Iced Heart Found Love Beneath The Waves

The locker room smelled like sweat, chlorine, and the faint hint of cologne that lingered from post-practice showers. I was slouched against the bench, towel around my neck, earbuds in, pretending I was listening to music—but really, I was scrolling aimlessly through my phone, avoiding texts, notifications, anything that demanded thought.

“You look like death warmed over,” Kairo’s voice cut through my haze. I yanked the earbuds out, blinking at him. He was perched on the bench across from me, legs wide, grin too smug for this hour of the morning.

“Morning, too,” I muttered, giving him a half-hearted glare.

“K, seriously,” he said, throwing his hands up. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground for the last month. When was the last time you took a proper break? Huh? I’m talking no games, no press, no fake smiles for cameras.”

I scowled. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Yeah, fine as a hurricane,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Drake, you’re not fine. You’re exhausted, tense, and honestly—if you don’t slow down, I’m going to have to drag you kicking and screaming to somewhere you actually deserve.”

I snorted. “And where’s that supposed to be? Some spa with overpriced smoothies and yoga mats?”

“Kinda,” he said, grinning. “Except no, not just that. I’m talking a retreat. A proper one. Sun, sand, no obligations, no paparazzi, no nonsense. Just… you, the waves, and maybe a couple of fresh coconut drinks. Trust me, man. You need it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re saying this because you want me out of your hair for a week.”

“Partly,” he admitted, leaning back and stretching his arms overhead. “But mostly because you look like a zombie who’s been living on caffeine and ego. And if I have to drag you into another half-hearted practice while you’re operating on empty, I swear I’ll—”

“—do what? Kick me?” I smirked, though my chest tightened in a way I didn’t care to analyze.

“Nope. Better,” he said, eyes glinting. “I’ll make you disappear for seven days. Completely off-grid. And yes, that includes your phone. Your agent. Your fans. You’ll thank me when you come back not smelling like stress and self-doubt.”

I ran a hand through my hair, staring at him as if I’d suddenly discovered a foreign planet in the locker room. Seven days. Off-grid. No press. No Instagram, no notifications, no obligations. It sounded… terrifying. And yet, also kind of perfect.

“Fine,” I said finally, letting a small sigh escape. “You win. But if I come back and it’s some amateur retreat that smells like sunscreen and despair, you’re paying for my therapy.”

Kairo clapped me on the shoulder with a grin. “Deal. But first, you have to pack. And no, jeans and sneakers don’t count as ‘retreat attire.’ I want lightweight, breezy, sun-ready Drake.”

I groaned, imagining myself in some flowy linen shirt while pretending I was okay with it. “You’ve clearly lost your mind.”

“You’ll thank me when you’re not snapping at everyone for no reason,” he said. “Plus, trust me, I already booked the place. La Union. Private Airbnb. Oceanfront. You won’t even know what hit you.”

I blinked. “La Union? That’s… actually… not terrible.”

“Not terrible?” he said, mock-offended. “Drake, it’s paradise. It’s where surfers go, where the coffee’s strong, the sun is perfect, and there’s zero chance of a paparazzi ambush. You’ll sleep, eat, swim, and maybe—if I’m feeling generous—you’ll find yourself enjoying it.”

I smirked at that last part. “Generous, huh?”

“Hey, don’t get used to it,” he said, elbowing me lightly. “Now get packing before I start making a list of everything you’re allowed to bring.”

Packing for a retreat I didn’t want to admit I needed felt like a strange mix of excitement and dread. I shoved t-shirts into my bag, jeans folded in a corner just in case I had some delusions of city life practicality, and tossed in swim trunks like a maniac. I even, begrudgingly, threw in a pair of sunglasses that made me look less like a sleep-deprived wreck and more like… well, the version of me I didn’t mind existing in public.

By the time Kairo showed up at my door with the rental car, I was more or less ready. He had that smug look on his face again, the one that said I told you this would happen.

“You packed?” he asked, leaning casually against the car.

“Barely,” I muttered, dragging my bag.

“Knew it,” he said, tossing my bag into the trunk like it weighed nothing. “You’re lucky I’ve got superhuman strength today. Ready to go?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Nope. And don’t even think about trying to sneak your phone.” He snatched it from me before I could protest, tossing it into the backseat. “For the next seven days, Drake, it’s you and the waves. That’s it.”

I stared at him. He was terrifyingly serious. And then… I felt the first flicker of something I hadn’t anticipated. Relief.

The drive to La Union was long but mercifully traffic-free, the city gradually giving way to rolling hills, coconut trees, and the smell of salt in the air. I watched the scenery in silence, the rhythmic motion of the car almost hypnotic. Tyler hummed along to some playlist I didn’t recognize, occasionally throwing side glances at me with a grin that was equal parts mischief and satisfaction.

“You’re too quiet,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “Thinking about how much you hate me for dragging you here?”

I snorted. “I hate myself more for agreeing.”

“Progress,” he said, mock-cheerful. “Just admit it—you’re also kind of excited.”

I scowled at him. “Kind of?”

“K, fine,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Totally excited. Admit it.”

I shot him a look, but the corner of my mouth twitched. Maybe… just a little.

By the time we arrived, the sun was low, casting golden streaks across the ocean. The Airbnb was exactly as he had promised: perched on a small cliff, the waves crashing gently below, a private stretch of sand that looked untouched by the world. I stepped out of the car, letting the sea breeze hit me, salty and liberating, and I felt… lighter.

Kairo grinned, clearly reading the subtle shift in me. “See? Told you. Paradise, baby.”

I let myself take it in. The sound of the waves, the tang of the ocean, the endless horizon—it was all surreal. Too surreal to feel entirely real, yet painfully necessary.

“You actually look… relaxed,” Kairo said, squinting at me. “That’s terrifying.”

“I’ll allow it,” I muttered, smirking.

He led me inside, throwing open doors to reveal a spacious living area, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a balcony that overlooked the endless sea. It smelled faintly of coconut oil and fresh wood, the kind of space that whispered stay, rest, breathe.

“Okay, man,” Kairo said, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’m leaving you here. My job is done. You’ll call me in seven days if you’re still alive and sane—or if you fall in love with the ocean. Either works.”

I watched him leave, his car disappearing down the winding road. And then I was alone.

Alone with nothing but the sound of waves, the golden glow of the setting sun, and the startling, undeniable realization that this retreat might not just be about rest.

I sank onto the balcony, letting the wind whip through my hair, and for the first time in months, I felt a crack in the armor I wore for everyone else. Out here, with no cameras, no obligations, no expectations, I could feel… something.

Something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time: peace.

And maybe, just maybe, the beginnings of something else—something dangerous, intoxicating, and impossible to ignore.