( he's been to the beach a handful of times in his life. a few when he was young — maybe not infantile, but young enough that the memories came in sporadic, incomplete flashes; like his memory had filled in the blanks from all the times his mum had told the story of the aggressive seagulls and his tayto crisps — and a few more when he'd been old enough that the allure of beaches was outright null and void. their timing had always been off, either too late in the summer or too early; the air had always been cold and the water even colder. the last time, his mum and stepdad had gotten into a spat over misreading the forecast, and he'd ultimately spent most of the day on the curb between sand and parking lot fiddling with his mobile. it was a whole day sort of trip, and the outcome never seemed fully worth the commute.

but it hadn't all been absolute shit. he imagined he'd go again with his sister when she was a bit older.

if he ever saw her again.

it's sorry thoughts like that — and pleasant view of small white crested waves breaking across the shore; the heavy heat making the back of his shirt sticky — that have eggsy peeling out of his jacket, button down, and trousers with record efficiency. for someone who'd had no plans on coming to the beach today (it was boiling, and he'd almost rather stay by the air conditioned shop fronts, what with that fancy allowance card they'd gotten) he's quick to head towards the water. but pauses. he's got no trunks, and half the fun of swimming is having dry clothes to climb back in to afterwards. he doesn't fancy that walk back to town with soaking pants wetting through his slacks the whole way. so with a cursory look around, he drops trou completely, and makes a dash for the water.

cool, refreshing water. perhaps a tad too cold, but nice and energizing after the almost lazy, sticky warmth of the day. eggsy wades; ducks his head under, and generally revels in relaxing until he spots another person testing the water. it's not a shriek on his lips, per se... but it kind of sounds like one. and he crouches a little awkwardly in the water in order to stay "appropriately" submerged. )

Didn't see you there, ( he mumbles. like, yup, that'll explain my undignified screaming. )

( maybe an hour or two after a near mortifying separation from his pants, eggsy's been reunited with his clothes and has since stopped giving a fuck about if he gets sand all over himself. it was going to happen one way or another— why not stop being a baby about it and indulge in a quintessential beach past time.

building a sand castle.

and if it looks like he's gotten a little too into it — with parapets, and sticks and leaves collected to serve as flags — then you're silly; there's no such thing as too into your sandcastle.

though too defensive of one? that's possible. because the second someone so much as kicks a little sand into the moat he's diligently shaping by hand, they get a rather grumpy: )

Oi, could you not?

( want something else? need rescuing from drowning? sunscreen rubbed on your back? he's a nice guy and a great swimmer, and could probably help you with both! )