I opened my eyes and sighed in relief at the absence of burning, stinging pain. Jiho slept beside me, his breathing deep and steady. from the waist up, something soft covered my chest like a blanket. I sat up and slipped the T-shirt over my head, inhaling the familiar smell of Jiho. I rolled over on my side and slept again.

In the morning, I woke up alone. I pulled the hem of my T-shirt up. The faint red outline of the tentacles remained and probably would for quite some time. Raising it higher, I cringed at the condition of my s. Dark red streaks covered them, crusted and bloody. I let the T-shirt fall, stepped into shorts, and left the house to go to the bathroom.
 

Jiho was making a fire when I returned. He stood up. “How do you feel?”
 

“Almost back to normal.” I lifted my T-shirt a little and showed him my stomach. He traced the marks with his finger.
 

“Does it hurt?” 

“No, not really.”
 

“What about?” He pointed at my chest. 

“Not as good.”
 

“I’m sorry. There were some tentacles inside your top, stinging you, and I didn’t notice right away.”
 

I had no recollection of him taking off my top, only the burning pain. “That’s okay, you didn’t know.”
 

“You turned red and swelled up.”
 

“I did?” I didn’t remember that either.
 

“I gave you Benadryl. It knocked you out. “ 

“You did exactly the right thing.”
 

He walked into the house and returned with the tube of cortisone cream. “I rubbed this on your skin. It seemed to help. You told me it did before you fell asleep.”
 

I took the tube from his outstretched hand. Had he rubbed it on my s, too? I pictured myself lying on the sand, wearing only the bottom half of my swimsuit while Jiho rubbed the cream onto my skin, and suddenly I couldn’t look at him.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Did you see the jellyfish before it stung you?” 

“No, I just felt the pain.”

“I’ve never seen one in the lagoon.”

“Me neither. That one must have taken a wrong turn at the reef.” I walked into the house to get my toothbrush, squeezing a miniscule amount of toothpaste onto it. When I came out, I said, “At least it wasn’t one of the deadly ones.”

Jiho looked at me with an alarmed expression. “Jellyfish can kill you?” 

I pulled the toothbrush out of my mouth. “Some of them.”

We stayed out of the water that day. I walked along the shore, squinting into the distance and checking for jellyfish, reminding myself that just because we couldn’t see the dangers of the ocean didn’t mean they weren’t there. I also wondered if the first-aid kit would someday cease to contain the one thing we needed to save either of our lives.
 

In June of 2022, Jiho and I had been living on the island for two years. I had turned thirty in January, and Jiho would be nineteen in a few months. He stood at least 180 centimeters by then, and there was nothing boyish about him. Sometimes, when I watched him fish, repair the house, or emerge from the woods that he knew like the back of his hand, I wondered if he thought of the island as his own. A place where he could do whatever he wanted and anything was acceptable, as long as we stayed alive.
 

 
We sat cross-legged, facing each other near the water’s edge so I could shave him. He leaned forward, resting his hands on my thighs for balance.

“How did I become your personal groomer?” I teased. “I’ve bathed you. I shave you.” I spread the shaving cream, which was almost gone, on his cheeks.

He gave me a big smile. “I’m lucky?”

“You’re spoiled. When we get off this island, you’re going to have to shave yourself.”

“That won’t be any fun at all.” 

“You’ll manage.”

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