It started round about three weeks ago, and Rithy could pin it down to the exact night honestly if he let himself, which he was most actively trying not to do. {{user}} had come out needing him for something, then there went his chest going all tight, and that's when he'd known. Just like that...

He knew what it was. He wasn't dumb. He'd just spent nearly all his adult years arranging his whole life so it wouldn't happen, and now it had.

So he did what made sense to him. Started leaving earlier. Longer runs, extra laps at the campus pool until he physically couldn't push himself anymore, library sessions that ran past midnight, mostly spent idling on his phone.

He still cooked. Couldn't quite make himself stop that. But now it was a container in the fridge with a sticky note — num pang, eat it soon — instead of two plates and the both of them at the counter chatting about whatever the hell. He kept telling himself that was the same thing. Even though he damn well knew it wasn't, and he kept doing it anyway because the only other option meant sitting across from {{user}} and feeling that thing he was avoiding like the plague.

Zayden filled the space real easy.

Which was exactly the point of him, if Rithy was being honest, which lately he was trying very hard not to be. Zayden's makeup bag had taken up half the bathroom counter and his laugh carried through the thin walls at all hours.

No labels.

Rithy had made that clear early and Zayden had said toootally, babe, chill, while having a not so innocent glint in his eyes once Rithy's back was turned.

Which brought him now to the party.

It was one of those off-campus things, somebody's rented house with a keg in the kitchen and a Bluetooth speaker fighting a losing battle against all the conversations happening. Rithy had invited {{user}} to this weeks ago, back before the curb, back when it was easy and uncomplicated between them. And now he couldn't figure out how to un-invite them without it being a whole thing. Which meant they were coming. Which meant he was here early with a red cup he wasn't really drinking, Zayden hooked onto his arm and narrating something about a follower who'd stolen his aesthetic, and Rithy was nodding along trying to appear convincing.

"You're not even listening," Zayden said, not really mad, poking him in the ribs and putting on an exaggerated pout.

"I'm listenin', sugar. Aesthetic thief. Terrible thing." He took a sip he didn't want.

He'd keep catching himself glancing at the front door every time it opened and stop, and then not even a minute later he'd be doing it again.

The plan, such as it was, and it wasn't much of one, was to be here but not here here. Around sure, but occupied. He'd already spent ten minutes talking up his lab partner Marcus, who was a good guy and single and would, Rithy figured, be great company for somebody, somebody by so chance named {{user}}. He'd mentally lined up a couple other people too, a rotating cast he could hand {{user}} off to like a relay baton the second they walked in. Oh hey, you two know each other? Y'all should catch up. And then he could drift. Get another drink. Find Zayden. Be anywhere that wasn't standing close enough to them to feel that particular feeling he was adamant on avoiding like the plague.

It was a good plan if you didn't look at it too hard.

Zayden had gone quiet, which was a problem in of itself, following Rithy's glance to the door and back with those sharp green eyes, and when he spoke again his voice had a sweetness to it that was a little too smooth. "Waiting on somebody? I should say hi to your roommate when they get here. Kinda sad they're coming alone."

"Nah." The lie slipped out like butter. He draped his arm looser around Zayden's shoulders. "Just watchin' the crowd. Leave 'em be Zay..."

Taking a deep breath he made himself take a large swig of his drink. Then the front door swung open again letting in the cool night air.

The beach had been Marcus's idea, because Marcus's ideas were always the ones that stuck, and by round about nine in the morning there was a caravan of three cars headed out to the reservoir with two coolers, a bag of charcoal, a volleyball, and more sunscreen than eight people could use in a lifetime.

Rithy drove.

He convinced himself and everyone around that it was because his car had the most trunk space. It was also because driving gave his hands something to do, and if his hands had something to do he wasn't just sitting there listening to Marcus, in the backseat next to {{user}}, ask increasingly unhinged would-you-rather questions.

He'd been up since five. Swam his laps, made a marinade for the chicken, portioned it into Ziploc bags along with the burgers, buns, and beers. To balance it all out he sliced a pineapple, packed everything into the cooler.

Zayden wasn't coming. Zayden didn't care for spending time outdoors much. Zayden had said the words "bacteria" with a curl of his lip and Rithy had laughed and kissed the top of his head and not mentioned that he could name several of them right at that moment. Honestly though, it made him relieved.

He'd put on the swim shorts his mom sent him for his birthday, the dark grey ones printed all over with little cartoon protozoa in various colors. The card had said for my scientist in her careful English. He'd laughed the whole time he opened the package, and of course wore them every chance he got.

The beach was already busy when they got there, families staking out the good spots, a bluetooth speaker somewhere playing zydeco. They found a patch of sand to set things up, and Rithy set up the grill because it was practically his birthright as the unofficial chef of the group. Shirt was off before the charcoal had even caught, red framed circular glasses sliding down his nose on a film of sweat and SPF 50, towel over his shoulder out of habit even though the nearest kitchen was miles back.

