Semiel couldn't stop looking at Saval.
Ever since the bottle spun and landed on him, everything had become sharper. The sound of the ocean, the distant laughter, the crackling of the firewood. And above all, Saval's eyes on him. Eyes that weren't playing this time. Not now.
— Kiss or dare? —he asked, with a voice that barely felt like his own.
Saval didn't answer right away. The silence was thick, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence right before something breaks. Something neither of them knew whether they should touch first.
And then, as if the universe itself got scared of what they might choose, Mia's phone rang.
A sharp sound, intrusive, but unavoidable.
— Shit! —she exclaimed, pulling the phone out of the back pocket of her shorts— It's my mom. She probably wants to know if we got eaten by a shark.
The moment vanished. Like a dream after waking up.
Mia answered, speaker on:
— Hey, Mom! What's up? Yeah, we're alive. No, no one fell. Well, almost. Saval almost went into the water but Semiel saved him. He's a hero. What? No, there's no alcohol, I swear. Just sand and trauma.
The others started laughing. George did a voice impression of a worried mom:
— Have you eaten? Did you bring your towels? Are you warm enough?
— Tell her I'm not kissing anyone! —shouted Dana from her spot— Don't marry me off yet!
Mia's mom, amused and half-resigned, said something like, Well, I'm glad you're okay.
Don't stay out too late, alright? Mia promised they wouldn't, and hung up with a smile.
— And so, ladies and gentlemen —she said, stretching as if closing a play—, the collective sexual tension has been officially sabotaged by maternal authority.
More laughter.
But Semiel wasn't laughing. He rubbed his hands together, still feeling the tingling where he had held Saval's arm. The night continued, but the moment was gone.
No one mentioned the bottle again. The game ended there, as if everyone knew they couldn't go back without breaking something.
Slowly, the conversations drifted toward old stories, hand shadow games in front of the fire, shared silences while staring at the stars. But Semiel couldn't feel part of the group.
He was there, physically, but his entire world tilted toward someone else.
Toward Saval. He felt like he wanted to say something. Maybe if he had spoken, something could've happened.
Something like: I want to kiss you.
But he didn't say it.
He kept the words caught between his teeth, like a thorn on his tongue.
When they started putting out the fire, grabbing their bags and brushing off the sand, Semiel still felt his heart pounding like a drum. He walked with the others, not saying much, hands deep in his pockets, eyes fixed on the foam that kept rolling in and out like a sleeping beast.
Saval walked a few steps ahead. Sometimes he turned to say something to George or Dana, and his smile was soft, calm. As if he hadn't almost changed everything.
That made it worse.
What if only he had felt it like that? What if the weight in his chest was his alone?
Who am I kidding — Saval doesn't see me like that. I'm just a friend.
They reached the spot where the cars were parked. Some of them stayed behind, chatting a little longer. Mía pulled out some towels so they wouldn't all get in covered in sand. George and Dana were arguing over who would drive.
Semiel lagged behind. He looked at the beach one last time.
Saval walked up to him, silent. For a moment, their eyes met. It was brief, but intense — like every unspoken word lived in that glance.
—Thanks for… saving me —he said, barely above a whisper.
Semiel nodded. He wanted to say something more. But once again, he couldn't.
—You're welcome —he whispered.
And that was it.
They said goodbye to everyone and started walking back to the place they had rented. Semiel said nothing the entire way. The murmur of the others' voices felt far away, like he was underwater.
His fists were clenched tight against his thighs. Frustration burned in his throat.
It wasn't anger.
It was held-back desire. It was fear. It was the sharp, aching awareness that he had let something slip through his fingers — something that might not come back.
—Idiot… —he muttered to himself, too low for anyone to hear.
He looked at the landscape around him as he walked slowly, noticing how Saval was already ahead, walking faster.
He knew that night would stay with him for a long time.
The night he almost said it. And didn't.
The night Saval looked at him, and he didn't know what to do with that.
The night silence was louder than desire.
And it hurt.
More than he wanted to admit.