After their cocktails, they’d left their stuff under the rented parasol and ran out to the water, together, Draco swearing at how cold it was, Harry whooping and hollering as he jumped in with a clumsy dive towards the waves, squeezing his eyes shut against the salty spray. They’d floated for a while, sun beating over their heads, their limbs lazily swaying beneath the surface, their knees occasionally brushing: a shock of warm, slick skin neither of them spoke about. Harry splashed Draco instead, laughing at him when Draco complained about it, and breathlessly swimming away when Draco retaliated, pushing great big handfuls of water towards Harry and cackling all the while. 