Everybody keeps telling me it's not worth keeping them in my life.”

“But those things are part of what makes you so wonderful. So we can re-label the ball and hope things get better, if you'd like.”

“Yes, I would.”

“I’m sorry for downplaying it; I didn't know it meant anything.”

“I didn’t tell you, I didn't expect you to know.”

Diego began rummaging through drawers in search of a permanent marker while Logan deflated the ball to make it easier to write on. When he did write on it, he didn't just write his name.

“Why'd you make it say Logan and Diego ?”

“What’s mine is yours,” Logan answered sweetly. From a man who’d previously had to be so territorial, the words meant something. “And if I can't have this with my family yet, I might as well have it with someone whose love isn't conditional.”

So they’d started two traditions that evening–beach dates and writing both their names on joint possessions.

It wasn't perfect–if it was, Logan could report this to his family. But it was close enough to be content with.

Across the living room, Sharkie stretched awake, picking his head up from his bed and making a comforted noise as he did.

Yes, this was plenty good. Logan, Diego, and their spoiled, cheese-loving prince of a dog.