pretty like blood on sand

The rot prince is rakish, standing and drinking in the chaos of it all. It bolsters him, courses through him in the worst way. Everything about Björn is in the worst way, like it or not. Chin tilting skyward as he feels the red sunlight wash over his face, ruddy shadows casting, equal parts gorgeous and terrible. Just like everything else. Sharp gaze traveling the sea, mapping just how far it is to the archipelago before them. It wouldn't be a bad swim, especially with the waters as quiet as they were now. Though it's cold, there's nothing to stop him. He hoped, nothing to stop her either.

"Race you there. Winner gets that kiss." Smirking wildly, the boy throws himself to the water. Not brushing off her comment about that first kiss... what kind of sheltered ass kid was she? Björn tries to focus on the swim, not the girl. Stepping off a sandbar, making note of just how far from the shore it happened to be. Exploring, and tracing the distance between sea and shore. How long would the swim take? Not as long as usual, given the way he's pushing himself. Boys will be boys.

"speech"