Once we finished throwing together some kind of shelter — a crooked frame of sticks and palm leaves leaning against a rock — I finally plopped down, breathing hard.
I looked down at myself, grimacing.
My work shirt and pants were still soaking wet, hanging heavy against my body, making everything feel ten times worse.
"We need to get out of these wet clothes," I muttered under my breath, but he must've heard me.
He turned his head, giving me one of those looks — half smug, half exhausted. "You think?"
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt, standing up with a groan. Without a second thought, I unbuttoned my drenched shirt, shrugging it off and tossing it aside. My black bikini top was underneath, the same one I wore whenever I had double shifts — easy for quick changes and emergencies. Lucky me.
I hesitated at my pants. The fabric was plastered to my legs, heavy and miserable.
Screw it.
I peeled them off too, leaving me in my bikini bottoms.
He didn't say anything. With a rough sigh, he yanked his own wet shirt off, revealing a lean, cut torso, and tossed the heavy fabric toward me.
"Here," he said, "Dry it out."
I grabbed it without thanking him, walking over to a half-decent branch sticking out of a rock. I hung both our shirts and my pants up, hoping the brutal sun would do its job.
I squatted near the little patch of shade we'd managed to create, hugging my knees to my chest. My stomach growled so loudly it was almost embarrassing. I shifted uncomfortably, hoping he hadn't heard it.
Of course he did. His mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough to make me want to throw a rock at him.
"Hungry, are we?" he said, voice dripping with amusement.
I glared at him. "No. I'm just practicing for when I'm actually starving."
He chuckled under his breath, standing up and stretching his arms lazily over his head like we weren't stranded in the middle of nowhere. The sight of him being so casual made me even more annoyed.
"I'll catch something," he said, brushing sand off his hands. "Fish, maybe. You eat fish, right?"
"I eat whatever's not gonna kill me," I snapped, crossing my arms. "Or didn't your fancy school teach you that?"
He shot me a dry look, as if debating whether it was even worth arguing.
Smart choice — he didn't.
Instead, he started toward the water, kicking through the sand with those long legs like he had all the time in the world.
I watched him go, grumbling under my breath, "Arrogant prick."
But truth was… I didn't see any other options. It's not like I was about to dive into the ocean and start spearfishing. I could barely float on my own.
I stood up, brushing off my skin, and called after him, "Don't drown! I'd hate to be stranded here alone!"
He threw a hand up without turning around. "Trust me, sweetheart. I'm the last person who's gonna drown."
I paced near the shelter, my arms crossed tight over my chest. Every second felt longer with nothing but the crash of the waves and the occasional gull overhead.
Then, out of nowhere, I heard splashing — loud, determined splashing. I spun around and spotted him, wading out of the water, something dangling from his hand.
My eyes widened.
Was that…?
"Got one," he called, a little smug, holding up the fish like it was a damn trophy.
I rushed toward him, my bare feet kicking up sand. "You serious?"
He dropped the fish onto a flat rock with a thud, water dripping from his pants, his chest still glistening with seawater. He looked completely unfazed, like hauling a fish out of the ocean with nothing but his bare hands was just another Tuesday for him.
"No point bragging if we can't cook it," I muttered, already darting back toward the shelter.
"Hey, slow down—" he started.
I ignored him. I grabbed the driest bits of wood I'd found earlier and started stacking them clumsily, my hands moving fast. Fire. We needed fire. I didn't care if it wasn't perfect — I wasn't about to sit here eating raw fish like some wild animal.
Without saying a word, he picked up a thin stick and started working it between his palms against a rough piece of wood. His jaw tightened with focus, and for once, he wasn't running his mouth.
If he couldn't get a fire going…
But then — a tiny wisp of smoke.
He cupped the fragile ember with his hands, coaxing it gently, adding bits of dry grass I'd gathered. Slowly, slowly — it caught, flickering weakly at first, then growing.
Fire.
Real fire.
He glanced up at me, a cocky smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You're welcome, sweetheart."
I narrowed my eyes at him, "thank you. You gonna stand there grinning all day, or are you gonna clean that thing?" I asked, nodding toward the fish still flopping weakly on the rock.
He chuckled low in his throat, squatting down beside it. "Demanding, aren't you?"
"Efficient," I corrected, wrapping my arms around my knees again. "Someone has to be."
He made quick work of the fish, surprising me. No hesitation, no fumbling. He gutted it neatly with a sharp piece of seashell he'd found earlier, hands steady even though they were scratched up from our little survival adventure.
When he was done, he handed the cleaned fish to me like he was offering a peace treaty.
"Here. Knock yourself out, Gordon Ramsay."
I found a thin branch and skewered the fish through the mouth, propping it carefully over the fire. It sizzled almost instantly.
"You sure you're not actually starving?"
"Shut up," I muttered, turning the fish carefully so it wouldn't burn.
We sat in silence for a while, the fire crackling between us. It was almost peaceful… if I ignored the gnawing ache in my stomach and the fact that we were, you know, stranded.
After a few minutes, I lifted the fish carefully off the fire and blew on it. The skin was charred in places, but it smelled edible — better than nothing. I ripped off a piece and popped it into my mouth, hissing when it burned my tongue.
"Hot?" he asked dryly.
I glared at him through watering eyes. "No, it's fine, genius."
He snorted, grabbing a chunk for himself. He didn't even wait, just bit into it "Not bad," he said around a mouthful. "A little crunchy, but it'll keep us alive."
"Gee, thanks," I said, deadpan.
We ate in silence after that, both too hungry to bother with insults. When we were down to scraps, I wiped my hands on my thighs and sat back with a groan.
"For the record," I said, looking over at him, "If you hadn't caught that fish, I'd have started thinking about how good you might taste roasted over that fire."
He raised an eyebrow, amused. "You threatening to eat me, sweetheart?"
I gave him a tired smile. "Not a threat. A promise."
He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, completely unbothered. "You'd miss me too much."
I snorted. "Keep telling yourself that, golden boy."
The fire crackled between us, throwing warm light over his smug face and my unimpressed scowl.