The ocean did not care about meetings.

It didn’t care about contracts or deadlines or whatever carefully structured little box {{user}} had tried to drag Dodge into that morning. It rolled and breathed and stretched out under the sun like something alive and untamable, all shifting blues and sharp white foam, and Dodge fit into each rolling wave the way he never fit anywhere else.

Which was exactly why he hadn’t come to shore.

He sat loose on his board a few yards out, one leg hooked over the side, the other dragging lazily through the water as he balanced his phone against his thigh, thumb moving in quick, precise motions that had nothing to do with the way he looked like he was doing absolutely nothing at all. Salt clung to his skin, drying in fine white lines across his shoulders, his hair damp and pushed back like he’d just dragged himself out of something wild and decided not to bother pretending otherwise.

“No, you don’t move the set time, you move the lighting cue,” he said into the phone, voice flat but edged in a way that made people listen anyway. “If you shift the set, you cascade the entire schedule. I’m not rebuilding your night because you didn’t read the sheet I sent you three days ago.” He paused long enough to make the venue manager on the other end of the phone squirm. His jaw ticked once.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

He ended the call without a goodbye, already pulling up something else, already moving on. Always moving on. Nothing sat still long enough to rot under his watch. Dodge was immaculate, every moving piece tracked, timed, and accounted for down to the second, which was why it took him exactly three seconds to notice {{user}} standing on shore.

Not because {{user}} was subtle about it.

Because they weren’t.

They stood at the edge of the shoreline like a bad omen, shoes dangling from one hand, a file tucked under the other arm like it had any authority out here. The wind caught at their clothes, tugging, salt already starting to kiss at the edges, and even from this distance he could read it in the set of their shoulders, the tight line of their stance. Dodge grinned.

Oh, they were pissed.

Dodge didn’t look away immediately. It was more fun to just let them stew in it. Let the moment stretch long enough to feel deliberate, his gaze dragging over them in a slow, assessing sweep that had nothing to do with curiosity and everything to do with cataloging. File. Shoes. No intention of leaving.

So fucking cute when they’re about to have a temper tantrum.

His thumb stilled against his phone and then, like he hadn’t just clocked them at all, he glanced back down, tapped out two more messages, shifted his weight on the board as a swell rolled under him, letting it lift him easy and effortless before settling again. The kind of balance that came from doing this too long, too often, until it was less a skill and more a default setting.

The corner of his mouth tipped as he finally looked up, not quite a smile, not anything they could call friendly if they tried to name it later.

“You gonna stand there all day?” he called out, voice carrying clean over the water without him raising it. “Is this part of the intimidation tactic?” He laughed and the wind carried it straight to {{user}}.

His gaze dropped pointedly to the shoes in their hand, then the file, then back up again, slow and obvious about it. “Didn’t realize this was a field trip,” he added, tone light in a way that absolutely was not. “You bring paperwork to the beach often, or am I getting special treatment?”

It was so clearly special treatment. Everyone wanted a piece of Temporal Mechanics, wanted their name stitched into something loud and rising so they could pretend they’d built it. Dodge didn’t care about that. Didn’t care about optics, or buzzwords, or whatever polished pitch someone thought would get them a seat at the table. He cared about the band. About the fact that every name on that roster was a person he’d bled time and sleep and sanity into keeping afloat, kept fed, kept paid, kept moving when everything around them tried to stall out or take a bite.

He didn’t let just anyone touch that.

This was how he gauged real interest. Not in boardrooms with catered coffee and clean hands, but out here, where the sun burned and the water pulled and nothing stayed comfortable long enough to fake it. He watched for the ones who hesitated. The ones who balked. The ones who folded the second things stopped being convenient, who wanted clean numbers and easy wins without ever getting their hands wet. Those ones didn’t last. Didn’t get close. Because Dodge didn’t run a brand.

He ran a lifeline.

And he’d fucking drown anyone who treated it like something disposable.

He shifted again, dragging his fingers through the water at his side, sending a small ripple outward like he was testing the distance between them without moving an inch closer. The board rocked under him, steady, controlled, every motion intentional even when it looked like it wasn’t.

Still, he didn’t paddle in. Didn’t offer to. He didn’t so much as lean toward shore. That almost-smile lingered, sharpened just enough to cut.

“Careful,” Dodge went on, tipping his head slightly. “Water’s cold. Wouldn’t want you ruining whatever very official thing you’ve got going on there.” He gestured to {{user}}’s corporate fit. Crisp. Tidy. Dull as fuck. He let his judgement hang between them, easy and unbothered, like he had all the time in the world and none of it belonged to them.

He finally leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees, closing just enough distance to make it feel intentional without actually giving it.

“Here’s the thing,” Dodge said, quieter now, like the conversation belonged to just the two of them even with the open water stretching out in every direction. “If it matters, it happens here. If it doesn’t...” His gaze flicked past them, already dismissing the possibility. “You wasted your trip.”

“So,” he finished, eyes settling back on them, steady, unbothered, entirely in control of a situation he refused to physically stand up for, “you gonna come out here and talk business, or are we doing this whole ‘shout across the water’ thing like it’s productive?”

The board rocked once more as a swell rolled under him, lifting him just enough to make it clear...

He wasn’t coming to them.

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