After the fish was picked clean, we sat there for a minute, both of us staring into the fire like it held some kind of answers.
But it didn't.
The real problem was still right there, buzzing at the back of my mind, impossible to ignore.
Water.
I shifted, feeling how dry my mouth was getting already. Food was one thing. Without water, we were screwed.
"We need to find something to drink," I said, pushing myself to my feet with a wince.
He didn't move, just tilted his head back and closed his eyes like he could pretend this wasn't happening.
"Give it a minute," he muttered. "Still savoring the fact I caught dinner with my bare hands."
Still, he got up anyway, brushing sand off his legs. "Fine. Let's find your precious water before you shrivel up."
I didn't bother waiting for him. I started walking along the tree line, picking my way through the patchy underbrush, barefoot and cranky.
He followed, of course, hands tucked into the waistband of his wet pants like this was just some casual afternoon stroll.
It wasn't.
The farther we got from the beach, the cooler the air felt, the shade from the trees blocking some of the brutal sun.
The ground under my feet turned damp in places, soft and squishy, which made me perk up.
"Hey," I called, glancing back at him. "You feel that?"
He paused, then crouched down, pressing his hand to the ground. His brows furrowed.
"Yeah. Might be a stream nearby."
I didn't wait — I started moving faster, practically tripping over roots and vines. The sound hit me first: a faint trickle, like someone slowly pouring water into a cup.
Then, through the trees, a flash of silver. I whooped, practically sprinting the last few steps.
A skinny little stream cut through the ground, clear and shallow, bubbling over smooth stones. It wasn't much, but it was beautiful.
It was hope.
I dropped to my knees at the edge, scooping up a handful and sniffing it first. No weird smell.
It looked clean. As clean as we were gonna get out here. Still, I hesitated, glancing back at him. "You think it's safe?"
He crouched next to me, studying the water with a frown. "No dead animals floating around, no weird colors. It's moving, which is good."
He dipped his fingers in, tasted a drop on his tongue. "Not bad."
I stared at him, eyebrows raised. "Wow. Look at you."
He smirked. "You're welcome, again."
I rolled my eyes but leaned down, cupping my hands to drink. The water was cold and sharp, shocking against my tongue but good — so good it almost made my eyes sting.
I gulped down more, ignoring the way he watched me with that same annoying half-smirk.
When I finally sat back, wiping my mouth, he nudged me with his knee. "Feel better, sweetheart?"
I shot him a look. "Almost like I won't have to eat you after all."
He laughed, really laughed, the sound bouncing off the trees and making something weird and uncomfortable twist low in my stomach.
I hated how much I didn't hate it.
"We should fill something," he said, glancing around. "In case we don't find this again."
I frowned. "With what? We don't exactly have canteens."
He looked at the wide leaves dangling from a nearby tree, his mouth twitching in thought.
"Give me a minute," he said, already moving toward them.
I watched him work — tearing off the biggest leaves, folding them carefully, making rough little pouches to carry water.
It was messy, but it might work, at least to carry enough back to our sad excuse for a camp.
"Good enough," I muttered grudgingly as he handed me one.
"High praise," he said, mock bowing.
I splashed a little water at him in response, making him grunt and jump back.
"Real mature," he said dryly, dripping water onto the ground.
I grinned, feeling lighter than I had all day.
By the time we made it back to the shelter, the sun was kissing the horizon, bleeding orange and pink across the sky.
I dropped my makeshift water pouch carefully beside the fire.
He tossed some extra branches onto the flames, coaxing them higher. The fire crackled and snapped, throwing shadows across his face, making him look almost… softer.
Almost.
I sank down into the sand with a heavy sigh, pulling my knees up to my chest again. He flopped down nearby.
For a while, neither of us said anything. The fire popped and hissed. The waves crashed in the distance. Some kind of bug hummed high and steady in the trees behind us.
It wasn't until the stars started showing up — one by one, like tiny white pinpricks in the dark — that he finally spoke.
"You ever think about how small we are?" he said, his voice low, almost thoughtful.
I blinked at him, thrown off by the sudden shift. "You getting philosophical on me now?"
He smiled faintly, keeping his eyes on the sky. "Just saying. One second you're living your normal life, working some crappy job, making plans for the weekend… and then bam. You're a speck on a rock in the middle of the damn ocean."
I stared at him for a second, "I didn't exactly plan on spending my weekend with you," I said, trying to keep it light.
He chuckled under his breath. "Yeah, well. Life's funny like that."
We fell quiet again, and I found myself tracing random shapes in the sand with my finger, just to keep my hands busy.
The night air was cooler now, brushing goosebumps up my arms. I shivered, hugging myself tighter.
Without a word, he grabbed his damp shirt from where it had dried stiff over a branch and tossed it at me.
"Here. Better than nothing."
I caught it awkwardly, staring at him. "You're just trying to get me to owe you again."
He gave a lazy shrug. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just not a total asshole."
I snorted, pulling the shirt over my shoulders anyway. It smelled like salt and smoke and something else — something stubborn and clean and him.
I hated how comforting it was.
"You know," I said, settling the shirt around me, "for a rich kid, you're not completely useless."
He grinned, teeth flashing in the firelight. "High praise coming from you, sweetheart."
I shook my head, laughing quietly. It wasn't the situation I would've ever picked — stranded, half-naked, stuck with the world's cockiest man — but somehow, right now…
It didn't feel quite so terrible.
The fire crackled lower. The night wrapped around us, thick and heavy.
"You sleep," he said, after a while, his voice rough with exhaustion. "I'll keep watch."
I frowned at him. "You serious?"
He nodded. "You're dead on your feet. Besides," he smirked, "if a coconut falls and hits you in the head, I'd kinda like you awake enough to appreciate the irony."
I rolled my eyes, but a yawn broke free before I could snap back at him.
My body was already giving in, dragging me down.
"Wake me in a few hours," I mumbled, curling up close to the dying fire. "We'll switch."
"Yeah, yeah," he said, but his voice was already distant.
I closed my eyes, feeling the heat of the fire on my skin, the sound of the waves folding over me like a blanket.
And just before I drifted off, I heard him again — softer this time, almost like he wasn't sure if he wanted me to hear it.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I got you."