You were injured. A decent cut starting at your waist that drew a crimson line just near your chest.

Luis stood in front of you. His hand holding up the cloth of your shirt as he inspected the wound. He rubbed his callused hand across his messy stubble.

“Hmm, this’ll need some serious work.” Luis looked up from the gash. “You might not survive…” his voice was genuine and serious.

Until his smile failed him. He laughed and waved his hand, “No no. I’m only messing with you guapo.”