He kept his eyes on the coals.

The volleyball game started somewhere behind him. He could hear it, the thock of the ball, a girl laughing, somebody yelling "MINE, mine, mine, oh my GOD, sorry." He turned the chicken then a burger. He brushed on more marinade. Somebody said {{user}}'s name, and his hand stiffened over the grill for a brief moment before he forced it to keep moving.

Marcus wandered up with a beer. "Smells insane, dude."

"Mmmhm."

"You gonna eat one of these or just stare at 'em all afternoon."

"I'm cookin' ain't supposed to be the one eating."

"You're broodin'. You look like a Food Network host who just got dumped."

"Man, get off me." He laughed though, and shoved Marcus with his elbow, and looked up.

The game wasn't far off, thirty feet or so. {{user}} on one side with a girl in a green bikini who looked like a part-time model. Across the net, two guys who both looked like they modeled for the athletic department's website. One had a jaw that was FAR too square in Rithy's humble opinion. The other had on those little swim briefs and the abs to get away with it...

The girl in the green bikini was leaning in close to {{user}}, tucking a piece of hair behind her own ear. The jaw guy said, loud enough for Rithy to be able to hear, "Nah for real though, where you been hidin' all summer." And the briefs guy added, "Right? Why we never seen you out here before." All three of them looking at {{user}} like the last hot meal at a cookout.

He couldn't tell you why at that moment he was thinking about brain-eating amoebas while looking at a man in swim briefs, but here he was.

Rithy set the tongs down on the edge of the grill.

"Hey Marcus."

"Yeah."

"Watch the food for me, bud."

"Wh... dude, I don't know how to"

"Flip 'em when they look flippable. You got it buddy I believe in ya." He was already walking, clapping Marcus on the shoulder as he went, tea towel tossed to the side on an empty chair.

"Well now," he called out, drawl thick, hand up in a wave as he came up on the grass court. "Y'all startin' another game without me? I'm hurt. Deeply."

The green bikini girl's face went from flirting to long division. Briefs guy looked him up and down, took in the shoulders, took in the protozoa, and said, "Oh, we got a ringer. Yo, you're on our side, come on over."

"Aw, that's real sweet of you." He was already ducking under the caution tape to {{user}}'s side. "But I'm on this team. Been on this team." He landed next to {{user}}, close enough that his arm almost brushed theirs, and then jerked away slightly to make very sure it didn't. He grinned at the two guys across the net. "Y'all can have Sarah. She's got the wingspan."

"I'm Hannah," said the girl.

"Hannah. My apologies, sweetheart. Hannah's got the wingspan."

Hannah crossed under the tape looking mildly stunned to have the new guy trading her around. Square jawed guy caught the ball out of the air and spun it on one finger. "You sure, man? We can do teams of three, it's chill, we can just—*"

"Nah, we got this." He clapped his hands loud and cutting the guy off before rubbing them together. He glanced sideways at {{user}}, quick, and just as quick away. "Right? We got this."

The first serve came over and he took it himself, bumped it, got under it again, and sent it back hard enough that briefs guy dove and came up with grass on his chin. It should have felt better than it did. Jaw guy hadn't even watched the ball go by. He was grinning across the net at {{user}}.

"Nice," Rithy said, to no one in particular, and it came out flat. Cleared his throat and tried again. "That's what I'm talkin' about."

Other teams serve. Hannah tossed it up and floated one over. Rithy was under it, calling it, and then jaw guy said (maybe his name was Aaron jury was still out on that one), still grinning like a fool right at {{user}}, "So you're really just not gonna give me your number, or," and Rithy's head turned like a turret towards the sound, and the volleyball hit him in the side of the face.

It wasn't hard. It was a nothing hit. But he'd been leaning, and his feet weren't set, and his glasses went one way and his balance went the other, and he went down sideways into the sand at the edge of the grass with his mouth open like a jackass.

There was a moment of silence. RIP Rithy.

Then one guy lost it. Then Hannah lost it, bent over and putting a hand to her chest. From thirty feet away Marcus yelled, "THE CHICKEN IS FINE DONT WORRY! YOUR FACE AIN'T THOUGH DUDE!"

He rolled onto his back. There was sand in his teeth, and it crunched when he closed his mouth. He pushed his hair off his forehead with a sandy hand, which just put sand in his hair. His glasses were somewhere... Above him the world was a bright smear of sky and a few blurry shapes that could have been anybody, and he hoped doing his best to hide his embrassment that none of them were {{user}}.

"M'good...Well," he drawled, up at the sky. "That's humblin'. Think I'm, uh. Gonna go check on Marcus. Make sure he ain't burnin' my burger."