Miguel woke up first the next morning. It took him a little while to remember how he'd ended up in the position he was in, curled up as the little spoon again, with Hawk's arms wrapped tightly around him. But lying there in bed, Eli's warm breath on the back of his neck raising goosebumps all over his skin, the memories of their drunken bedtime talk returned fresh to Miguel's mind.

He thought it would all be nothing more than a fuzzy blur, but he remembered everything, the jokes Hawk made about making out, about setting roots down here together. And Miguel remembered the way Hawk had cradled his neck with his hand, a gesture that had somehow felt even less platonic than the way he was nuzzling against it now.

His best friend was falling in love with him, wasn't he?

Miguel's first instinct was to dismiss the thought as ludicrous. Hawk had never raised the possibility that he carried around any bicurious inclinations before. Not that the subject had ever come up between them. Besides, wasn't it a sign of how comfortable both of them were with their masculinity that they could be close like this without either of them feeling the need to throw in a "no homo"?

Not to mention they'd been living together in super close quarters for a few weeks now and sharing quite a few emotionally-charged conversations. Lots of weird things could start happening between guys who were isolated in a foreign country, sharing a room, and with only each other for company. Wires could get crossed, people could get desperate when they were lonely. It didn't have to mean anything.

After all, Miguel recognized he'd been lonely, too, and wasn't that why he hadn't raised any objection when Hawk pushed their beds together?

Miguel laid a hand over the arm entwined across his torso. The touch enticed Hawk to nestle up even closer against him, and Miguel's cheeks heated from the blood suddenly rushing to his face.

He needed to be the one to do something, right? But what should he do? Have a talk with Hawk? Lay down some boundaries? Gently remind Eli that he was still in a relationship with Sam? Because he still was, right, even though he'd ghosted her for this long?

Yeah, he imagined that conversation with Hawk would go swimmingly. If he was wrong, he would strain things between them for no reason, and no amount of joking it off would take it back. If he was right, he'd hurt Hawk's feelings and risk him going distant. Either way, the rest of their trip would be fraught with awkwardness.

Just ignore it, he thought. Ignore it like he'd been ignoring everything else he didn't want to confront head-on. Like the world he'd left behind in the Valley. Like all those blocked numbers on his phone.

Well, he couldn't ignore the sun, and no matter what, it was time to get up.

Miguel untangled the arm wrapped around him, and as soon as he shifted up on the bed, Hawk stirred from his sleep. Rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes before running a hand over his short hair, Eli remarked, "Man, I thought I'd have a wicked hangover after last night, but I'm actually not feeling that bad."

"Me, neither," said Miguel.

Hawk grinned. "Guess we found our latent superpowers, huh? The ability to get shitfaced without consequence. Bet Sensei Lawrence wishes he could."

"Probably has more to do with us sleeping it off," remarked Miguel, returning his smile even as he wondered whether or not he should ask Hawk if he could remember anything about what had happened last night. He looked for a tell on Eli's face, but it wasn't betraying much beyond residual fatigue. "I'm pretty sure it's past noon now."

"Oh." Pushing the blanket off, Hawk climbed out of bed, stretching. "Guess there goes half our day."

Miguel simply stared at his friend for a long moment before turning his eyes away when Eli took off his shirt, embarrassed for the first time seeing him getting changed in front of him. He preferred to be able to blame the sun for why his face was warming up again.

"Sounds like we should spend the rest of it at the beach then," Miguel suggested, sliding off the foot of the bed, reaching down for his bag to dig out his swim trunks.

And so return to the beach they did. They kicked a cheap ball around the shallow surf for a while, each taking his moment to show off how skillfully he could maneuver it around the other beachgoers or steal it out from under the feet of his opponent. Miguel laughed when he punted it out from between Hawk's ankles, chasing it down the shoreline before kicking it up and juggling it on his knee eight, nine, ten times. No small feat with the incoming waves crashing against his shins.

A yelp escaped Miguel next when Hawk tackled him, sending the both of them colliding into an incoming wave. Spitting out saltwater, Miguel grabbed his friend and rolled him over onto the wet sand. "That's a foul!" he declared, unable to hold back his grin, even as his hair was dripping in his face.

Hawk countered, gripping Miguel's arms and throwing his weight so they rolled over again, this time pinning Miguel under him. And Miguel's breath hitched in his throat when Eli bent down practically face-to-face with him to chuckle. "Not if it's full-contact."

Miguel swallowed hard, feeling his heartbeat in his throat. "Uh, how about we go for a swim now? It's really hot, y'know?"

He watched Hawk's brow crinkle for a second before he shrugged his shoulders, standing up and offering Miguel his hand to pull him back up to his feet. Hawk kept his hand clasped around his for a few lingering seconds, and Miguel recalled the feeling of their fingers entwined from the previous night. And when Hawk let go, Miguel resolved to push that memory to the back of his mind again, giving Eli a playful shove into the water.

