It’s windy and cold on the beach, but Sho stands knee deep in the ocean anyways, admiring Nalu’s form. He’s supposed to be watching for critique purposes, the team having lost their last local competition, but he can’t help but let his thoughts wander. Nalu surfing is just about the only time he can stare, after all. At any other time, Nalu would take his glance as a declaration of war, but he’s too busy for that right now. He’s challenging the waves, brows furrowed with concentration. Sho digs his foot in the sand. He wants to shout, say something encouraging like Masaki does every practice, but he finds the words tangled into an ugly knot in his throat. His mouth opens and closes, and he curses himself internally for not being able to speak. His pulse is vibrating. Somehow, Nalu makes even surfing charismatic... ridiculous. As clueless as Nalu is, Sho is just as far gone.