Hawaii is hot. The sun is always shining, even when it's raining, and even though it feels like you've put on a gallon of sunblock you can feel the imminent sunburn. The major cities look normal enough, but the closer they get to the coast, the more sand Simmons starts to see. Eventually you get to a road that's more sand than asphalt.
The more sand they find, though, the more excited Grif seems to get. "You've never seen an ocean before, have you?" he boasts.
You roll your eyes. "I've seen the movies, Grif, of course I've seen an ocean."
He sticks his tongue out at you. "I mean a real ocean. With your own eyes."
He has you there. Still, you shrug. You lived practically right next door to the Great Lakes back in Michigan, and you're not so sure an ocean will be that much different than Lake Michigan on a bright, sunny day.
You're wrong. You are so very, very wrong.
The first difference you notice is the sand. Of course, it's been everywhere ever since you got out of the airport, but you've never been standing on so much of it at once. It's softer than the coast of any of the Great Lakes, which mostly consist of small pebbles or smooth rocks. The sand in Hawaii is made up of only the finest sized grains of rock, beaten smooth and tiny by the waves. The roar of the ocean, although it doesn't drown out the sound of the children playing on the beach or Grif's voice, is loud.
You take a deep breath, and you can taste the tiny tang of salt in the air, carried by the spray of the waves. The sun is the strongest you've ever felt it, and though it beats down on you, all you feel is the warmth it wraps around you.
The water is so, so blue.
You breezed through introductions with Grif's family. His mother is some kind of circus performer (you didn't get to hear that part all too well over Grif's protesting), his sister has had several abortions, and his father appeared to be even more laid back than Grif, if that was even possible.
Grif pulled you into his room. The half of it that you were used to looked exactly like how it did when you Skyped. His bed was neater than usual, and Grif claimed that it was much cleaner than it had ever been, but to be honest you could never see the clothes he claimed were strewn around the floor through webcam anyway.
No, it wasn't until you lay on his bed, your head sinking into his soft pillow that you noticed what was strange about his room.
There was a single glow in the dark star sticker, in the middle of his ceiling.
You immediately sat up, eyes still fixated on the point of neon green. "You kept one?" Judging from where it was set up, it had to be Polaris-
"The North Star," Grif confirmed. He flushed as he sat down next to you. "You said it always stays in the same place, right? No matter what. And I always figured...you were my North Star."
You grabbed his shirt and kissed him, long and hard.
'No, Grif...you are.'
AN: Ta-da~! Happy ending, wrapped with a bow. Thanks for reading!