Then, forgetting the ball, they swam out into the ocean. Miguel rode against the waves, alternating between breaststrokes and backstrokes until he had swam out far enough that he didn't have to worry about the tide pushing him back out to shore. He swam past the other beachgoers, diving in and out of the water with deep breaths, paddling farther and farther from the coast.

Ever since the All-Valley Tournament, his whole life had come to feel like the ocean, and he was aware he was floating in it. Perhaps that was why he'd been drawn away from Mexico City and to the Gulf. And Miguel knew how dangerous an ocean could be. As long as you were in the shallow surf, kept closed in by the safety buoys, you were protected and could be pulled back to the surface at any time. But once you crossed into the deeper depths, you would have to keep swimming until you reached solid ground again; you had to hope you were a strong enough swimmer to make it.

Miguel had been swimming for quite some time now, sometimes feeling like he was sinking, other times breaking his head above the surface to take a breath. And still he kept swimming, fully aware that if he stopped he would drown in all his problems: the family and friends he'd left back home; his changing bond with Sensei Lawrence; his relationship with Sam; his rivalry with Robby; and now whatever this was brewing between him and Hawk.

Breaking his head from the surface with a cough, Miguel's eyes were drawn past the farthest buoy, where the waves crashed against a large, flat rock; the kind seals might have sunbathed on if they swam out in those waters. That rock had served as a convenient landmark when he and Hawk had gone walking along the shoreline on previous days.

A sudden rush surged through Miguel as the urge struck him to swim out to that rock, despite the fact that it was well past the safety cutoff point for swimmers. Even though there was a chance that the force of the waves could send him crashing into the rock and probably break a bone. Miguel still wanted to give it a try, to prove to himself that he could do it, he could swim against any tide, no matter how strong, and reach the steady foundation waiting at the finish line.

It was the sort of crazy exercise Sensei Lawrence would have encouraged his students to carry out, and Miguel could hear his voice in his ear right that second. Or rather, he was hearing two different voices from Sensei. There was the Sensei who'd thrown him in a pool with his hands tied, who'd sicced junkyard dogs on him, the Sensei who'd had Sam jump off a roof. He was encouraging him to go for it.

Then there was the second Sensei Lawrence, the one who'd pulled him aside from the others during practice so he didn't risk getting hurt. The Sensei who'd been trying to be more like a dad than a teacher. The same Sensei who'd pressured him to fight through his injury at the All-Valley Tournament….

"What are you lookin' at?" asked Eli, swimming up close to him. "You see Jaws or something?"

Bracing against an incoming wave, Miguel shook his head. "Do you think I could make it to that rock?" he asked, jutting his chin out to the rock in question.

Hawk squinted in the distance at it, no doubt noticing how far out it was; it would be farthest out they'd swam yet. But after only a moment, a familiar competitive grin spread over his face, and he asked Miguel, "You wanna race to it?"

Miguel smiled back. "You know it."

The two of them took off, heads dipping in and out of the water as arms flew and legs kicked out behind them. They splashed past the last tourists who'd been out deeper than them and continued on. Miguel couldn't spare a glance to see how he was faring compared to Hawk, which of them was ahead. And truth be told, he wasn't actually invested in the race itself. He just wanted to see if both of them could reach that rock.

From the corner of his eye, Miguel spotted a flash of red as he swam past the last buoy. Then he kept going, kicking his feet harder, arms stretching out in deep freestyle strokes, trying to pick up his speed. When his head broke the surface again, the shrill of a whistle pierced his ears. Just ignore it, he thought again. Keep swimming, keep going until he reached that rock.

But another blow from the whistle had Miguel slowing to a doggy paddle before coming to a stop, swimming in place. He had been in the lead, but barely, and Hawk caught up to him in three seconds. Then the both of them squinted at the shore, making out the lifeguard who was gesturing for them to swim back.

Spitting out some saltwater, Hawk looked at Miguel and asked, "What do you think?"

Another memory flashed in Miguel's mind, the time Mr. LaRusso taught him how to drive. He remembered the light flashing yellow, tapping the gas so he could speed up and get through it before it turned red. Go all-in. A move he'd picked up from Sensei Lawrence. A move Mr. LaRusso disapproved of. Yellow meant slow down, and a whistle meant to stop and turn around. So, who was right?

The other beachgoers were staring at him and Hawk now that the lifeguard had pointed them out. And they would become even more of a spectacle if they kept swimming. Best case, the lifeguard would come and get them. Worst case, they'd call the beach cops on them. He and Hawk didn't need that kind of attention, not as tourists, not as people trying to keep on the down-low.

Miguel's lips parted with a soft sigh. "I guess we turn back."