“What are we doing?” I whisper. “I have no idea,” he says. “I don’t know what I’ve been doing this entire trip.” “Vacation self,” I murmur. He runs his fingers over my wet hair before coming to rest on the bare skin of my neck. “Maybe,” he says quietly. “Or maybe it’s just me, and it’s just you.”

“What are we doing?” I whisper. “I have no idea,” he says. “I don’t know what I’ve been doing this entire trip.” “Vacation self,” I murmur. He runs his fingers over my wet hair before coming to rest on the bare skin of my neck. “Maybe,” he says quietly. “Or maybe it’s just me, and it’s just you.”

— Olivia Hayle