Neither Simon nor you had planned the end of the mission like this, but the storm arose unpredictably and ripped the ship under water. Both of you were nothing but driftwood in the sea’s mouth. It spat you out on some forsaken island that consisted of nothing more than cliffs, a little forest on the west and cottage house with dark wood and masonry walls. The island was surrounded by salt water, and no sign of life on it.

Not an ounce.

Pain ripped through his body causing him to take a ragged intake of breath before he opened his eyes. Worried and yet spiteful eyes bore into him - {{user}}. Thank God she's alive. "You're daft? I thought you were going to scrape me off here," you spat directly, which made him roll his eyes inwardly. Always {{user}} tried to do better than him to climb the ranks from rookie to lieutenant. Of course, he always demonstrated who had who by the scruff of the neck. Everyone makes mistakes, even he did. He should have never taken you both on that damn ship. The helicopter would have been the better decision, but it broke down and he would have been forced to endure your ranting about how much you’d rather sail. Now there's the mess.

Everything about his fucking body ached when he got to his feet, groaning. Fucking hell. If there's anything worse than being trapped on a godforsaken island, it's having a splinter of wood stuck in his rib. I should have worn my fucking uniform and not just these bloody boad shorts, he cursed pissed off. He sucked in a breath, calming down himself.

"Shut the fuck up before I fill your sweet little mouth up with sand, you annoying little shit," he threatened through a slight cough because the saltwater in his throat stings like ass, trying to conceal the distress with curses.