ʟᴜᴘɪɴ│ᴛᴋ [complete]

.32. ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡᴇ ᴀsᴋ: ғᴏᴏᴅ ᴏʀ ᴀ ʜᴜɢ?

His trachea was burning thanks, no doubt, to all the salt water that was being expectorated out of his system. He barely registered the lips on his own as warm air was forced into his flooded lungs which immediately responded with a hard coughing fit. He finally sat up, vomiting brine. The light tapping on his back to help him cough it all up turned aggressive once he was able to breathe through his nose and mouth properly. "Cretino! Can you not tell the sea is angry today?!"

The reproachful tone was probably well deserved. As well as the punch in the shoulder. He did push his luck a little too far this time. Angelo finally lifted his head and was met with the resentful gaze of Manuel, the young fisherman with whom he shared a room.

"I was craving oysters," Angelo managed to articulate despite his clogged throat which was still hurting from all the lethal drinking it had just been subjected to. To support this statement, he pointed at the fishing basket, still attached to his hip, full to the brim with crustaceans, and ventured a smile.

But Manuel was showing no sign of cheerfulness. "What are you? A pregnant woman who craves oysters in June?! Speaking of which, did they do this to you?" he asked, eyeing the ugly gash on the other's leg.

Without waiting for an answer, he took off his shirt and started wrapping it around the bleeding calf with nimble fingers.

"Manuel, you don't have to do this."

"Of course I do! If not, you'd bleed to death."

A desirable outcome, thought Angelo. But he did not say a word. After all these people had done to guarantee his survival, an alleged suicide attempt would have been as disrespectful as a slap in the face.

Manuel must have guessed the other's state of mind for he tied up the cloth real tight, tugging at the knot a little forcefully. "Don't even think about bleeding to death, you hear me?"

The meaning behind those words could not be mistaken for anything but a warning: don't you dare try to pull another stunt like that. Ever.

"Thank you," was all the other could say.

Manuel then helped him up before crouching in front of him. "Hop on."

"I can walk."

"It's going to pour soon. We'll need to run for cover. Stop being stubborn for a change and let me carry you on my back! We'll get home faster."

As if to rule in his favour, the thunder rolled and heavy drops of rain began falling. "Too late," chuckled Angelo who was still trying to cheer his roommate up.

"Che idiota," grumbled the other, sliding one arm under his injured friend's legs, effectively scooping him up in one swift motion.

"Hey! Put me down!"

"Stop talking."

There really was no point in arguing at the moment because first of all, Angelo knew just how headstrong Manuel could be when he believed he was in the right. And second of all, if it wasn't for his roommate, Angelo would more than likely be dead by now. It was not the time to squabble over trifles. Especially since they were essentially getting drenched from head to toe. Not that they had been dry to begin with. But the rain was not only heavy. It was cold. Surprising for a June shower.

Angelo lifted his hand to grab onto Manuel's shirt, remembering too late that Manuel was shirtless. And utterly wet. And oh my would you look at those pecs! And hold on a second, where were all these thoughts coming from?!

"Just latch on to my neck," said Manuel who had slowed down, taking note of the other's hesitancy to touch any skin on and around the torso area. Despite his anger, which was still bubbling inside, Manuel felt a smirk grow on his lips.